#lost13th

What an incredibly tall woman.

Enough that it seems almost comedic for Cecil to step into the doorway to block her way out of the chic boutique shop. She doesn't have any purchases with her—perhaps she's sent them on ahead?

He hasn't seen any carriages to that effect, either.

But he's sure he could dress her in more gorgeous threads than these, even if they'd be a little more extravagant than her usual fare. Ah, if only his fashion house was here!

❛ Ma chérie, ❜

❛ I am going to follow you home. I thought it best to inform you first. ❜

Their master was a collector of knives, and each one was given a number, organized neatly to be utilized for deadly intent. Some of them proved to be nothing more than disposable cutlery, completely unnecessary once they were brandished for intimidation. What good were such weapons?

The thirteenth one at the very end of the arsenal, sheathed in a far more handsome case than many of the others, had much to boast about.

The numberless one dared to call himself more valuable, for he had no place in the lineup-- nobody to compare to himself in value.

Elendira the Crimsonnail was nothing but a gory ragdoll the last time he had seen her. She had fallen in her battle against the Double Fang, twisted into something unrecognizable.

Legato Bluesummers had also fallen at the hand of Vash the Stampede, a bullet through his skull putting an end to his macabre masquerade.

He had witnessed Elendira's corpse first hand-- and so, when he locks eyes with the Crimsonnail for the first time since arriving to this island, Legato is certain that he was either experiencing a psychotic break, or being dragged through a particularly cruel depiction of Hell.

" You. "

He could not project his thoughts directly into Elendira's mind, not without full functionality of his threads. How meticulous it felt to verbalize everything. Legato remained still and firm in his stance, but the subtle tension in his voice was audible.

" The grave couldn't hold you after all. . .

Familiar being used in the broadest sense of the word. The mangled wreckage looks very little like anything at this point. The spot Knives finds to lay down and curl into a ball might as well be any other part of the ship, but it's fine enough for now.

Hopefully, in the morning, he'll be able to approach the situation with fresh eyes. For now, though, all he wants is to sleep.

"One and a half! Ooooone! One-haaaalf! Aa~aaa~aaaand, zero!! Ready or not, here I—cghrkk—!?"

Turns out that Vash's coat has been pinned to the ground by a heel, preventing him from even trying to stand; for now, the Umber resident hide-n'-seeker isn't going anywhere.

From where he's been squatting for the countdown, he looks up.

Aided by her looming shadow, it's not hard to discern that someone's glaring down at him, even with Elendira's unhappy expression flipped the other way. The pacifist is one for aiming his signature helpless smile back up at a look like that, though, even pairing it with a little friendly wave:

Welcome to cozy Isola Radiale, Elendira!

You will be housed in CONDO 408!

You will retain your enhanced speed, but you can only run as fast as a car.

You will also be given a toy crossbow.

Enjoy your stay!

When Elendira wanders up to him in a seemingly foul mood, Knives braces himself for whatever it might be. He hopes for anything other than a spat with his counterpart and yet he couldn't possibly expect what he's presented with. Frankly, he struggles to fully parse it until Elendira starts talking about Vash's garden and it clicks.

It's a touching enough gesture without the additional mention of his birthday. The date happens every year and yet it still manages to catch him by surprise.

At first, it's anyone's guess what the Plant is thinking. His expression tight and neutral, as it often is. Then it softens and he looks over at Elendira with a rare fondness that seems to be growing more common by the day.

Some indescribable feeling causes for phantom heat to burn at Knives' neck and ears, leaving him to blink slowly while he processes what's happening. How remarkably bold of Elendira. It felt strange for this iteration to be taking care of him, and without at all being of his kin.

Fine, then. Maybe it wouldn't be so horrible to wear different sorts of human clothing, if Elendira had spared this much effort into it. Even if this wasn't any of her business to begin with…!

"Hmmph… C-Commendable." He's speechless otherwise, only managing that much of a feigned grumble—before he awkwardly shuffles off to his own claimed section of the Ark.

"…That's enough." The statement sounds a lot less threatening when Knives is like this, having his cheek pinched in the Ark by one of the only he'd ever allow to so much as touch him.

His half-smushed face is less obscured than usual, the white hood of this borrowed hoodie having fallen back. It makes it clear that he is a genuine counterpart to the dark-haired captain aboard the ship, down to the saturnine expression.

The older Knives, currently in his own quarters, had informed his counterpart of Elendira's existence, and had allowed for him to borrow clothes out of his wardrobe. This world had brought on so much humiliation to him, already… But Knives had no choice but to acknowledge the sense in bearing with this much for a time.