It's everyone's favorite absent writer! I'm sorry for the long delay. Writers block. ::Cringe!:: But... mnn. I miss my Adam. And several people have been asking for me/demanding me/threatening me if I don't get my lazy arse over to the computer to write more of it. ::snort.:: I feel so loved. Grawr. I swear one day I'll go somewhere with this thing.
Really.
...hold your breath.
------------------------------------------
I squint into the sand-laden breeze, one hand raised to shield my eyes as best I can. Still, the grit builds beneath the lid, in the corners of my eyes... nothing like hot winds to blind you.
The other hand I slide under the collar of my shirt, rubbing at my sore shoulder. The cross had rubbed the skin raw, and bruised it to the bone... I could feel the flesh building, the muscles becoming harder, but it wasn't without its price. Even when without it, now, I was off-balance. But it was, oddly, a comfort to have.
The inside of the store was dark after the bright suns outside. Forced again to narrow my gaze, I wait for the too-bright afterimages to fade. When my view finally adjusts, I comb the shelves for the food Vash had asked for. He'd stayed out in the car- the weeks have near healed his injury, but he knows better than to stretch himself.
"Wolf cub." The voice behind me is distinctly feminine, but it sounds strained, as though speaking from a distance. I stiffen, and decide I really don't want to turn around. And then I do anyway.
It's just a girl. A young teen, by my guess... but the look in her eyes is far away. Even I can tell it's not her speaking. She gives me a crazed, blank grin. All I can do is stare. She takes a step forward, and I take one back; her hand is extended, with a flower in it. She offers it up, the blank look slowly falling away, replaced by something calculating and far too familiar. Damnitall. I can almost imagine the gaze, piercing as blue steel, overlaid on the soft, dark eyes. God damn you! I try to find words to condemn him- but they won't come. And there's nothing to be done- he's nowhere near. The extended hand- the very delicacy of his chosen tool a mockery of his power- flicks once, when I don't take the blood colored blossom.
"Take it. Call it a gift," he urges me mockingly through her lips. I feel a snarl paint my own, though I'm still wordless. My expression is apparently betrayal- the girl (a pretty little thing, now that I look at her- I wonder if maybe he's conscious of the irony. Probably,) laughs cruelly. She takes a few steps closer, reaching up to run the free hand across my cheek, pressing the already-wilting bloom into my hand. "Anyone ever tell you," Knives whispers casually, "That you look just like your daddy?"
He twists her lips into a mockery of his own malicious grin, and her fingers clench, dragging nails through my skin. For once, I manage to control myself- I don't cry out, although it hurts. I know better.
And, as I'd expected, his presence fades as quickly as it came. The girl gasps and flinches, pulling away, leaving the flower threaded between my fingers. For a disconcerting moment I follow her gaze to her sinister digits, the nails tinted with something I'd rather not look at too closely, as it's my own. She manages to catch my eyes, and holds my gaze, her confusion contagious. Her eyes- God, she's young, she doesn't know!- are too much to bear; she demands some explanation. One I sure as hell can't give. So, after I regain control, I bolt- forsaking the supplies I'd been sent for and running for the car. I must look like I've seen a ghost, because my uncle drags himself to a more upright position. By then, though, the shock had worn off- the suns' heat dispelling the chills down my spine. I'm conscious again of the ache in my muscles, the sting of beads of perspiration in new wounds. A little too dazed to speak, I let the calling card do it for me. And again, I see that rare flash of supreme virulence over Vash's expression. It's nearly as disconcerting as Knives' trick was. "He's here."
"Not in person." I turn in time to see the girl wandering out of the store, surrounded by a few friends. She looks like she's crying. I can't bring myself to be surprised... nor can I think of anything to make the situation anything but worse. Following my glance, Vash seems to grasp the situation. He pauses, contemplating... I try to catch my breath. We do need provisions.
"Did he say anything...?" The voice breaks my train of thought, and I
turn back to face those bottle-green eyes, blinking once to refocus my sight
and my concentration. The question is
given due consideration... Well, yes, he'd spoken... But for once, I had a
feeling these were words for me. And as such... I was at a bit of a loss.
"Nothing we didn't already
know." Supplies can wait. I slip into the driver's side, and glance in
the rearview once. Vash nods, as though
he understands. He probably does.
It makes me feel a little better to be in the desert again. But something still feels hollow, dirtied by being so close to Knives and having nothing to do. Wind and sand in the clawmarks down my cheek remind me, painfully, that I'm no closer to my vengeance.
I can't forget the look in that poor girl's eyes when she woke...
It's just another sick thing to repay the bastard for, when we find him.