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Plants aren’t supposed to look like Vash.
Or, at least, he thinks they aren’t.
He and K̶n̶i̶v̶e̶s̶ Nai did, sure, but what did that really mean in the grand scheme?
That they were mutants within their own kind?
Outliers destined to suffer because they could never fall into place among the others. Or, was it that they were left here to do something that the others couldn’t? Beyond the plant shells that bind their sisters, and in that was their grand purpose in this world?
Nai certainly seemed to think so. His ramblings, that Vash could understand, from the last time they spoke to each other gave him little faith in his brothers’s ideals. Not to mention the plant theft he was participating in.
It all was adding up to a picture Vash wasn't at all fond of.
However, that still left one big question lingering in the air.
Why did they have to be this way?
It really did nothing for him to have to present this way. Or, it did in theory. However, when your every facet of your being doesn’t fit with in the fabric of skin that has to surround it, it makes thing surprisingly difficult to fit in with the people you’re supposed to look like.
His flesh felt more like a facsimile to what he was trying to look like than actual skin. His bones are simultaneously both short and tall- if you can even call them bones at all- that makes him look off from whatever angle you see him from. Various parts of his body are too long, specifically his tongue barely fits into the back of his mouth most times, and his eyes just couldn’t seem to stop themselves from glowing in the dark at the worst of times.
Of course, he’d gotten used to these pieces of himself with time. But everytime he wondered back into civilization he was reminded how much of a dead ringer he was to ‘wrong’ whenever someone flinched around him. No matter how comfortable people got around him, there would always be a point where they looked at him with such fear that he wanted to disappear back into the sand on the spot.
With these cocktail of factors left on his shoulders, it felt like he had no choice but to consider how little they truly helped in the grand scheme while he made his way through the desert. He just couldn’t help himself. Even if he didn’t want to his mind still found itself wondering to what all was wrong with him. There had been points where it had become such an issue at some points that the what ifs had started to consume him out there. Wondering about what would become of him if he could tear himself apart and start a new as a more genuine version of his kind.
Clawing away the aching pale skin, scars and all, and start over again. Tearing away the flesh until the his neon tinted blood rush our from very crack and crevice of his body. His bones finally being able to take their final form, his mouth settling into it’s proper shape, his always feeling fitting into place whenever he had to force it down, and his eyes no longer sticking out like a sore thumb as he scanned he darkening desert with his bright pupils.
All of these little details that weighed on him whenever he had to be seen by a human finally feeling fitting for the shape he lived in. No longer pushing and grinding against his figure to burst forward and make something new. Rather, they would be able to kind contentment inside of him. Just like they should be able to no, but never seemed to be everytime he moved around.
Finally feeling in place with those of his kind, but also having a specific place within the human race.
He’d properly be able be able to embrace the title of monster then.
He was the humanoid typhoon, after all.
He’d heard a few people call him a beast before, and that was just one step away from being a monster.
So why not take on the title for everyone?
Certainly it would make it easier in demonizing him like humans seemed so hellbent on.
He couldn't hold it against them, of course. They were only reacting like any sane person would to an insane world that he happened to also have to live in. Still though, it caused him enough internal strife as Nai went around adding crimes to the list already above his head. Alienating those who may have called him a friend once in the process. There was so rarely anyone that would trust him now a-days he was shocked he was even able to reach out to Meryl and Roberto like he was.
And then there was Wolfwood.
Nicolas D. Wolfwood.
Human experiment.
And the proverbial Punisher that kept lingering around, despite their differing views on the world.
Also, as of right now, the only person who’d offered him to help with the scars on his back. The blonde returning back to reality as he feels a hand get placed on his back.
“You sure you’re okay with you? You keep disappearing on me.” Wolfwood asks, voice still had his usual self assured nature to it. However there was an extra edge to it that Vash could only describe as nervous.
Vash awkwardly clears his throat, “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m just not used to people seeing me like this is all.”
These marks were the remnants that were always going to be there to remind him of what people always ended up thinking of him, after all. Not like he’d gotten into the habit of flashing his proverbial battle scars around. So it was rather important to him that he was trusting Wolfwood like this. Even if it was for a quick patch up, that the priest had suggested no less.
Still though, it stung a how these marks were always going to be a reminder to him about how people saw him. A walking disaster that needed to be put down, or a chance to make a quick buck.
And everytime the damage got to be too big, he’d have to limp his way back to Melca Border. Trusting that they’d be able to patch him up, but also too afraid to ask what they had to do to him. If he didn’t ask questions then neither would they. He preferred it this way, helped him avoid having to confront his continued pattern of failures that followed him around.
However, that left a lot of the damage on him that was relatively unattended beyond his scarce visits to the ship. Leading to a pox marked skin that really bore how inhuman he was in how they seemed to scar.
“These patches here,” Wolfwood says tapping on one of his shoulders, “makes it look like someone tried to skin you alive!”
Vash can’t help but crack a smile at that description. While feeling a bandage get placed above it he cooly remarks, “I don’t think we can fix that one. It’s been a few years now since I got it.” Continuing to feel Wolfwood’s hands slide over his skin. Their times feeling rough, but not as rough as the areas that they were being drawn to.
Vash couldn’t quite place why he’d approached him tonight to deal with this. Maybe it was because this was the first night their little group was able to stay in a real home. The kind of place if you pay enough money you can rent out for the night, which just so happened to have two rooms for the the four of them to split. Though as the two men entered the room he’s still surprised that this is what first sprang to Wolfwood’s mind.
He would have expected him to be wanting to get a goodnights sleep without feeling the sand in his hair, or enjoying the ability to properly clean out all that dust that was tinting his hair to be more of a light black then a jet black.
But no, instead he’d pulled some bandages and tap from his jacket and offered to patch Vash up. They’d both watched each other get dinged up though, so why did he feel like he needed to make the first move in a healing process that neither had seemed concerned about before?
“A few years or a few decades, Needle-Noggin?” Wolfwood cuttingly questions, though he clearly didn’t mean it aggressively as he lets out a small chuckle at his own joke. “Let’s be honest here, your perception of time isn’t exactly ideal.”
Vash follows his lead, chuckling at his own ineptitudes. While on the inside it began to knaw away at him just how accurate that joke really was. His hands clutched down at the gray sheets beneath him. They felt heavy in his heads, but the bed underneath him felt light as a feather. A strange dichotomy that seemed to be textualizing the swirling emotions he felt shooting through his body at any given moment.
After all, it was a completely fair joke to make! Yet, at the same time, it was an issue he had always struggled with. Once time slipped into the hundreds of years, well he quickly found himself lacking the perception needed to be able to place when he’d gotten a lot of the markers that were now left on his body. Instead, all he was able to come up with were the circumstance surrounding it, and when it eventually got properly treated. With that even coming up as a struggle at points. Heavily being depending on how his mental state was at the time of the incident.
Yet another reason to want to start over it would seem. Detaching himself from the anguish his body had previously experienced, and instead allowing it to start over. All the markers of a life well lived finally removed so that he could look at the world with new eyes. Allowing himself a new point of view on it all, and maybe beginning to understand what Nai meant by it all.
As it stands now though, that particular thought pattern was not ideal.
Giving up wasn’t an option now. And neither was giving into to Nai’s agenda when it came to dealing with humans either.
No, that was one of the many nihilistic moments he’d had out there in the sand. It did little for him now that he’d found people to travel alongside.
Still though, that didn’t stop them from resurfacing at the worst of times.
“You didn’t do any of this to yourself, right?” Wolfwood suddenly asks, making Vash flinch back into reality and the priest take a step back in response. His hands held up as though he were being held at gunpoint while Vash turned his head towards him.
“Sorry I didn’t mean to– you’re fine.” Vash attempts to reassure, “But um, why do you ask?”
“There’s just some marks here that look like– if it’s a difficult subject we don’t have to talk about it.” His voice switches from being it’s usual monotone deep sound, to being something more akin to sympathetic. While his eyes looked at Vash with a startling amount of understanding he hadn’t expected to find in them.
Though in it’s own sick way, it made some sense.
“Uh– no not really.” He shakily reaches out towards where Wolfwood’s hand had just been. His fingers lingering just long enough for him to notice how long they’d gotten without him noticing. Properly retracting them with that realization, but also knowing why Wolfwood would ask. “There’s been some issues in the past at a few points, but it’s nothing for you to be concerned about.” He flashes Wolfwood his usual reassuring smile, though it seems to do little to actually assure him at all.
“Whatever you say, Needle-Noggin.” He mutters before putting out more gaze, “But if it’s too much for you it’s easy enough to stop.”
“No, please don’t.” He practically pleads, his words coming out whinier than he intend and only serving to make him cringe at how actually desperate he was for this.
He just–
He hadn’t realized how much he missed human contact with his skin until now.
It made him feel, well it made him actually feel like he was apart of them.
That he was just another person like Wolfwood, and that none of this mattered to him.
It was a strange thing to feel maybe, but his body was covered head to toe for various reasons. With the only real contrast to that lifestyle being that he never could feel someone whenever he got the chance to be near them. It made moments like this all the more important to him. Especially because it wasn’t his idea to do this.
Wolfwood stands there for a beat, still somewhat unsure how to proceed, before leaning down and resting his forehead on Vash’s back. The sensation runs through his body like a shock to the system. The heat from his companion’s head standing starkly against Vash’s own cold temperature. Another unfortunate quirk, as it would seem, of being a plant. A body temperature that just never seemed to match the environment around him. However, in a moment like this it felt like it was working to his advantage.
Wolfwood’s head moves slightly against his back, almost coming off as a nuzzling motion of some kind, before the man says against his back. “You need to calm down a little. I’m not gonna be going anywhere anytime soon.”
Swallowing down all the fluster digging into his throat he sputters out, “You say that know, but people always end up disappearing eventually.”
“Well then, come hell or high water, I’ll be here.” His hands end up resting on the blonde’s shoulders, while Vash suddenly feels what could best be described as kisses running down his back.
Too nervous to turn around and see he trust his senses to know what that would feel like, and to believe that is indeed something Wolfwood would have done. After all, it wasn’t unwelcome at all. Rather it was gladly accepted. He just hadn’t been expecting it right now.
Though as he grabs ahold of one of Wolfwood’s hands, squeezing it reassuringly to keep going, his cheek grow red with excitement. The meaning behind this action wasn’t lost on him. Wolfwood was showing him, rather than telling him, how he saw his body. Scars and all, Wolfwood loved it in a way that Vash never thought possible.
And that, for as long as they could be together, would be more than enough for him.