[the amount of repetition he's getting should be concerning, like a newborn baby repeating everything its mother is saying. this kid - guy - whatever, looks somehow even younger now under the harsh fluorescent lighting. a little pale, shivering near uncontrollably, body littered in scars and scratches and flecks of dried blood mixing with the new. jesus fucking christ. his gaze lifts, noting the little beauty mark under his eye he'd missed earlier, drawing him in to ocean-blue and the pretty tinge of rosy red as he stumbles over his own hair style. has he never looked in a mirror? where the fuck did he even come from?
ok. he can do this - he's just gotta focus.
at least until he feels the soft press of his forehead nuzzling in against his shoulder, like he's still seeking protection, like somehow he thinks wolfwood is the guy to give it to him. and just like clockwork, there's the tug on his heartstrings followed by the angry twist in his gut of guilt. this guy wouldn't feel so safe and comfortable cozying up to him if he'd seen the spray of blood, the artful tangle of limbs left halfway across town earlier tonight. fuck - are the drops on his shirt even vash's? his hands come up, gingerly resting on his shoulders with a soft squeeze for the briefest of moments before they tremble slightly and gently start nudging vash back out of that same, bitter bullet of guilt building in his throat and making it hard to even swallow.]
Not quite winter. Heading into spring, or so they say. Hard to tell sometimes when it feels like the sun isn't shinin' around these parts.
Hang on though - I got some clothes for you. Keep the jacket though.
[he sets down the supplies on the edge of the counter, stepping over to the closet which is filled with robes he never wears - some from the previous priests, the old farts who tried to have some semblance of tradition around here. mixed in are the a few pairs of pants and shirts - mostly black. he grabs a stretched out henley and some sweats, probably about to look like floaters on this string bean sitting in front of him - but better than clinging to his coat bare naked all night.]
Let's get you cleaned up for now, then we'll warm you up. C'mere, lemme see your hands first.
[he holds out his own to let vash extend them before picking up some of the saline to clean the cuts. he keeps his tone neutral, casual even so as not to startle him with the questions. easy peasy.]
Looks like you ran pretty far if these are anything to go by.
[he glances up to make sure he's not hurting vash, even though he'd already warned him about the inevitable sting. but just to see if there's a reaction - fear, anger, anything to go off of.]
How'd you wind up in this neighborhood? You from around here? It's not exactly the kinda place we get a lot of visitors dropping by looking for tea and crackers, if I'm bein' honest.
[it's the worst of the worst. no one in their right mind would be out here unless it was familiar or they got lost by sheer dumb luck.]
no subject
ok. he can do this - he's just gotta focus.
at least until he feels the soft press of his forehead nuzzling in against his shoulder, like he's still seeking protection, like somehow he thinks wolfwood is the guy to give it to him. and just like clockwork, there's the tug on his heartstrings followed by the angry twist in his gut of guilt. this guy wouldn't feel so safe and comfortable cozying up to him if he'd seen the spray of blood, the artful tangle of limbs left halfway across town earlier tonight. fuck - are the drops on his shirt even vash's? his hands come up, gingerly resting on his shoulders with a soft squeeze for the briefest of moments before they tremble slightly and gently start nudging vash back out of that same, bitter bullet of guilt building in his throat and making it hard to even swallow.]
Not quite winter. Heading into spring, or so they say. Hard to tell sometimes when it feels like the sun isn't shinin' around these parts.
Hang on though - I got some clothes for you. Keep the jacket though.
[he sets down the supplies on the edge of the counter, stepping over to the closet which is filled with robes he never wears - some from the previous priests, the old farts who tried to have some semblance of tradition around here. mixed in are the a few pairs of pants and shirts - mostly black. he grabs a stretched out henley and some sweats, probably about to look like floaters on this string bean sitting in front of him - but better than clinging to his coat bare naked all night.]
Let's get you cleaned up for now, then we'll warm you up. C'mere, lemme see your hands first.
[he holds out his own to let vash extend them before picking up some of the saline to clean the cuts. he keeps his tone neutral, casual even so as not to startle him with the questions. easy peasy.]
Looks like you ran pretty far if these are anything to go by.
[he glances up to make sure he's not hurting vash, even though he'd already warned him about the inevitable sting. but just to see if there's a reaction - fear, anger, anything to go off of.]
How'd you wind up in this neighborhood? You from around here? It's not exactly the kinda place we get a lot of visitors dropping by looking for tea and crackers, if I'm bein' honest.
[it's the worst of the worst. no one in their right mind would be out here unless it was familiar or they got lost by sheer dumb luck.]