fighting evil by moonlight

[anthophilia]

[ It all started so innocently.

Wolfwood had been running low on serum and headed out to pick up a drop. It went as smoothly as possible – no questions about how long it was taking, how close he was to the Stampede. He’d been freshly resupplied and heading back when he saw a little cat, curled up in the desert heat, pink tongue poking out starkly against its black fur. He’d thought it was dead until he got close enough to note the slow rise-and-fall of its breath, and he’d pulled out his canteen and spilled some water into the cup, placing it near the little creature. Spilling a little over its tongue to try and stir it when it didn’t respond. And it was then – and only then – that the cat pulled itself up into a sitting position as if nothing had ever been wrong with it, exposing the heart-shaped blaze of white fur on its chest, revealing that the shinier, lumpy-looking fur on its back that Wolfwood had assumed was some kind of growth was actually a pair of wings.

Pure of heart, it had said, and that’s when Wolfwood figured he probably should have saved that water for himself because cats don’t talk, so he’s obviously losing it. You’re the one I’ve been waiting for.

Wolfwood had tried to argue. He’s the furthest thing from pure! Maybe the cat-thing was looking for Vash, picked up some of his scent on Wolfwood and got confused. But no, it insisted. Sharing a resource as precious as water apparently indicated that Wolfwood was the pure soul the creature was searching for, no matter that he had spare because he’d just scammed a table at cards. Wolfwood had started walking away and it had asked (in a way that felt like it was asking in his brain rather than out loud you’re just going to leave me here? A poor little cat in this heat? and he’d said yes even as he scooped the thing up and started walking back to the inn they were staying at. Sealed the deal, apparently, because once he’d fallen asleep – after Vash had cooed and squealed over the cat and fucked Wolfwood’s brains out over the fact that he’d shared his dinner with the mangy little thing – he’d had visions in his sleep. Things that told him the planet was in grave danger but all he had to do was accept a little extra help to do what he wanted to do already and keep innocents safe. He’d awoken with a yelp, found the cat-thing delicately lapping up blood where it had bitten his finger, and he’d been ready to huck it out the window but his cry woke Vash too, and Vash had immediately put the guilts on him.

It's not so bad. He has to spend a little extra scratch getting food for the cat, but mostly it sleeps in the truck and curls up in whatever lap is available. It’s fine. He just has a cat and some delusions. Until they pitch up in a bad place one day. And even by Wolfwood’s standards, it’s bad-bad. They run into a little boy curled up in a corner and sobbing who tells them his big sis told him not to talk to grownups but the bad men took her away and he’s so, so scared. They track them, obviously, and Wolfwood doesn’t spare the time to wonder what’s gonna happen to the fuckin’ warehouse full of kids they find before he’s pulling the wrappings off the Punisher. But there’s him and Vash against at least twenty guys, and he’s hissing with the pain of a bullet that was meant for his head biting into his shoulder when he hears the cat in his head again.

Say it, the voice purrs in his head. Just like you dreamed. Power to save all of them is within your grasp. You only have to take it. Just say the words.

He’s cracked, obviously. Thought of all these kids as the ones he lived with back in Hopeland, and now he’s lost his damn mind. But he says the words anyway – something about justice and love – and everything goes all weird for a second. Like blacking out, except instead of black it’s pink and purple sparkles. And then it’s just in him. He reaches out a hand – barely noticing that it’s clad in a satiny glove that comes two thirds of the way up his arm – and a beam of shimmery light comes out of it and wraps around the children, enclosing them in an iridescent rainbow bubble that bullets seem to bounce right off. A flick of his other hand, equally gloved, and the men surrounding them are tangled up in what looks lie thorned vines, if vines were pink and shimmery. Wolfwood barks alright, kids, we’re getting your asses out of here and doesn’t really think anything more of it until a little girl tugs on his skirt (where the fuck did that come from???) and says mister, your clothes are so pretty!

He’s got half a mind to execute all those crooks on the spot, but Vash talks him out of it. They call what passes for the authorities instead, Vash explaining as close as he dares to get to what actually happened while Wolfwood hides behind a storage shed as he tries to pick his panties out of his asscrack and waits for everyone to leave. And when the tromping of boots and the grumbling of criminals fades, he hears Vash calling his name. Niiiiiiii-co, he calls, laughter evident in his voice. It’s safe to come out now!

Wolfwood stomps out, tugging his petticoats down in back. This outfits is fuckin’ breezy. Which is a nice change, actually, but he’s pretty sure all it’s gonna take is one wrong step for his balls to be hanging out of that little skirt. ]

I don’t wanna fuckin’ hear it.

Comments

[spiculatus]

[ vash has never been a good liar, but he's also never been a quitter. ]

I wasn't gonna say anything!

[ even though he's grinning from ear to ear, both hands held up like wolfwood might turn the love and justice beam on him next. doing his best to radiate absolute innocence, even though he's very clearly biting the inside of one of his cheeks to keep from laughing. ]

Don't be a grouch! You saved the day!

[anthophilia]

[ Vash's innocent little I wasn't gonna say anything would mean more if his face wasn't saying it all for him. Wolfwood crankily folds his arms, dropping them to his sides again when the motion makes the little heart-shaped bell on the choker around his neck jingle. ]

Hn. If they'd seen me dressed like this they'd have thought I was the problem, not the solution.

[ It does do a little to take the sting out of it, though. He might have just endured a sparkle-related incident that he's pretty sure that fuckin' cat is somehow responsible for, but the kids are safe now.

He's not gonna admit it out loud, but that's worth a poofy miniskirt or two. But...]

I can't even get dressed. What the fuck happened to my clothes?