It seemed like resting the night before had been a good idea.
Or, according to Knives, the worst idea he'd ever had.
"Vash!" he shouted from behind me. "Get this SPIDERLING off my leg!"
I looked over my shoulder at him, peering around Arachne, who was riding on my shoulders. Kiven was firmly attached to his leg and not letting go.
I smiled and turned back around, bouncing Arachne and humming a little tune. She laughed and sang made-up words along.
"Vash?" he cried. "Vash, are you IGNORING me?!"
"No, I'm not caring about your plight," I sang back to him. Kiven squealed.
"Pick me up, Misser Knives!"
"Get OFF of me!"
"La de da de dai, genocide..." I hummed, not thinking. It was a morbid little tune I'd made up, a sort of subconscious way of pretending everything was alright when Knives...was being Knives.
"Who's Jenna Side?" Arachne asked, breaking the tune. I opened my mouth, trying to think of an answer quickly.
Knives came up next to us, managing to shake Kiven off for a few seconds. I could hear the little boy racing to catch up with us.
*Her. Away, * Knives thought to me.
I stopped humming and lifted Arachne off my shoulders, setting her down next to me. She reached for my hand, but I patted her head and shook her off.
"Tag! No tagbacks!" I cried. She screeched with joy and leapt at Knives.
"Taaaaag, Misser Knives! You're it!" she giggled, prancing around him.
"He's not playing," I inserted before Knives could say anything. "And neither am I."
She gave us a vaguely reproachful look and chased down Kiven, who was amusing himself by kicking a rock along.
I made sure he wasn't upset before thinking to Knives, *What?*
"I don't think I can keep this up," he said firmly.
"Keep what up?"
He shuddered. "All this..." *...Playing.*
I snorted. "They're just kids. Remember being a kid? We used t-"
*NO.*
My mental ears rang. "Ouch. You don't need to shout," I whined at him.
"That's not all," he said, ignoring me. "They can't keep running around like this. It will tire them out. They won't make it to Little Iowa."
"Aww, Knives, they're just having some fun. You really wanna tell them they need to stop playing?"
"Vash, this do you want these children to survive or not?"
"Of course I do, but I'm sure—"
"This isn't a matter of what they want, Vash. This is a matter of getting them to Little Iowa alive."
I grinned. "Hey, relax, Knives. They'll be fine. Y'know, I bet—"
"Shut up," he ordered. He looked away, his eyes slightly unfocused. Something else had his attention.
"...What?"
He said coolly, "It's too quiet.
"Knives, it's a desert."
"Your spiderlings?"
"What do you mean, 'my spiderlings?' They're—"
"Watch out," he cut me off calmly.
Instinctively, my head snapped up. Nothing.
"Knives, what—"
The rest of my sentence was cut off as my legs gave out at the knees and my face hit the sand. Two small bodies converted my back to a couch.
I rolled my head sideways to see Knives, smirking down at me. "I did tell you to watch out."
"Misser Vash! Misser Vash! Play with us, Misser Vash!"
I spat out some sand and erupted from the ground with a roar, throwing them off and pouncing on Arachne.
"TAG!"
The third moon was starting to crawl over the flat horizon and the second sun was nearly gone when Arachne tugged on Knives' sleeve and, yawning and rubbing her eyes, said she was tired.
Knives promptly ordered me to stop.
Kiven and Arachne sat-half dazed as Knives and I made camp.
Kiven rubbed at one eye and announced, "I don't feel so good."
Knives gave me a glare.
"What's the matter, Kiven?" I asked, plopping down in the sand next to him. Knives gave the fire a vicious jab with a stick he must have brought with him.
"My head hurts. And I'm thirsty," he whimpered.
"Me too," Arachne added, kicking at the sand. "I'm hot."
*I told you,* Knives thought bitterly.
"Go to sleep, you guys," I suggested. "You'll probably feel better in the morning."
Arachne nodded and crawled into Knives' lap, immediately curling into a ball and closing her eyes. Knives gave a slightly exasperated sigh and didn't move her.
Kiven was not so willing. "But Misser Vash," he protested, "I'm still thirsty."
Knives quite grudgingly handed Kiven his canteen. "Anything to keep you quiet," he muttered.
Kiven gulped down as much as he could before Knives took it back. Kiven pouted.
"I'm not sleepy, Misser Vash," he whined. Knives made a grunting noise that sounded extremely bitter and arranged himself as comfortably as he could.
"Well, I'm not sleepy yet either, so why don't you tell me a story, Kiven?" I said with a smile. He squirmed and nodded.
"Whatcha want a story 'bout?" he yawned.
*Not tired, he said. Spider.*
*Shut up. I'm trying to talk to him.*
Knives grunted.
"How about you tell me how you got out here, little guy?" I cajoled. He perked up.
"Oh, okay! Well, it was night, and some bad guys came to our house! And they were gonna rob our money! So Mommy said to me 'n 'Rachne to get out of the house and run 'way and-"he dropped the narration abruptly to yawn, "-so we left the house 'n I said we should go to Li'l Jersey to tell everyone but then we got lost so we stopped in the desert cuz we was so tired and then we fell 'sleep and you found us and—"he paused again, realizing that was the end. "And then it was now." He gave another massive yawn.
"Gee, Kiven," I said, resting my chin on my knees, "sounds like you were real brave."
"Mm-hmm," he confirmed with a valiant nod. "Yep, I was re-ee-eeal brave..." he mumbled, then slumped into the sand and closed his eyes.
I waited a few moments, then turned to Knives. "What do you think?"
Knives opened one eye with contempt. "I think a great many things, Vash. You'll need to be more specific."
Typical Knives in aggravated mode. "What do you think of his story?"
He closed his eye again. "There's nothing to think. I don't doubt he's telling the truth. It's of no consequence anyway. There are more important things."
"We should take them home."
Both his eyes opened, cold and aggravated. "Vash, don't start. I knew you would start. I'm only taking them as far as Little Iowa, Vash. That's IT."
"But what if no one in Little Iowa will adopt them? There must be neighbors, friends, relatives back in July who would take them in."
He sighed. "Vash, as weak-minded as spiders are, they are also ruled by their emotions, and some of them are horribly soft. Someone is bound to take them in. In a town the size of Little Iowa, there is an eighty-seven point nine percent chance they will find a home within two days."
"How did you –"
"I calculated it in anticipation of this argument."
I hated it when he did that. "Alright. How about we pay someone else to take them back to July?"
Knives closed his eyes again and shook his head, saying, "They'd take your money and run off with it, leaving the children to die in the desert. If I know spiders."
Horrified, I hissed, "Knives, that's a horrible thing to say!"
"But you know I'm right."
"Shut up."
"Ah, dear brother, when will you learn..."
I didn't respond. My gaze wandered up to the fourth moon. If little green men lived on the moons, I was sure they didn't have to deal with this sort of thing.
"What are you thinking about now, Vash?" Knives pestered.
Without looking away from the sky, I said, "What it would be like to be a little green man on one of the moons."
"La folie est un maître dur, n'est-ce pas, Vash?"
"What?" I asked groggily. Damn Knives and his obsession with Old Earth languages.
"I said 'Insanity is a harsh master, isn't it?' I know you speak French."
"Not after eight o'clock, I don't."
Knives snorted, amused. "We have another day and a half ahead of us, and you are exhausted. Sleep."
"Amen to that," I murmured, and obeyed.
Or, according to Knives, the worst idea he'd ever had.
"Vash!" he shouted from behind me. "Get this SPIDERLING off my leg!"
I looked over my shoulder at him, peering around Arachne, who was riding on my shoulders. Kiven was firmly attached to his leg and not letting go.
I smiled and turned back around, bouncing Arachne and humming a little tune. She laughed and sang made-up words along.
"Vash?" he cried. "Vash, are you IGNORING me?!"
"No, I'm not caring about your plight," I sang back to him. Kiven squealed.
"Pick me up, Misser Knives!"
"Get OFF of me!"
"La de da de dai, genocide..." I hummed, not thinking. It was a morbid little tune I'd made up, a sort of subconscious way of pretending everything was alright when Knives...was being Knives.
"Who's Jenna Side?" Arachne asked, breaking the tune. I opened my mouth, trying to think of an answer quickly.
Knives came up next to us, managing to shake Kiven off for a few seconds. I could hear the little boy racing to catch up with us.
*Her. Away, * Knives thought to me.
I stopped humming and lifted Arachne off my shoulders, setting her down next to me. She reached for my hand, but I patted her head and shook her off.
"Tag! No tagbacks!" I cried. She screeched with joy and leapt at Knives.
"Taaaaag, Misser Knives! You're it!" she giggled, prancing around him.
"He's not playing," I inserted before Knives could say anything. "And neither am I."
She gave us a vaguely reproachful look and chased down Kiven, who was amusing himself by kicking a rock along.
I made sure he wasn't upset before thinking to Knives, *What?*
"I don't think I can keep this up," he said firmly.
"Keep what up?"
He shuddered. "All this..." *...Playing.*
I snorted. "They're just kids. Remember being a kid? We used t-"
*NO.*
My mental ears rang. "Ouch. You don't need to shout," I whined at him.
"That's not all," he said, ignoring me. "They can't keep running around like this. It will tire them out. They won't make it to Little Iowa."
"Aww, Knives, they're just having some fun. You really wanna tell them they need to stop playing?"
"Vash, this do you want these children to survive or not?"
"Of course I do, but I'm sure—"
"This isn't a matter of what they want, Vash. This is a matter of getting them to Little Iowa alive."
I grinned. "Hey, relax, Knives. They'll be fine. Y'know, I bet—"
"Shut up," he ordered. He looked away, his eyes slightly unfocused. Something else had his attention.
"...What?"
He said coolly, "It's too quiet.
"Knives, it's a desert."
"Your spiderlings?"
"What do you mean, 'my spiderlings?' They're—"
"Watch out," he cut me off calmly.
Instinctively, my head snapped up. Nothing.
"Knives, what—"
The rest of my sentence was cut off as my legs gave out at the knees and my face hit the sand. Two small bodies converted my back to a couch.
I rolled my head sideways to see Knives, smirking down at me. "I did tell you to watch out."
"Misser Vash! Misser Vash! Play with us, Misser Vash!"
I spat out some sand and erupted from the ground with a roar, throwing them off and pouncing on Arachne.
"TAG!"
The third moon was starting to crawl over the flat horizon and the second sun was nearly gone when Arachne tugged on Knives' sleeve and, yawning and rubbing her eyes, said she was tired.
Knives promptly ordered me to stop.
Kiven and Arachne sat-half dazed as Knives and I made camp.
Kiven rubbed at one eye and announced, "I don't feel so good."
Knives gave me a glare.
"What's the matter, Kiven?" I asked, plopping down in the sand next to him. Knives gave the fire a vicious jab with a stick he must have brought with him.
"My head hurts. And I'm thirsty," he whimpered.
"Me too," Arachne added, kicking at the sand. "I'm hot."
*I told you,* Knives thought bitterly.
"Go to sleep, you guys," I suggested. "You'll probably feel better in the morning."
Arachne nodded and crawled into Knives' lap, immediately curling into a ball and closing her eyes. Knives gave a slightly exasperated sigh and didn't move her.
Kiven was not so willing. "But Misser Vash," he protested, "I'm still thirsty."
Knives quite grudgingly handed Kiven his canteen. "Anything to keep you quiet," he muttered.
Kiven gulped down as much as he could before Knives took it back. Kiven pouted.
"I'm not sleepy, Misser Vash," he whined. Knives made a grunting noise that sounded extremely bitter and arranged himself as comfortably as he could.
"Well, I'm not sleepy yet either, so why don't you tell me a story, Kiven?" I said with a smile. He squirmed and nodded.
"Whatcha want a story 'bout?" he yawned.
*Not tired, he said. Spider.*
*Shut up. I'm trying to talk to him.*
Knives grunted.
"How about you tell me how you got out here, little guy?" I cajoled. He perked up.
"Oh, okay! Well, it was night, and some bad guys came to our house! And they were gonna rob our money! So Mommy said to me 'n 'Rachne to get out of the house and run 'way and-"he dropped the narration abruptly to yawn, "-so we left the house 'n I said we should go to Li'l Jersey to tell everyone but then we got lost so we stopped in the desert cuz we was so tired and then we fell 'sleep and you found us and—"he paused again, realizing that was the end. "And then it was now." He gave another massive yawn.
"Gee, Kiven," I said, resting my chin on my knees, "sounds like you were real brave."
"Mm-hmm," he confirmed with a valiant nod. "Yep, I was re-ee-eeal brave..." he mumbled, then slumped into the sand and closed his eyes.
I waited a few moments, then turned to Knives. "What do you think?"
Knives opened one eye with contempt. "I think a great many things, Vash. You'll need to be more specific."
Typical Knives in aggravated mode. "What do you think of his story?"
He closed his eye again. "There's nothing to think. I don't doubt he's telling the truth. It's of no consequence anyway. There are more important things."
"We should take them home."
Both his eyes opened, cold and aggravated. "Vash, don't start. I knew you would start. I'm only taking them as far as Little Iowa, Vash. That's IT."
"But what if no one in Little Iowa will adopt them? There must be neighbors, friends, relatives back in July who would take them in."
He sighed. "Vash, as weak-minded as spiders are, they are also ruled by their emotions, and some of them are horribly soft. Someone is bound to take them in. In a town the size of Little Iowa, there is an eighty-seven point nine percent chance they will find a home within two days."
"How did you –"
"I calculated it in anticipation of this argument."
I hated it when he did that. "Alright. How about we pay someone else to take them back to July?"
Knives closed his eyes again and shook his head, saying, "They'd take your money and run off with it, leaving the children to die in the desert. If I know spiders."
Horrified, I hissed, "Knives, that's a horrible thing to say!"
"But you know I'm right."
"Shut up."
"Ah, dear brother, when will you learn..."
I didn't respond. My gaze wandered up to the fourth moon. If little green men lived on the moons, I was sure they didn't have to deal with this sort of thing.
"What are you thinking about now, Vash?" Knives pestered.
Without looking away from the sky, I said, "What it would be like to be a little green man on one of the moons."
"La folie est un maître dur, n'est-ce pas, Vash?"
"What?" I asked groggily. Damn Knives and his obsession with Old Earth languages.
"I said 'Insanity is a harsh master, isn't it?' I know you speak French."
"Not after eight o'clock, I don't."
Knives snorted, amused. "We have another day and a half ahead of us, and you are exhausted. Sleep."
"Amen to that," I murmured, and obeyed.
