Springtime!! I just love spring! Warm weather, green grass, wardrobe
change... Haha. Enough rambling about the weather. Sorry it took me so
long to post this chapter. I was busy.
~~~~~~
Vash's eyes widened slightly as Stormie laid her hand to the panel on the dark wall, just inside the confines of her garage-like house. It always amazed him when those double doors slid apart to reveal a flight of stairs, which they quickly set to hurrying down, only to arrive in a gigantic room filled to the brim with priceless medical technology. Stormie's basement, also an underground hospital.
Knives, who had their young, bloodied visitor slung over his shoulder, straightened a bit and grunted, "Where do I put him?"
Stormie pointed to a nearby bed with raised walls on all sides even as she pulled on a white lab coat. "There. So, Vash, do you know who this is?" She was now wrestling with her thin, latex gloves.
"Well, he looks like...like Legato, don't you think Knives?"
Knives was towering over the man, who was now spread out on the bed, unconscious and looking to be dead. His clothes were soaked with blood and his face was deathly pale, mouth gaping open with head rolled back on the pillow. And indeed, he resembled Legato closely, right down to the lean, toned muscle of his body and curve of his high cheekbones. His nose was long, aristocratic, and slightly upturned, and the way his eyes were shaped, the length of their lashes... Even the fullness of his lips and the way his dark, chocolate colored hair was short and shaggily cut, draping over a golden eye made for a close resemblance to the other man.
"He could be Legato," Knives murmured wistfully. "I'd even believe he was - if it wasn't impossible. And if he wasn't missing a scar right here..." Knives hand tipped up the look-alike's chin to reveal a long, graceful neck, and his thumb trailed down to the collar bone. "Legato had a horrible scar here. From a suicide attempt."
"Well...it's uncanny, the way they look alike," Vash commented, walking over. He then did a double-take. "Whoa, he's in bad shape. Is he gonna be ok?"
"I dunno. Take off his shirt and we'll see what's bleeding so much." Stormie skipped over, completely unaware she was in a dire situation, and clucked her tongue at what she saw once the article of clothing had been cast aside. Scarlet fluid was gushing from a tear in his side, the skin near shredded. "Well," she said, sobering, "we have our work ahead of us."
~~~~~
"I think I'll name him Yo-yo." Vash had been paying close attention to the near comatose figure that lay in Stormie's basement, a figure in a never- changing state. In fact, after getting off work everyday (he supported the 'family' since Knives refused to work and Stormie was near incapable in her eccentricity), he would march over to the underground lab, sandwich in hand, and keep close watch over the injured soul. One would've thought he was guarding him from the way he was overseeing things so intensely.
"Yo-yo is not a good name," argued Knives, scribbling down furiously on a piece of paper and then handing it to Stormie with a scowl.
She read it slowly, then raised hurt, wavering eyes. "Vash...do you think I'm fat?"
"Don't listen to him, Stormie. He thinks everyone is fat because he's 'perfect'." Vash placed sarcastic emphasis on the last word. It always amazed him how Stormie took everything Knives told her so incredibly seriously and reacted to it as if it had been a great emotional blow. Already, Vash knew Stormie was destined to spend the rest of the week walking around and slamming doors, screaming over how 'fat' she was.
Well, she wasn't fat. Just a little plump. Cute, really.
Stormie turned her attention back to the monitor before her, tapping in some information and reading the outcome. She was very involved in her work when she became aware of Vash stooped over slightly before the bed, his hands pressed to the glass covering that she had slid into place to keep the injured man at the temperature she wanted, among other things.
"He's starting to tremble," Vash murmured, fascinated even as his breath fogged up the glass.
It was true. The man was starting to shake, badly. His teeth had clenched and he appeared to be gripping the bed sheets, his body shaking as if he was in terrible pain.
"Do you think he's having a nightmare?" asked Knives, an aloofness in his voice making it sound like he could care less.
"Don't know," replied Stormie in a low murmur, forgetting her vow not to respond to him whatsoever. "I...I don't know what's wrong with him."
"It is a nightmare," confirmed Vash slowly. "I can tell. Look at how tight he has his eyes shut. He's trying to...to get out or something." The blonde's eyebrows drew together in mixed confusion and concern, and then jumped back apart in shock as he swung away from the bed. The man had tried to bolt into a sitting position, only to smack his head smartly on the glass. He fell back onto the mattress and twisted around onto his stomach like a wounded animal, trying to drag himself along, clawing at the sheets and screaming, struggling against an invisible enemy. But he never opened his eyes.
Stormie watched gravely until she saw that he would injure himself in the long run, and in turn pushed a button on her control panel. A foggy gas poured into the coffin-like bed, and as soon as he breathed in, his body seemed to be rendered motionless. There he lay, turned on his side, one arm stretched out before him with the fingers curled in pitifully, and the other pinned beneath his own body. For just a moment, his golden eyes opened, glazed, and he stared impassively at Vash. And then he breathed in deeply again and passed out once more.
~~~~~
Grayfall, at eighteen, liked to sit on the second story of the old warehouse, perching himself in the battered window seat by the broken pane of glass that let cool air come in. And at night, he liked to just sit there and reflect on his childhood, like when he had been a little boy asking about his father - where he was, who he was, why he wasn't there, ect....
His mother, a maid at a hotel, would always tell him the same thing. "Your father was a very, very strong man. But it seemed like everything in the universe was against him. Sometimes, he said I was his only friend in the world, and then he'd just break down and cry, sobbing about how sorry he was. I - I never knew the details of his private life, because I couldn't get him to make much sense whenever he'd actually open up. But he was so good to me, Grayfall. He broke his back trying to make life easier for me. Every night he could get away, he'd come to this hotel and he'd always bring me something... Food, money, even a piece of jewelry or clothing sometimes. And then he'd just fall asleep in one of the rooms, whichever was free, and I would sit and watch him. A lot of the times, he was in pretty bad shape - like someone had beat him up. I begged him to not go back to wherever it was he went, and sometimes he'd listen, but only for a few days, and during that time that he was with me, he was miserable, like a wild bird I had caged and would not release even though he longed to be free. I didn't know what to do with him..."
Grayfall would nod his head from where he usually sat on the stool at the diner, a small restaurant on the first floor of the shabby hotel. "But that doesn't tell me anything..." he would murmur, his thirteen-year-old mind trying to put two and two together.
"Well," his mother would snap back as she hefted up a heavy tray on her shoulder and grasped a coffee pot in the other hand, "I'm not going to tell you everything. But I will tell you this. He loved me very much, and I loved him. We were all the other had most of the time. One day, he just...disappeared. He had told me he was going to return." Tears would well up in her eyes, making them glitter prettily, and her voice broke. "He promised...he promised he'd come back and never leave again...but he just couldn't. He just...couldn't."
"Why not?"
"Grayfall Bluesummers," she berated him in a sniffle, wiping at her eyes desperately and smearing her mascara in the process. "You know I haven't the faintest."
When Grayfall sat at that broken window, and when he thought about when he was young, he felt very desolate, and very alone. But it was better than being with HIM.
"Hey, Gray," hissed a voice, and he closed his eyes against it, trying to shut it out, ignore it. "Come here. I have something I want to show you."
"Leave me alone," he commanded the telepath.
And then he was being yanked out of his seat by his hair, screaming in pain, fighting against the invisible hands that held him captive. A face leered at him, the telepath that controlled every aspect of his life taunting him with his smile. Grayfall was now standing before the taller, broader man, looking up at him in hatred and annoyance.
"Grayfall Bluesummers," the man said in a strange accent that enunciated certain syllables in a nonsensical pattern, his voice nasal. "You don't listen well. And no matter what I do to you, you are not afraid, and not obedient, making you nothing like your father."
He shrugged. It was true. He'd been near killed a million times, but he just couldn't make himself fear the other man unless he was being struck. And what was all this talk about his father? He just didn't care about that either.
"Come with me," said the man, leading him down the steps and into a room on the first floor. This telepath, who went by the name of Naoshi, seemed ageless and beautiful. His skin was such a pale color, especially when tinted by moonlight, it appeared to be porcelain, and his eyes were an entirely different matter. One was a clear, sapphire blue whilst the other had been tinted a strange amethyst, the purple color striking against his face, which was delicately featured as well. Naturally white, pin-straight hair draped elegantly upon his shoulders and cascaded against his face. Thin and tall and with hands that possessed amazingly long fingers, this telepathic assassin had been raising him ever since the death of his mother three years ago. In reality, he was trying to train Grayfall, but the stubborn personality of teen was proving it to be hard.
Now standing inside the a small, relatively dim room, Grayfall gazed with interest at the woman huddled in a corner. Willowy, blonde, and trembling in fear as she hugged her knees to her chest, she returned his avid gaze with fear and bitterness, seeming to be teetering between life and death with all the blood that had caked on her pale skin, her torn clothes. The way she breathed, the air rattling in her throat, reminded him of a wild creature that had been shot or speared or something of the like.
"I want you to kill her," said Naoshi calmly.
"Why?"
"Because she is a plant, and it will be good practice for you."
"A plant, huh?" Grayfall murmured. "What do you have against them?"
"Without them, this world would be a better place. They are different. They are too powerful. And I hate them."
"So...you're afraid of them?"
"Grayfall, if I feared these creatures, I would not have killed as many of them as I already have. Go ahead. We're all waiting."
Grayfall hesitantly took the knife handed to him and winced. "Can't I use a gun?"
"I want this to be close and personal."
He nodded his understanding and approached the creature still huddled in a little ball at the far end of the room, completely defenseless. Trying to control his steps, attempting to look calm even as he began to sweat, he came to an uncertain stop before his victim and crouched down to observe her further. Their gazes locked. Blue. Deep. Sad. She had the most soulful eyes he had ever seen.
"Well?" Naoshi was getting impatient.
Grayfall felt sick to his stomach. Shakily, he whispered, "I can't do it..."
A bullet whistled past his left ear and embedded itself deep into the plant's chest, soon followed by another, and another. The blood exploded upon a horrified Grayfall's face, and he flinched repeatedly, eyes wide and blank, taking it all in with deathly silence. She slumped onto the ground and he jumped to his feet to back away.
Naoshi was behind him, immediately shoving him forward so that he stumbled and fell, hands instinctively shooting out to stop himself from falling. As a result, the right slid straight through the woman's stomach, through the giant slash, through all the blood...
He tried to pull it out, but Naoshi kicked him in the ribcage, and he collapsed again with a gasp, coming to lie directly on top of the dying plant. It was in such a position that he watched the life drain away from her.
But Naoshi wasn't finished. He began to yell, to scream, to express his anger through violence. Jerking the other man to his feet, he began to beat him like he never had before, to drive his fists into his face, his gut, and to fight dirty with no reserve. Grayfall never even stood a chance, and when he fell to the ground, Naoshi followed, straddling his waist and lacing long, thin fingers around his neck in an attempt to choke him to death, or so it seemed.
Grayfall cried out, tears streaming down his cheeks and blood marring his vision. Blood. Blood was everywhere. He tried to twist and writhe away, but was held steadfast, and the pain...the pain was so incredible it made him dizzy.
A fog started to set in. He guessed that it was unconsciousness overtaking him, and he wondered if he would ever awaken. His body already felt sapped of every ounce of strength, and as he fell motionless, eyes sliding shut, he felt as if his spirit was sinking right out of his body.
A few moments passed. He felt compelled to open his eyes again. He wondered how long he had been asleep, and how much pain he would be in when he awoke. Fuzzy blurs greeted him when he first peered out into the world, and then he saw a face. Not Naoshi, but someone else. It was a man - blonde and fair-skinned and long-faced... His eyes were blue.
Was he a plant? He looked familiar.
Before he could properly ponder over this, he drifted off to sleep once more.
~~~~~
Don't worry, in the next chapter, Grayfall and Vash and the others will actually interact. If you have any ideas, just tell me, and as always, review.
~~~~~~
Vash's eyes widened slightly as Stormie laid her hand to the panel on the dark wall, just inside the confines of her garage-like house. It always amazed him when those double doors slid apart to reveal a flight of stairs, which they quickly set to hurrying down, only to arrive in a gigantic room filled to the brim with priceless medical technology. Stormie's basement, also an underground hospital.
Knives, who had their young, bloodied visitor slung over his shoulder, straightened a bit and grunted, "Where do I put him?"
Stormie pointed to a nearby bed with raised walls on all sides even as she pulled on a white lab coat. "There. So, Vash, do you know who this is?" She was now wrestling with her thin, latex gloves.
"Well, he looks like...like Legato, don't you think Knives?"
Knives was towering over the man, who was now spread out on the bed, unconscious and looking to be dead. His clothes were soaked with blood and his face was deathly pale, mouth gaping open with head rolled back on the pillow. And indeed, he resembled Legato closely, right down to the lean, toned muscle of his body and curve of his high cheekbones. His nose was long, aristocratic, and slightly upturned, and the way his eyes were shaped, the length of their lashes... Even the fullness of his lips and the way his dark, chocolate colored hair was short and shaggily cut, draping over a golden eye made for a close resemblance to the other man.
"He could be Legato," Knives murmured wistfully. "I'd even believe he was - if it wasn't impossible. And if he wasn't missing a scar right here..." Knives hand tipped up the look-alike's chin to reveal a long, graceful neck, and his thumb trailed down to the collar bone. "Legato had a horrible scar here. From a suicide attempt."
"Well...it's uncanny, the way they look alike," Vash commented, walking over. He then did a double-take. "Whoa, he's in bad shape. Is he gonna be ok?"
"I dunno. Take off his shirt and we'll see what's bleeding so much." Stormie skipped over, completely unaware she was in a dire situation, and clucked her tongue at what she saw once the article of clothing had been cast aside. Scarlet fluid was gushing from a tear in his side, the skin near shredded. "Well," she said, sobering, "we have our work ahead of us."
~~~~~
"I think I'll name him Yo-yo." Vash had been paying close attention to the near comatose figure that lay in Stormie's basement, a figure in a never- changing state. In fact, after getting off work everyday (he supported the 'family' since Knives refused to work and Stormie was near incapable in her eccentricity), he would march over to the underground lab, sandwich in hand, and keep close watch over the injured soul. One would've thought he was guarding him from the way he was overseeing things so intensely.
"Yo-yo is not a good name," argued Knives, scribbling down furiously on a piece of paper and then handing it to Stormie with a scowl.
She read it slowly, then raised hurt, wavering eyes. "Vash...do you think I'm fat?"
"Don't listen to him, Stormie. He thinks everyone is fat because he's 'perfect'." Vash placed sarcastic emphasis on the last word. It always amazed him how Stormie took everything Knives told her so incredibly seriously and reacted to it as if it had been a great emotional blow. Already, Vash knew Stormie was destined to spend the rest of the week walking around and slamming doors, screaming over how 'fat' she was.
Well, she wasn't fat. Just a little plump. Cute, really.
Stormie turned her attention back to the monitor before her, tapping in some information and reading the outcome. She was very involved in her work when she became aware of Vash stooped over slightly before the bed, his hands pressed to the glass covering that she had slid into place to keep the injured man at the temperature she wanted, among other things.
"He's starting to tremble," Vash murmured, fascinated even as his breath fogged up the glass.
It was true. The man was starting to shake, badly. His teeth had clenched and he appeared to be gripping the bed sheets, his body shaking as if he was in terrible pain.
"Do you think he's having a nightmare?" asked Knives, an aloofness in his voice making it sound like he could care less.
"Don't know," replied Stormie in a low murmur, forgetting her vow not to respond to him whatsoever. "I...I don't know what's wrong with him."
"It is a nightmare," confirmed Vash slowly. "I can tell. Look at how tight he has his eyes shut. He's trying to...to get out or something." The blonde's eyebrows drew together in mixed confusion and concern, and then jumped back apart in shock as he swung away from the bed. The man had tried to bolt into a sitting position, only to smack his head smartly on the glass. He fell back onto the mattress and twisted around onto his stomach like a wounded animal, trying to drag himself along, clawing at the sheets and screaming, struggling against an invisible enemy. But he never opened his eyes.
Stormie watched gravely until she saw that he would injure himself in the long run, and in turn pushed a button on her control panel. A foggy gas poured into the coffin-like bed, and as soon as he breathed in, his body seemed to be rendered motionless. There he lay, turned on his side, one arm stretched out before him with the fingers curled in pitifully, and the other pinned beneath his own body. For just a moment, his golden eyes opened, glazed, and he stared impassively at Vash. And then he breathed in deeply again and passed out once more.
~~~~~
Grayfall, at eighteen, liked to sit on the second story of the old warehouse, perching himself in the battered window seat by the broken pane of glass that let cool air come in. And at night, he liked to just sit there and reflect on his childhood, like when he had been a little boy asking about his father - where he was, who he was, why he wasn't there, ect....
His mother, a maid at a hotel, would always tell him the same thing. "Your father was a very, very strong man. But it seemed like everything in the universe was against him. Sometimes, he said I was his only friend in the world, and then he'd just break down and cry, sobbing about how sorry he was. I - I never knew the details of his private life, because I couldn't get him to make much sense whenever he'd actually open up. But he was so good to me, Grayfall. He broke his back trying to make life easier for me. Every night he could get away, he'd come to this hotel and he'd always bring me something... Food, money, even a piece of jewelry or clothing sometimes. And then he'd just fall asleep in one of the rooms, whichever was free, and I would sit and watch him. A lot of the times, he was in pretty bad shape - like someone had beat him up. I begged him to not go back to wherever it was he went, and sometimes he'd listen, but only for a few days, and during that time that he was with me, he was miserable, like a wild bird I had caged and would not release even though he longed to be free. I didn't know what to do with him..."
Grayfall would nod his head from where he usually sat on the stool at the diner, a small restaurant on the first floor of the shabby hotel. "But that doesn't tell me anything..." he would murmur, his thirteen-year-old mind trying to put two and two together.
"Well," his mother would snap back as she hefted up a heavy tray on her shoulder and grasped a coffee pot in the other hand, "I'm not going to tell you everything. But I will tell you this. He loved me very much, and I loved him. We were all the other had most of the time. One day, he just...disappeared. He had told me he was going to return." Tears would well up in her eyes, making them glitter prettily, and her voice broke. "He promised...he promised he'd come back and never leave again...but he just couldn't. He just...couldn't."
"Why not?"
"Grayfall Bluesummers," she berated him in a sniffle, wiping at her eyes desperately and smearing her mascara in the process. "You know I haven't the faintest."
When Grayfall sat at that broken window, and when he thought about when he was young, he felt very desolate, and very alone. But it was better than being with HIM.
"Hey, Gray," hissed a voice, and he closed his eyes against it, trying to shut it out, ignore it. "Come here. I have something I want to show you."
"Leave me alone," he commanded the telepath.
And then he was being yanked out of his seat by his hair, screaming in pain, fighting against the invisible hands that held him captive. A face leered at him, the telepath that controlled every aspect of his life taunting him with his smile. Grayfall was now standing before the taller, broader man, looking up at him in hatred and annoyance.
"Grayfall Bluesummers," the man said in a strange accent that enunciated certain syllables in a nonsensical pattern, his voice nasal. "You don't listen well. And no matter what I do to you, you are not afraid, and not obedient, making you nothing like your father."
He shrugged. It was true. He'd been near killed a million times, but he just couldn't make himself fear the other man unless he was being struck. And what was all this talk about his father? He just didn't care about that either.
"Come with me," said the man, leading him down the steps and into a room on the first floor. This telepath, who went by the name of Naoshi, seemed ageless and beautiful. His skin was such a pale color, especially when tinted by moonlight, it appeared to be porcelain, and his eyes were an entirely different matter. One was a clear, sapphire blue whilst the other had been tinted a strange amethyst, the purple color striking against his face, which was delicately featured as well. Naturally white, pin-straight hair draped elegantly upon his shoulders and cascaded against his face. Thin and tall and with hands that possessed amazingly long fingers, this telepathic assassin had been raising him ever since the death of his mother three years ago. In reality, he was trying to train Grayfall, but the stubborn personality of teen was proving it to be hard.
Now standing inside the a small, relatively dim room, Grayfall gazed with interest at the woman huddled in a corner. Willowy, blonde, and trembling in fear as she hugged her knees to her chest, she returned his avid gaze with fear and bitterness, seeming to be teetering between life and death with all the blood that had caked on her pale skin, her torn clothes. The way she breathed, the air rattling in her throat, reminded him of a wild creature that had been shot or speared or something of the like.
"I want you to kill her," said Naoshi calmly.
"Why?"
"Because she is a plant, and it will be good practice for you."
"A plant, huh?" Grayfall murmured. "What do you have against them?"
"Without them, this world would be a better place. They are different. They are too powerful. And I hate them."
"So...you're afraid of them?"
"Grayfall, if I feared these creatures, I would not have killed as many of them as I already have. Go ahead. We're all waiting."
Grayfall hesitantly took the knife handed to him and winced. "Can't I use a gun?"
"I want this to be close and personal."
He nodded his understanding and approached the creature still huddled in a little ball at the far end of the room, completely defenseless. Trying to control his steps, attempting to look calm even as he began to sweat, he came to an uncertain stop before his victim and crouched down to observe her further. Their gazes locked. Blue. Deep. Sad. She had the most soulful eyes he had ever seen.
"Well?" Naoshi was getting impatient.
Grayfall felt sick to his stomach. Shakily, he whispered, "I can't do it..."
A bullet whistled past his left ear and embedded itself deep into the plant's chest, soon followed by another, and another. The blood exploded upon a horrified Grayfall's face, and he flinched repeatedly, eyes wide and blank, taking it all in with deathly silence. She slumped onto the ground and he jumped to his feet to back away.
Naoshi was behind him, immediately shoving him forward so that he stumbled and fell, hands instinctively shooting out to stop himself from falling. As a result, the right slid straight through the woman's stomach, through the giant slash, through all the blood...
He tried to pull it out, but Naoshi kicked him in the ribcage, and he collapsed again with a gasp, coming to lie directly on top of the dying plant. It was in such a position that he watched the life drain away from her.
But Naoshi wasn't finished. He began to yell, to scream, to express his anger through violence. Jerking the other man to his feet, he began to beat him like he never had before, to drive his fists into his face, his gut, and to fight dirty with no reserve. Grayfall never even stood a chance, and when he fell to the ground, Naoshi followed, straddling his waist and lacing long, thin fingers around his neck in an attempt to choke him to death, or so it seemed.
Grayfall cried out, tears streaming down his cheeks and blood marring his vision. Blood. Blood was everywhere. He tried to twist and writhe away, but was held steadfast, and the pain...the pain was so incredible it made him dizzy.
A fog started to set in. He guessed that it was unconsciousness overtaking him, and he wondered if he would ever awaken. His body already felt sapped of every ounce of strength, and as he fell motionless, eyes sliding shut, he felt as if his spirit was sinking right out of his body.
A few moments passed. He felt compelled to open his eyes again. He wondered how long he had been asleep, and how much pain he would be in when he awoke. Fuzzy blurs greeted him when he first peered out into the world, and then he saw a face. Not Naoshi, but someone else. It was a man - blonde and fair-skinned and long-faced... His eyes were blue.
Was he a plant? He looked familiar.
Before he could properly ponder over this, he drifted off to sleep once more.
~~~~~
Don't worry, in the next chapter, Grayfall and Vash and the others will actually interact. If you have any ideas, just tell me, and as always, review.
