❝ 𝒎𝒂𝒅 𝒑𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒓.

The Worm knew that clubs weren't usually where the blue-haired puppeteer liked to hang out a lot, but there was still the rare time he did walk into one.

Color them very surprised that they found Legato here, though, at the same time. The bug immediately flops onto the empty seat next to him with a grin - not even asking to sit down.

He allows himself to relax, body sinking into the soft couch, the pleasant taste of daiquiri left on his tongue. Despite the type of crowd the club has pulled, the atmosphere is pleasant.

Until his peace is disturbed.

His teeth grit together, his hand moving up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

At least he could count on Midvalley, a strange thought. Midvalley the Hornfreak, Zazie the Beast - they've both killed, they're just like him, but at the end of the day, without any abilities of their own...

They had both decided to help him.

Even in some small way, they had both decided to help him.

(Maybe monsters all stick by each other), he thinks, snorting to himself. He gains some feeling back in his injured arm, (Thanks doc), and finishes scrambling up the ladder.

Bumping into Midvalley, he huffs indignantly, "Yer the one who said t' hurry..." He trails off, seeing what stopped Midvalley in his tracks. Exhaling, he curses the worst of his luck.

(Not all monsters, I guess.)

They both gaze look at the shadowed but familiar figure of...

"Bluesummers."

Patting Midvalley's shoulder, he clicks his tongue, "You might wanna reconsider helpin' me, 'cause I don't think we're gettin' across this rooftop without a fight."

Legato cares very little whether his words are audible enough to reach his uninvited company. His head is turned down towards the bustling city streets below, his body hunched halfway over the edge of the apartment building. A hand goes to brush the long strands of azure from his face before he finally turns around to face the-

A look of surprise flashes across his face upon noticing that Wolfwood isn't alone. He grits his teeth, shoulders hunching as his pupils shrink into pinpricks. He turns away from the ledge of the roof, taking a few steps forward.

" Very amusing of you to befriend a traitor, Midvalley, especially that one. " Legato needs to tighten his grip of him. Clearly, sending Midvalley off to be killed wasn't the correct approach. But reining in the musician would be a task for later.

Despite his hushed words, his hand curls into a fist at his side, the irritation swallowed back by force.

A dozen shadowy masses crudely resembling people crawl up the side of the building, past the ledge, moving forward on all fours like wild beasts. The atmosphere surrounding them ripples, a low, deep sound echoing through the air as gravity shifts, lifting each of the pursuers several meters and leaving them suspended. Legato breathes out a chuckle, the device on his shoulder glowing with purple light.

" What did you do to get these things after you, Punisher? "

" I never wanted a part of any of this bullshit in the first place! " Midvalley's voice grew louder once the vice grip around his neck was released. He gasped, slouched forward, and grabbed his throat with both shaking hands. The scleras of his eyes were lighting up red due to the restricted blood flow-- it'll be days before that heals.

He doesn't like the idea of that self-proclaimed God watching him. It made Midvalley feel like a beaten hound. Knives had effortlessly slaughtered his entire band, the only people he had been able to rely on for a decade.

" If I didn't-- if I didn't accept his offer-- "

Then the saxophonist would had been shred to pieces on the floor with the rest of them.

Midvalley doesn't finish that thought out loud. Instead, he grits his teeth and shoots a glare at Legato.

" If you want to cause a scene, I can make this place more private for our conversation. "

Wiping out everyone in the bar wouldn't take more than ten seconds. The vast majority would never even notice what happened.

" But I know you've killed enough to be numb to it. How many souls did you bury under No Man's Land again? " once more, he leans in close in a movement that seems too rapid for a human, a faint gleam in his darkened gaze from the overhead lights.

They look Legato in the eye - well, the visible one at least - as he looks back at them. "Another you from a different timeline, huh? And you moved in with him? Interesting." The hivemind tilts their head to the other side.

Having this worm be a consistent pain seemed to be his inescapable fate, no matter what universe they found themselves in.

The pen is twirled between his fingers before he drags his unblinking stare away from the other.

Clicking his tongue, he averts his gaze from behind his glasses, "Yer really messin' with me." He's also pretty sure this guy is using an alias. Fine.

"Wolfwood."

Maybe neither of them really had what it took to handle this, even if they were to work together. Likely, there was a reason this mysterious campus killer had so many unknowns about them even in the efficiency of their gruesome work. They still stood more of a chance together; Vash isn't one to accept the lone-wolf resignation this guard clearly had.

Days have bled into weeks, and then into months, but his restless spirit keeps wandering the school grounds, stuck in place, stagnant. His body lays undiscovered in one of the old, dark hallways built under the school, struck down by a killer whose face has slipped from his mind.

All he craves now is peace and quiet.

The two strangers conversing in the schoolyard show no signs of granting him that. Legato lingers nearby, his spectral form nearly invisible under the pale moonlight flooding the open ground, leaving the rest shrouded in shadow. He fixates his sunken stare on the one who speaks again, the long blond hair framing his features. Legato curls his hand into a fist, an invisible force grasping onto the stranger's arm and swinging it forward, aiming to make him strike his companion in the face.

Turns out, the reaper wasn't coerced with an intimidating scowl or the threat of a punch.

His methods were more sophisticated, too sophisticated for a man like the Hornfreak to combat.

Legato's kicked dog comment makes Midvalley's eye twitch. Sure, he had gone through a shocking adjustment when those people on the Home ship took him in, but at least he was given fresh water, cool air, and shelter from the murder maniac who had been dictating his life for years now.

" I'm as much of a kicked dog as you are, " he makes the cutting remark.

He has always been a grievance. He would have run if given a single chance for it. A chance Legato made sure he never got to have, until it was time to dispose of him.

What makes you so special that Master Knives went out of his way to choose you?

The response hits him with more teeth than he had expected, a realization that makes the corner of his mouth twitch upward. He turns abruptly, an elbow propped against the backrest of the couch as he leans into the man's personal space, his incessant stare devoid of signs of life.

But like every single time before, when the azure reaper comes with his scythe, there is no running.

There really was no safe place for him to hide from his tormenter.

He followed him here, to this city, to this jazz club.

Every muscle in his body tensed, his fingers twitching against the couch, expression wide like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck.

" Go to hell, " he grunts through grit teeth.

" I should have known they'd take pity on you. Have I told you that there's a- very specific kicked dog aura to you? " he has, many times. And Legato remembers each and every situation that called for him to point it out.

He moves again, taking a seat next to Midvalley and downing another mouthful of his sugar-coma-inducing drink. The taste of alcohol in it is mild and pleasant, and he leans against the backrest, crossing his legs. To an outsider, the scene plays as nothing more than two friends conversing and spending quality time together.

Even though he's slowly become ( far more ) lax about it than before, Vash is still ( sometimes, capable of being ) an early riser ( when he feels like it ). And he'd made sure to be today, to show up right when 'Golden's Goodies' opened-- missing out for even a little more sleep was not an option, in this case. It had even been marked on the calendar! Plus, what with more recent developments, it might serve a double purpose of giving him an excuse to head out to the desert to pay a visit, delivery in hand.

The realization that he should have gotten here even earlier smacks Vash squarely across the face, though, as he rounds the corner. He's definitely not the only one to have had the same thought-- and they don't even open for another fifteen minutes!

"Aw man..." he whines to himself, feet coming to a slow halt as he reaches the outskirts of the gathered group. It's not that many people-- but it's nothing to sneeze at, either. On the one hand, he should be glad that the little shop is getting more attention and better business. But on the other..."

"Please don't sell out of all the new stuff... !!"

The night before the bakery event, Legato was laying on the living room couch, shuffling through his book - only to be hit in the face by the advertisement sheet.

It would likely be crowded, but a donut is a donut. There is even a discount code printed on the paper. It might be a pleasant surprise.

A small group has gathered in front of the door by the time he gets there, making the frown on his face burrow deeper, accompanied by an aggravated exhale. Well, he has walked all this way already. If it came down to it, Legato could take subtle advantage of his powers - the fraction of them that were returned, anyway.

Certain situations called for it.

"Some hole," they answer in their usual snark. "Surprised to see you in this place - thought you'd be more stuck to your precious Knives-sama."

They lean back, taking their chin off of Legato's shoulder as if they knew they were pushing their luck with the contact. The hivemind folds their legs criss-cross on the bench as they tilt their head at an almost unnatural angle.

" Master Knives is busy. You should find ways to entertain yourself in this place, as I am trying to, " the words are spoken under his breath, hushed and tinted with irritation.

Another bookmark is placed on the page to accompany the few dozen others sticking out of the book before he closes it, head tilting as he runs his fingertip along the carving of the cover.

" Other ways than bothering me, that is, " a necessary addition. He leans as far back against the bench as possible, head turning towards Zazie.

Finally, it felt like he could take a breathe. All confusing matters aside, this wasn't No Man's Land. The cutthroat nature of that apocalyptic landscape was behind him as long as he was in this city. No repetitive missions of bloodshed and slaughter. No rigid march towards the end of the world. No Millions Knives. No--

The wind is knocked out of his lungs as the gravity surrounding his body pushes him down violently. Midvalley is pinned in place, pinpricks attacking his skin as an awfully familiar sensation possess his limbs.

Brown eyes snap wide open, and the musician's jaw drops in utter shock. Of all of the people that could had walked into his jazz club, this was the absolute worst possible choice.

" What are you doing here--? "

Legato Bluesummers.

Like a ghost, he was here to haunt him as his eternal torment.

For now, he grants Midvalley the grace of subtlety. He restrains him in a way that wouldn't draw attention from curious onlookers beyond a glance or two. Especially given the quietness of this particular corner of the club.

" That's my question. Last I remember, I sent you off to die. "

He speaks the words with his usual melodic cadence. It's a sharp contrast to the rapid movement with which he presses the heel of his boot into the plush edge of the seat the man is sitting on, just an inch or two away from his leg.

It's a familiar enough scene that Midvalley could almost pretend to be comfortable. When night fell upon the city, the venues and bars filled up. Neon lights reminiscent of JuLai's clubs drew him in, a moth to a lamp, but it was the music that really got hit him hooked. Energetic, carefree, brassy bliss. Man, when was the last time he was able to listen to music without tasting bile in the back of his throat?

Nobody recognized who he was in the bar, and he was unable to put a name to any of the strangers that he came across. Midvalley blended right in as just another one of the citizens of the ward. Penniless, patting himself down, he cannot find a single double dollar-- nor was he able to figure out the digital currency on his phone.

It's disgustingly sweet right from the first sip, further amplified by the spoonful of whipped cream, the total amount of sugar enough to make anyone keel over with nausea. Just as he likes it.

A single step is taken away from the bar counter when he spots a familiar face, hidden all the way to the back of the bar - the very same he hadn't seen since he sent him off on that suicide mission without a second thought.

He seems relaxed, eyes closed, blissfully unaware of his surroundings.

Legato doesn't give the man a chance to doubt his false sense of safety until he's only a couple of steps away from him. With a flick of a hand, the invisible force latches onto his joints, threading in, keeping him firmly glued onto the seat.

Well, if they were a certain blue-haired, religious zealot, they probably would find themselves in the nearest Church...

Zazie hums a little to themselves as they open the door to the Church of Onoma, and quickly spot their prey. A playful smirk lights on the face of the teenaged host body they were using as they slink their way into the shadows to be less noticed.

Only to skitter up to the seated puppeteer and immediately perch their chin on their shoulder. "Legato," they say in a low voice, "I fouuund you~"

It used to come to him easier than this.

A shaky exhale is breathed out, the notebook tossed on the bench next to him. He bows his head down, hands laced together and pressed against his forehead, glassy eyes facing forward.

Repent, repent, repent for your sins.

The sudden presence near him makes him flinch back, a frustrated huff given after he realizes this company is a familiar one.

That was how Chara saw things, anyway. Whenever they believe in a higher power or not is something else — and not something they’re willing to share. They bend down to pick some more flowers, twisting them into another bracelet as they talk.

" Existence is an odd thing. We are all expected to appreciate it, despite of having been handed it without our consent, " again, he holds out his hand to touch the fragile petals of the flower sprouting from the lush ground. All of it being supported without outside sources still sounds like a miracle.