#fatedstrands

It was another late night, alone and without Jayce. He had tried to stop caring what the man was up to, but there was a feeling of discomfort. Of betrayal. He seemed so focused now on his new role with the counsel that he forgot all about their ambitions. About why they were doing this to begin with.

And now he was dying. Inching closer and closer to death with every moment. It wouldn't be long now, and it seemed no matter how hard he pushed, his life was going to come to a halt fairly quickly.

He runs a hand over his tired face, feeling the strain of lack of sleep tugging at him. Perhaps he should take a small break to get some water. Some walking might wake up and jog his mind, after all. Viktor reaches beside him and takes hold of his cane, positioning it to help leverage himself onto his feet. It took a moment to adjust to being on his feet, but he began to head towards the door when it happened.

It started with a soft crackle, which only grew louder. Turning back, he looked towards the desk with confusion. Somehow, the Hexcore was acting up on its own. It was not the first time it had done this, but he watched with tired curiosity to see what would happen. The device began to swirl and spin, the pieces seeming to open up as blue energy swirled around it.

He expected it to fizzle out, as it had before, but the core seemed to keep going, suddenly forming growing plant matter that seemed to come from within the core itself. He grips his cane, stepping back towards the desk with a fixation of curiosity as the plant matter grows and grows, but instead of dying, as it had previously done, it seemed to be holding itself. Carefully, he reaches a hand out to touch the item, but pulls his hand back quickly as a burst of energy seems to explode from the device, knocking him back. He stumbles and falls to the ground, wincing in pain.

Viktor looks towards the growing plant matter, watching as it seems to form a figure -- a whole person. In the blue glow, it almost looked as though the person had wings. He frowns, shaking his head and rubbing at his eyes. Surely he was seeing things. His gaze returned to the figure, which was now formed and whole, standing on his desk. The Hexcore seemed to calm down, slowing its circling and coming to a standstill on the desk beside the figure.

One lone cloud followed Livio, mirroring its long journey across the open sky with his across the vast desert. How long has its shape been held up there in such a dry world? One in a million that enough moisture could have gathered to form such a cute, white cotton wisp above him. Its faint shadow trailed beside him a little ways away across the tiny dunes, slowly fading over time till there was only bright sun again. What a way to be reminded that he's rather alone out here. The journey for Love and Peace is not an easy one sometimes.

Just as that cloud had run out so it would seem that Livio ran out on water and rations. He had plenty of ammunition, though. It's too bad he can't eat bullets and he wasn't sure how far away the next town would be. Having drank the last of the water, he held his canteen out, spout end down, with nay even a drop to fall from the rim. Despite being a regenerator, he still had to eat and drink. What a dreadful way to go, starvation and dehydration. They are humble reminders that he isn't immortal.

To add insult to injury, this was an area he wasn't familiar with. Not a Sand Steamer or Tomas in sight. Big pointed boulders were his only landmarks and source of shade out here. One after another, he passed the massive stone giants, each one a pin on the board for how dire he needs to find a town or any form of civilization. He gives a heavy sigh and removes his wide rim hat to wipe the sweat from his brow. A few strands of his lengthy white hair fall out of place into his face. His patience is waning with the length of his hair and he vows to slice it all off the next change he gets. But like a compass pointing him in the direction he needs to go, he spots something over the horizon past the obscuring strands.

Was that a building? Not even a whole town, just a muddled structure. The figure wavered in the intense heat making it hard for him to make out what it was but he knew it wasn't another rock. Slicking his hair back and returning his hat back to it's resting place, he ventures towards it. As he got closer the architecture became clearer to resemble more of the churches he'd seen while with The Eye of Michael. The silhouette reminded him of it, but the details were unlike ones he's ever seen. Gothic in architecture with so many minor details to take in. The front entrance stood tall and looming as Livio walked his way to it. Foregoing knocking, he places a palm to the door and pushes to see if it is open. It is, yet he found that odd somehow.

[<-]

Legato's confession earns him the weight of stark gray eyes. Wolfwood stares at him from over one shoulder, uncertain if he's heard the loyalist correctly and how to respond to his utterance. It makes sense, really. From where he's standing - from what he knows of Legato. How did it never occur to him before, when he's known so many survivors of No Man's slave trade?

Livio-

"You don't gotta do that!" He snaps against Legato's touch. Because he's scared of it. Because it's always reached to break him before, and the feral part of his mind expects history to repeat itself. The hackles of his soul rise, and a quiver moves down his freshly reconnected spine. It takes him a handful of seconds to ease under Legato's invisible threads. It's the man's voice, more than anything that relieves the initial terror of contact.

"...You can just ask me to wait.” He means to inform, but the words come out too weak. They sound more like begging than Wolfwood would like. He stumbles against the advance of fingers on his wrist, tempted to bolt. Or flinch, but Legato’s advice is a confusing string of kind truths. Nick looks toward their would-be refuge, on the cusp of being convinced and somewhere, in the span it takes him to consider, Legato presses a hand to his chest and leans like a lover against the sturdiness that is his curse.

He can not locate his voice when faced with Legato’s unexpected closeness.  Wolfwood blinks slowly over the slightly shorter man he considers to be his oppressor; over periwinkle colored hair and the solitary eye that escapes it’s curtain. His chest collapses, along with his will. Void of breath. Void of fight. They are stranded. Not by transit, but by their bodies – by their minds.

‘Please don’t make me knock you out,’

Two muses I've been interacting with on this blog and @bone-pile-rp.

Legato has no pause, he's kicking the other in the rear with his heel.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Nicholas wasn't ready for that— he stumbles forward a few steps and snap his attention to who did it with an agitated growl.

He didn't skip a beat to grab Legato by his collar in rage.

Legato has no reservations, he's simply going to walk up to the Humanoid Typhoon, tug on his jacket and sink teeth into the meat of the other's shoulder with a soft sigh.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — » （ ✗ ）@fatedstrands

The blonde looks his way as he approaches, grabbing a hold of his jacket and tugging him close. At first he thought Legato was going in for a surprise kiss but instead leans down to his shoulder and bites him. Vash nervously laughs at himself as the opposite hand raises to pet the other's head.