Disclaimer: I don't own anything Trigun, so don't sue me please, thank you!
Myshkin: This story's not bad enough for an R rating now, is it? I think I'll kick it down to PG-13. If you have any problems with language, let me know.
Tying Up Loose Ends
Chapter Nine
Effectual Healing
In the middle of nowhere, a column of dust rose to meet the sky. Nothing but the two suns witnessed the small jeep as it crept along the terrain like a dirty, old beetle. If anything with eyes had actually watched this boring scene, they'd have noticed two small figures in the jeep; well, one small figure and one particularly tall one.
"Meryl, we've been driving for days," the tall one whined. "Are we there yet?"
The small one scowled and gritted her teeth, trying to hold back her rage.
"Does it look like we're there yet, Milly?" she asked, her voice strained.
"Nope, sure doesn't!" came the sunny reply.
Silence fell once more over the vehicle and its surroundings.
"Are we lost, then?"
"No Milly, we're not lost."
"Then where are we?"
The jeep slammed to a halt, sending the tall girl forward in her seat, straining against her seat belt. The small girl sat there, hands griping the steering wheel with whitened knuckles and eyes staring focused on nothing but the horizon ahead. Her lips moved silently and one would almost think she was counting to ten.
"Meryl?"
"Look, it's a long way to February. The damn city's in the middle of nowhere, like everything else on this god-forsaken planet, and I can only drive so fast. If you have a better idea on how to get there faster, I'm game."
The tall girl sat and thought for a moment before replying.
"Nope, can't think of a single way!"
She smiled broadly and her companion sighed, wondering for the hundredth time why it had to be her. The jeep started moving again and they were on their way.
* * * * *
Another figure was out and about that day as well, hardly watched over by an impassive environment.
The wind whipped around Edy as she sped through the desert on Isaiah's motorbike. Her heavy duster streamed out behind her, flapping its thick self silly in the wind. Bug-like eyes peered out from the space between the coat's high collar and the dinged-up old helmet; thick goggles protected Edy's eyes from the dust.
An unusual weight rested against Edy's side because of the old revolver that sat in her shoulder holster. She hated knowing how to use the damn thing but it this world one needed all the protection one could get. Edy had no idea what kind of a person she headed towards, some man sick and laying up in a cave in the middle of the wilderness. Isaiah actually was the one that insisted she brought father's gun with her when they talked that morning, before Edy headed out.
She hadn't slept much, but her mind didn't seem to care what her body thought about that matter. Around nine o'clock she got up and got dressed, knowing she needed to go see about Isaiah's "foundling." Isaiah was up too, sitting at the kitchen table with a huge bowl of cereal and his nose stuck in a book. Beneath his feet lay Roscoe, asleep and probably dreaming considering the way his legs wind-milled in the air while his eyes remained closed. It being Isaiah's favorite morning ritual, Edy never complained about their quiet breakfasts together, usually taking the time to read the newspaper or whatever novel she too had become absorbed in.
When Edy entered the kitchen Isaiah actually set down his book and handed her a piece of paper with directions to the cave written down in his messy handwriting.
"You'll need to be on the lookout," he instructed in his most grown-up voice, "since it's really easy to miss. It's about a four hour ride, so if you drive for much longer, you've gone too far. And make sure you take this."
Isaiah picked an aged, wooden box up off the chair beside him and handed it to Edy. She sighed, knowing he was probably right about it, but not wanting to admit it. Unsnapping the latch, Edy pulled the holster out and slid it on over her shirt, one of the ones with a removable right sleeve. She then pulled out a bundle wrapped in fine black linen, unwrapping the cloth to reveal the gun. Although it had seen numerous years, it had been kept in perfect working condition by Edy's father and then Edy herself, more out of habit than pride in the weapon; her father had trained her at a young age how to shoot and fight, telling her that in this world a woman couldn't rely on some man to ride to her rescue on a shining white horse.
The gun reminded her of the ancient Western American stories her father loved to read to her so much when she was little. Whenever she pulled out the revolver, she pictured herself getting ready to head to the town square at high noon for a showdown. This thought always made her slightly sick to her stomach. Reluctantly placing it in the holster, Edy then shrugged on the huge, heavy duster that she had brought down with her. It was made of a thick canvas and acted as perfect protection against the elements. She pulled a pair of darkly tinted goggles out of the pocket and hung them around her neck.
"It's alright if I take your motorbike, isn't it Isaiah," she asked on last time. Last night, when Edy couldn't sleep, Isaiah had come in and got into bed with her like he used to when he was little; they had talked for a while and Isaiah had mentioned that he wanted her to take the motorbike to go visit his "foundling." Despite the topic of conversation, it made her wistful, thinking of what her life had been almost a year ago.
Back then, whenever Edy had a hard day Isaiah always said he knew that she needed a big hug, so big only he could give it to her. Edy enjoyed those nights when he would snuggle beside her and she would tell him stories to take her mind off the pain. The pain had been far less then, but still it bothered her and Isaiah had always been empathetic to her suffering.
The night before was no different, except that for the last month or so Isaiah had stopped coming in on those nights when Edy needed him most. She told herself that he was asserting his independence and he was getting too old for those sort of things, but it still made her sad. Seeing his awkward young figure silhouetted in her doorway last night had raised her spirits significantly. Instead of a story, though, they talked about what Edy would have to do the next day to help the "foundling" in the cave. Isaiah had decided she would take his motorbike and he would stay behind to watch the house. Edy no longer had any worries about their guests, but Isaiah insisted. The fact that he had to be polite, fix them breakfast, and in general cater to them as any host should was stressed repeatedly by Edy; she didn't feel that it had made any impression upon the boy's mind, though.
"Of course, take the motorbike. Her tank's full, I filled her up this morning. The sack by the door has everything you'll need. I packed a few extra things in case you had to stay over night. Be careful, okay?"
Edy smiled and wondered when the roles of parent and child had become reversed. She said goodbye and told him to let the guys know that she hadn't abandoned them, that she had business to attend to. Isaiah only grunted in reply to this. Roscoe emerged from beneath the kitchen table and followed her to the door, a plaintive "take me with you" look plastered all over his doggy face. Edy scratched him behind the ears and explained to him quickly that there was no seat for a dog on the motorbike, and then left the house amid the jingles of the bells.
The ride had been long, hot, and dry, passing far too slowly. About four hours straight on a motorbike had long numbed her rear and jarred his internal organs to mush, but she pressed on. Edy didn't like being away from the house for so long, and a foreboding feeling began to steal over her as she headed further away from civilization.
Even if she wasn't ready, which she knew she wouldn't be, Edy planned to try and return as soon as possible after doing her work. She didn't know what type of individual would be holed up in an isolated cave, raving from a raging fever; not often did one find a mentally sound individual in such a situation. Even Isaiah felt uncomfortable with her going, and he had been the one to urge her to do this. Also, the fact that there was absolutely no way to contact anyone if anything did go wrong had begun to cross her mind since she had gotten an hour out of town; the thought had already worn a deep foot through her brain. Edy cursed her inability to properly think things through. Too much of her life was ruled by her heart and not her mind and that would probably get the poor girl in trouble one of these days.
Checking her watch, Edy realized she needed to start looking for the cave. She noted the landmarks Isaiah had told her about when at last she came to a short hill of rock with a relatively small gap existing near its base, maybe four feet tall and three feet wide. That probably was it.
Edy pulled up close to it and parked the bike. Cautiously, she approached the opening, unable to see very far in; the suns sat almost directly above her, spilling very little of their light into the mouth of the cave. Edy decided it best to call out first before entering.
"Hello? Anyone in there? My name's Edy, sir, and I'm here to help. You talked to my little brother Isaiah?"
There came a noise from within of something shifting quickly, sending gravel scattering with a dry rustle. Edy shaded her eyes, trying to peer into the darkness, but to no avail. Taking a deep breath, she knelt down and crawled inside.
Her eyes adjusted quickly thanks to the soft light from Isaiah's lantern that he had left. The cave wasn't very deep, more of a hollow, but the ceiling did raise to a height closer to five feet and the walls expanded to roughly six feet in width once she got past the opening.
He sat scrunched up against the back of the cave, about twelve feet away. As her eyes dealt with the low light she came to take in his appearance, growing more and more anxious as she did so.
Soiled clothes clung to a thin frame; obviously once muscular, he had lost much of his mass in a telling fashion. Only filthy, holey socks covered his feet and his loose slacks were torn at the knees and several other places. Dried blood ringed the edges of these tears, revealing the nasty cuts and scrapes beneath. His t-shirt had probably been white at one time but now it was a dingy gray, with heavy sweat stains under the arms and around the neck. Stubble clung to his chin like fuzz on a particularly dirty peach and what had to probably be blonde hair stuck out in all greasy directions. A shock of black hair hung limp across his forehead, sticking to his sweaty skin. She couldn't even begin to guess at his age. All in all, this guy was a mess. He also didn't look too happy to see her; hatred oozed from his eyes, mixing with the early-morning eye crusties that ringed his lids. A most dehumanizing gaze raked across her body.
Knives had heard a femanine voice call out and then saw this tall, canvas covered form make its way inside. A dinged up old helmet covered most of the figure's head, huge, ugly goggles its eyes, and a tall, stiff collar the rest of its face. It stooped there, staring at him. This was that human that the other one said was coming? If it was, he had no plans to allow it to touch him. The figure took off the helmet and goggles, then unfastened the coat, speaking in a soft, reassuring voice the whole time.
"Sir, I'm Edy. My brother Isaiah said there was someone out here who needed my help, and you look to be the one."
Only a blank stare in reply. Edy had removed her coat completely and tucked a few loose strands of black hair behind her ears. She hadn't had the time or inclination to notice the black had spread to the layer at her temple, climbing ever closer to her crown. Her long hair was pulled back into a loose bun again, but now most of the knot was dark as night. Not being aware of this fact she paid more attention to the direction the man's gaze shifted towards: her gun-laden holster. A smirk actually appeared upon his face for a moment, igniting a tiny spark of recognition in Edy, before he returned to the deeply saturated disgust and superiority. Who did he remind her of?
Edy took a step forward and tried again, this time laying her huge bag on the ground and opening in to pull out and display its inoffensive contents as she attempted to illicit a better response.
"I'm a healer. Isaiah said you were sick from an infected wound in your leg. He was really worried about you so I came all the way out here to help. Honest, all I want to do is help you feel better."
A healer? Knives almost giggled, or would have almost giggled if he had been the giggling type. This human didn't call itself a doctor, so it was one of those types that chanted to some shiny rocks and burning herbs to make a person feel "all better." Ridiculous. This thing would be easier to dispatch of than he expected. Shifting his weight so that his left arm was blocked from its line of sight, he tried to form his angel arm but failed once more. Still too weak, and preoccupied as well. The human had begun to advance upon him, still talking in those infuriatingly low tones that were usually reserved for infants. It held in its out-stretched hand a mug of that stuff that other human had given him, the drink that had put him to sleep.
"There now, drink up and you'll go right to sleep. When you wake up, everything will be all better, I promise. Your body will be exhausted, but whole, and a day's rest will take care of the fatigue."
Knives had feigned taking the sleeping draught, and when the human had turned away, he spat it out behind a rock, the liquid seeping quickly into the dry soil. Although he knew he need its medical assistance, he couldn't possibly imagine himself allowing it to touch him; it wasn't even a trained doctor. He settled down, allowing it to think he had fallen asleep, and waited to see what it would do.
The infection had started to eat away at his right thigh, so Edy pulled out a pair of shears and cut the disgustingly filthy pant leg away. She cleansed her hands and then the wound and surrounding area thoroughly to make sure no other germs could possible get trapped inside while she worked. She then rolled up her left sleeve and untied the right, pulling it off and setting it aside. Considering the extent of the infection, Edy knew her arm would require all the space it could receive. She folded up the blanket Isaiah had left and knelt on it, placing her right hand on the wound.
Edy was so engrossed in her work on the man's leg that she hadn't realized he was still conscious. Still exhausted from the day before, it took all her strength and attention to do everything just right. The next few moments were such a blur that she couldn't even process them once they had passed.
Knives felt the pressure increase on his leg and he wanted to retch; it was touching him. Summoning up his own energy, he kept himself still as his left arm at last blossomed into blades outside of the human's view. His eyes flew open and he sent his angel arm raking across its back; he was aiming for its head but Knives was still too weak to do much more than barely slicing into the human's flesh just below its shoulders, ripping its shirt and holster, sending the gun to the ground in a thump, and causing four roughly parallel, bloody lines to well up on its back. As Knives mustered his strength for another blow, he realized the human hadn't even noticed the first attack. He drew his arm up again, not caring about its ignorance of its plight when the last thing he ever expected to happen occurred.
Snow white feathers erupted from the human's arm, starting at the wrist and then moving upward in a wave; the arm didn't form anything in particular, just a blossom of feathers engulfing the human's, no, the female plant's limb from wrist to elbow, the length of the top layer of feathers reaching almost to her shoulder. An incredible rush of power coursed through Knives' body, not unlike what he sensed when Vash performed a major transformation. Knives instantly withdrew his blades and tried to speak when every cell of his body seemed to attach itself to the woman's hand where it pressed against his leg, forming a sort of unbreakable seal.
Knives lost almost complete control over his body; all he could do was watch as she began to glow gently at first and then brighter and more intense. He could see the strain on her face, the pain mixing almost tangibly with the sweat and tears, her eyes clenched as tightly as her jaw. And then the most horrible sensation in all of existence began, topping all that had come before and for a long time what would come to be.
His heart began to pound faster and faster until it hummed in his chest. Blood coursed through veins at speeds faster than any vehicle ever created. Brand new white blood cells were ripped from their veritable wombs, created far too painfully fast. At the same time muscle, bone, and skin all began to regenerate almost instantaneously in a flash of blinding agony. His body vibrated, barely able to contain the raging fluids and cells. Everything was drawn to that woman's hand and shot back just as fast, following its frantic cycle through Knives' system. His ears popped, his nose began to run, and tears streamed unbidden from his eyes. Every pore oozed sweat. He could have sworn he felt his stomach digest each and every last morsel that it held at an obscene pace. Knives didn't have a clue what physical acts were occurring; he only knew for sure the intense, over- whelming stress upon the cells of his body systems. He couldn't think, he couldn't tell if he was breathing any more. And then there was an indescribable sensation, something akin to a "pop," except it was felt and not heard.
His body slowed down to normal and he could control himself again. Knives gasped and jumped, his eyes wide, his left hand inexplicably clutching part of the woman's left sleeve that he must have ripped partially away; it hung by a small section, and as it turned out, her hand had unconsciously grabbed onto his left hand, trying to force it away. Wild-eyed he stared at the woman's still form, waiting for her to move while he drug in shallow breaths. At last she became aware of her surroundings and pulled away completely, shoving herself as far from Knives as she possibly could. Panting and shaking like a cornered, wild animal, she quite blatantly feared the man who should have been unconscious but obviously fell short of such a physical state.
Knives was the first to recover the gift of speech, talking in a high, frantic voice akin to a gasping plea.
"What the hell did you do to me?"
Myshkin: This story's not bad enough for an R rating now, is it? I think I'll kick it down to PG-13. If you have any problems with language, let me know.
Tying Up Loose Ends
Chapter Nine
Effectual Healing
In the middle of nowhere, a column of dust rose to meet the sky. Nothing but the two suns witnessed the small jeep as it crept along the terrain like a dirty, old beetle. If anything with eyes had actually watched this boring scene, they'd have noticed two small figures in the jeep; well, one small figure and one particularly tall one.
"Meryl, we've been driving for days," the tall one whined. "Are we there yet?"
The small one scowled and gritted her teeth, trying to hold back her rage.
"Does it look like we're there yet, Milly?" she asked, her voice strained.
"Nope, sure doesn't!" came the sunny reply.
Silence fell once more over the vehicle and its surroundings.
"Are we lost, then?"
"No Milly, we're not lost."
"Then where are we?"
The jeep slammed to a halt, sending the tall girl forward in her seat, straining against her seat belt. The small girl sat there, hands griping the steering wheel with whitened knuckles and eyes staring focused on nothing but the horizon ahead. Her lips moved silently and one would almost think she was counting to ten.
"Meryl?"
"Look, it's a long way to February. The damn city's in the middle of nowhere, like everything else on this god-forsaken planet, and I can only drive so fast. If you have a better idea on how to get there faster, I'm game."
The tall girl sat and thought for a moment before replying.
"Nope, can't think of a single way!"
She smiled broadly and her companion sighed, wondering for the hundredth time why it had to be her. The jeep started moving again and they were on their way.
* * * * *
Another figure was out and about that day as well, hardly watched over by an impassive environment.
The wind whipped around Edy as she sped through the desert on Isaiah's motorbike. Her heavy duster streamed out behind her, flapping its thick self silly in the wind. Bug-like eyes peered out from the space between the coat's high collar and the dinged-up old helmet; thick goggles protected Edy's eyes from the dust.
An unusual weight rested against Edy's side because of the old revolver that sat in her shoulder holster. She hated knowing how to use the damn thing but it this world one needed all the protection one could get. Edy had no idea what kind of a person she headed towards, some man sick and laying up in a cave in the middle of the wilderness. Isaiah actually was the one that insisted she brought father's gun with her when they talked that morning, before Edy headed out.
She hadn't slept much, but her mind didn't seem to care what her body thought about that matter. Around nine o'clock she got up and got dressed, knowing she needed to go see about Isaiah's "foundling." Isaiah was up too, sitting at the kitchen table with a huge bowl of cereal and his nose stuck in a book. Beneath his feet lay Roscoe, asleep and probably dreaming considering the way his legs wind-milled in the air while his eyes remained closed. It being Isaiah's favorite morning ritual, Edy never complained about their quiet breakfasts together, usually taking the time to read the newspaper or whatever novel she too had become absorbed in.
When Edy entered the kitchen Isaiah actually set down his book and handed her a piece of paper with directions to the cave written down in his messy handwriting.
"You'll need to be on the lookout," he instructed in his most grown-up voice, "since it's really easy to miss. It's about a four hour ride, so if you drive for much longer, you've gone too far. And make sure you take this."
Isaiah picked an aged, wooden box up off the chair beside him and handed it to Edy. She sighed, knowing he was probably right about it, but not wanting to admit it. Unsnapping the latch, Edy pulled the holster out and slid it on over her shirt, one of the ones with a removable right sleeve. She then pulled out a bundle wrapped in fine black linen, unwrapping the cloth to reveal the gun. Although it had seen numerous years, it had been kept in perfect working condition by Edy's father and then Edy herself, more out of habit than pride in the weapon; her father had trained her at a young age how to shoot and fight, telling her that in this world a woman couldn't rely on some man to ride to her rescue on a shining white horse.
The gun reminded her of the ancient Western American stories her father loved to read to her so much when she was little. Whenever she pulled out the revolver, she pictured herself getting ready to head to the town square at high noon for a showdown. This thought always made her slightly sick to her stomach. Reluctantly placing it in the holster, Edy then shrugged on the huge, heavy duster that she had brought down with her. It was made of a thick canvas and acted as perfect protection against the elements. She pulled a pair of darkly tinted goggles out of the pocket and hung them around her neck.
"It's alright if I take your motorbike, isn't it Isaiah," she asked on last time. Last night, when Edy couldn't sleep, Isaiah had come in and got into bed with her like he used to when he was little; they had talked for a while and Isaiah had mentioned that he wanted her to take the motorbike to go visit his "foundling." Despite the topic of conversation, it made her wistful, thinking of what her life had been almost a year ago.
Back then, whenever Edy had a hard day Isaiah always said he knew that she needed a big hug, so big only he could give it to her. Edy enjoyed those nights when he would snuggle beside her and she would tell him stories to take her mind off the pain. The pain had been far less then, but still it bothered her and Isaiah had always been empathetic to her suffering.
The night before was no different, except that for the last month or so Isaiah had stopped coming in on those nights when Edy needed him most. She told herself that he was asserting his independence and he was getting too old for those sort of things, but it still made her sad. Seeing his awkward young figure silhouetted in her doorway last night had raised her spirits significantly. Instead of a story, though, they talked about what Edy would have to do the next day to help the "foundling" in the cave. Isaiah had decided she would take his motorbike and he would stay behind to watch the house. Edy no longer had any worries about their guests, but Isaiah insisted. The fact that he had to be polite, fix them breakfast, and in general cater to them as any host should was stressed repeatedly by Edy; she didn't feel that it had made any impression upon the boy's mind, though.
"Of course, take the motorbike. Her tank's full, I filled her up this morning. The sack by the door has everything you'll need. I packed a few extra things in case you had to stay over night. Be careful, okay?"
Edy smiled and wondered when the roles of parent and child had become reversed. She said goodbye and told him to let the guys know that she hadn't abandoned them, that she had business to attend to. Isaiah only grunted in reply to this. Roscoe emerged from beneath the kitchen table and followed her to the door, a plaintive "take me with you" look plastered all over his doggy face. Edy scratched him behind the ears and explained to him quickly that there was no seat for a dog on the motorbike, and then left the house amid the jingles of the bells.
The ride had been long, hot, and dry, passing far too slowly. About four hours straight on a motorbike had long numbed her rear and jarred his internal organs to mush, but she pressed on. Edy didn't like being away from the house for so long, and a foreboding feeling began to steal over her as she headed further away from civilization.
Even if she wasn't ready, which she knew she wouldn't be, Edy planned to try and return as soon as possible after doing her work. She didn't know what type of individual would be holed up in an isolated cave, raving from a raging fever; not often did one find a mentally sound individual in such a situation. Even Isaiah felt uncomfortable with her going, and he had been the one to urge her to do this. Also, the fact that there was absolutely no way to contact anyone if anything did go wrong had begun to cross her mind since she had gotten an hour out of town; the thought had already worn a deep foot through her brain. Edy cursed her inability to properly think things through. Too much of her life was ruled by her heart and not her mind and that would probably get the poor girl in trouble one of these days.
Checking her watch, Edy realized she needed to start looking for the cave. She noted the landmarks Isaiah had told her about when at last she came to a short hill of rock with a relatively small gap existing near its base, maybe four feet tall and three feet wide. That probably was it.
Edy pulled up close to it and parked the bike. Cautiously, she approached the opening, unable to see very far in; the suns sat almost directly above her, spilling very little of their light into the mouth of the cave. Edy decided it best to call out first before entering.
"Hello? Anyone in there? My name's Edy, sir, and I'm here to help. You talked to my little brother Isaiah?"
There came a noise from within of something shifting quickly, sending gravel scattering with a dry rustle. Edy shaded her eyes, trying to peer into the darkness, but to no avail. Taking a deep breath, she knelt down and crawled inside.
Her eyes adjusted quickly thanks to the soft light from Isaiah's lantern that he had left. The cave wasn't very deep, more of a hollow, but the ceiling did raise to a height closer to five feet and the walls expanded to roughly six feet in width once she got past the opening.
He sat scrunched up against the back of the cave, about twelve feet away. As her eyes dealt with the low light she came to take in his appearance, growing more and more anxious as she did so.
Soiled clothes clung to a thin frame; obviously once muscular, he had lost much of his mass in a telling fashion. Only filthy, holey socks covered his feet and his loose slacks were torn at the knees and several other places. Dried blood ringed the edges of these tears, revealing the nasty cuts and scrapes beneath. His t-shirt had probably been white at one time but now it was a dingy gray, with heavy sweat stains under the arms and around the neck. Stubble clung to his chin like fuzz on a particularly dirty peach and what had to probably be blonde hair stuck out in all greasy directions. A shock of black hair hung limp across his forehead, sticking to his sweaty skin. She couldn't even begin to guess at his age. All in all, this guy was a mess. He also didn't look too happy to see her; hatred oozed from his eyes, mixing with the early-morning eye crusties that ringed his lids. A most dehumanizing gaze raked across her body.
Knives had heard a femanine voice call out and then saw this tall, canvas covered form make its way inside. A dinged up old helmet covered most of the figure's head, huge, ugly goggles its eyes, and a tall, stiff collar the rest of its face. It stooped there, staring at him. This was that human that the other one said was coming? If it was, he had no plans to allow it to touch him. The figure took off the helmet and goggles, then unfastened the coat, speaking in a soft, reassuring voice the whole time.
"Sir, I'm Edy. My brother Isaiah said there was someone out here who needed my help, and you look to be the one."
Only a blank stare in reply. Edy had removed her coat completely and tucked a few loose strands of black hair behind her ears. She hadn't had the time or inclination to notice the black had spread to the layer at her temple, climbing ever closer to her crown. Her long hair was pulled back into a loose bun again, but now most of the knot was dark as night. Not being aware of this fact she paid more attention to the direction the man's gaze shifted towards: her gun-laden holster. A smirk actually appeared upon his face for a moment, igniting a tiny spark of recognition in Edy, before he returned to the deeply saturated disgust and superiority. Who did he remind her of?
Edy took a step forward and tried again, this time laying her huge bag on the ground and opening in to pull out and display its inoffensive contents as she attempted to illicit a better response.
"I'm a healer. Isaiah said you were sick from an infected wound in your leg. He was really worried about you so I came all the way out here to help. Honest, all I want to do is help you feel better."
A healer? Knives almost giggled, or would have almost giggled if he had been the giggling type. This human didn't call itself a doctor, so it was one of those types that chanted to some shiny rocks and burning herbs to make a person feel "all better." Ridiculous. This thing would be easier to dispatch of than he expected. Shifting his weight so that his left arm was blocked from its line of sight, he tried to form his angel arm but failed once more. Still too weak, and preoccupied as well. The human had begun to advance upon him, still talking in those infuriatingly low tones that were usually reserved for infants. It held in its out-stretched hand a mug of that stuff that other human had given him, the drink that had put him to sleep.
"There now, drink up and you'll go right to sleep. When you wake up, everything will be all better, I promise. Your body will be exhausted, but whole, and a day's rest will take care of the fatigue."
Knives had feigned taking the sleeping draught, and when the human had turned away, he spat it out behind a rock, the liquid seeping quickly into the dry soil. Although he knew he need its medical assistance, he couldn't possibly imagine himself allowing it to touch him; it wasn't even a trained doctor. He settled down, allowing it to think he had fallen asleep, and waited to see what it would do.
The infection had started to eat away at his right thigh, so Edy pulled out a pair of shears and cut the disgustingly filthy pant leg away. She cleansed her hands and then the wound and surrounding area thoroughly to make sure no other germs could possible get trapped inside while she worked. She then rolled up her left sleeve and untied the right, pulling it off and setting it aside. Considering the extent of the infection, Edy knew her arm would require all the space it could receive. She folded up the blanket Isaiah had left and knelt on it, placing her right hand on the wound.
Edy was so engrossed in her work on the man's leg that she hadn't realized he was still conscious. Still exhausted from the day before, it took all her strength and attention to do everything just right. The next few moments were such a blur that she couldn't even process them once they had passed.
Knives felt the pressure increase on his leg and he wanted to retch; it was touching him. Summoning up his own energy, he kept himself still as his left arm at last blossomed into blades outside of the human's view. His eyes flew open and he sent his angel arm raking across its back; he was aiming for its head but Knives was still too weak to do much more than barely slicing into the human's flesh just below its shoulders, ripping its shirt and holster, sending the gun to the ground in a thump, and causing four roughly parallel, bloody lines to well up on its back. As Knives mustered his strength for another blow, he realized the human hadn't even noticed the first attack. He drew his arm up again, not caring about its ignorance of its plight when the last thing he ever expected to happen occurred.
Snow white feathers erupted from the human's arm, starting at the wrist and then moving upward in a wave; the arm didn't form anything in particular, just a blossom of feathers engulfing the human's, no, the female plant's limb from wrist to elbow, the length of the top layer of feathers reaching almost to her shoulder. An incredible rush of power coursed through Knives' body, not unlike what he sensed when Vash performed a major transformation. Knives instantly withdrew his blades and tried to speak when every cell of his body seemed to attach itself to the woman's hand where it pressed against his leg, forming a sort of unbreakable seal.
Knives lost almost complete control over his body; all he could do was watch as she began to glow gently at first and then brighter and more intense. He could see the strain on her face, the pain mixing almost tangibly with the sweat and tears, her eyes clenched as tightly as her jaw. And then the most horrible sensation in all of existence began, topping all that had come before and for a long time what would come to be.
His heart began to pound faster and faster until it hummed in his chest. Blood coursed through veins at speeds faster than any vehicle ever created. Brand new white blood cells were ripped from their veritable wombs, created far too painfully fast. At the same time muscle, bone, and skin all began to regenerate almost instantaneously in a flash of blinding agony. His body vibrated, barely able to contain the raging fluids and cells. Everything was drawn to that woman's hand and shot back just as fast, following its frantic cycle through Knives' system. His ears popped, his nose began to run, and tears streamed unbidden from his eyes. Every pore oozed sweat. He could have sworn he felt his stomach digest each and every last morsel that it held at an obscene pace. Knives didn't have a clue what physical acts were occurring; he only knew for sure the intense, over- whelming stress upon the cells of his body systems. He couldn't think, he couldn't tell if he was breathing any more. And then there was an indescribable sensation, something akin to a "pop," except it was felt and not heard.
His body slowed down to normal and he could control himself again. Knives gasped and jumped, his eyes wide, his left hand inexplicably clutching part of the woman's left sleeve that he must have ripped partially away; it hung by a small section, and as it turned out, her hand had unconsciously grabbed onto his left hand, trying to force it away. Wild-eyed he stared at the woman's still form, waiting for her to move while he drug in shallow breaths. At last she became aware of her surroundings and pulled away completely, shoving herself as far from Knives as she possibly could. Panting and shaking like a cornered, wild animal, she quite blatantly feared the man who should have been unconscious but obviously fell short of such a physical state.
Knives was the first to recover the gift of speech, talking in a high, frantic voice akin to a gasping plea.
"What the hell did you do to me?"