Wolfwood's--predictable, but not completely; Dante has a good thread when he mentions the back of the house, but Wolfwood's ventured a little further just to keep everyone on their toes, standing at the edge of the river to smoke instead.
there's something soothing about the water, these days. it might be the... thing that he turns into, but sometimes it's nice to just slip his clothes and slip into his skin and hang out at the bottom of the river for a while, that terrifying specter of drowning replaced with a comforting pressure that can't hurt him because he can breathe down there, now. the world goes muted and muffled, rippling in what he presumes are his ears, and he can just exist with bright light dappled overheard and the gently push of the current, floating as if he's dreaming, getting good thinking done where there's no other noise and commotion to bother him.
he's sorely tempted to do it now, despite the cold, but it is also balls ass cold, and while the Vash situation is more or less resolved, it's not fully handled. there's still people to host and a Plant to check on and a lot of work on Wolfwood's shoulders. it feels right to have a lot on his shoulders, even if it isn't comfortable--even if it's as heavy as ever.
he's where the problems go, after all.
little does he know, he's the literal problem as Vash and Dante come crunching on by, flicking his ashes and blowing out smoke as he continues to think for a moment, a black figure in the white and cold of the winter air, standing on the edge of the river and waiting for the reckoning. ]
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Wolfwood's--predictable, but not completely; Dante has a good thread when he mentions the back of the house, but Wolfwood's ventured a little further just to keep everyone on their toes, standing at the edge of the river to smoke instead.
there's something soothing about the water, these days. it might be the... thing that he turns into, but sometimes it's nice to just slip his clothes and slip into his skin and hang out at the bottom of the river for a while, that terrifying specter of drowning replaced with a comforting pressure that can't hurt him because he can breathe down there, now. the world goes muted and muffled, rippling in what he presumes are his ears, and he can just exist with bright light dappled overheard and the gently push of the current, floating as if he's dreaming, getting good thinking done where there's no other noise and commotion to bother him.
he's sorely tempted to do it now, despite the cold, but it is also balls ass cold, and while the Vash situation is more or less resolved, it's not fully handled. there's still people to host and a Plant to check on and a lot of work on Wolfwood's shoulders. it feels right to have a lot on his shoulders, even if it isn't comfortable--even if it's as heavy as ever.
he's where the problems go, after all.
little does he know, he's the literal problem as Vash and Dante come crunching on by, flicking his ashes and blowing out smoke as he continues to think for a moment, a black figure in the white and cold of the winter air, standing on the edge of the river and waiting for the reckoning. ]