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fan_flashworks2022-07-10 02:51 pm
judiejudie) wrote in fan_flashworks2022-07-10 02:51 pm
Entry tags:
Trigun: Fanfic: the same old song
Title:the same old song
Fandom: Trigun
Rating: Gen/G
Length: 295 words
Content notes: melancholy
Author notes: timeline/canon ambivalent
Summary: A moment of reflection.
It’s one of those long days, crossing a long stretch of unsettled desert between settlements. Usually there’s at least a town somewhere in the iles and iles of sand, a cluster of buildings where someone dug down and hit a reservoir, but in three days of travel they’ve passed nothing more interesting than a sandworm nest.
A few hours into the fourth day of absolutely nothing, Wolfwood pulls to a stop beside a jut of rock and clambers off the bike, stretching his arms upwards until his back and shoulders pop noisily. He only stops short of throwing himself into the sand to take the pressure off his lumbar spine by virtue of the knowledge that it’s at least another half a day’s travel to the nearest shower, and they don’t have enough water to waste on washing sand out of his ass.
Vash unfolds himself from the sidecar, perching on the edge of the bike’s seat to stretch out his legs, all buckles and shiny thomas leather peering out from under the red swathe of his coat, catching the light as Vash bends his ankles. There’s a little sweat at his hairline, but otherwise he doesn’t seem to be suffering from wearing that much leather in this heat. Lucky bastard.
With his own back in slightly less of a knot, Wolfwood turns halfway to watch Vash as he stretches his head back, staring up at the sky.
“It’s so blue,” Vash murmurs.
“It’s always blue, Spikey.”
Vash’s eyes flutter closed. For a moment, he looks as old as Wolfwood knows he is—laden with time and grief. Wherever he is, whatever he sees, he’s somewhere far from Wolfwood’s side.
“Yeah,” Vash says, with a smile that’s not necessarily false, but hollow all the same. “It is.”
Fandom: Trigun
Rating: Gen/G
Length: 295 words
Content notes: melancholy
Author notes: timeline/canon ambivalent
Summary: A moment of reflection.
It’s one of those long days, crossing a long stretch of unsettled desert between settlements. Usually there’s at least a town somewhere in the iles and iles of sand, a cluster of buildings where someone dug down and hit a reservoir, but in three days of travel they’ve passed nothing more interesting than a sandworm nest.
A few hours into the fourth day of absolutely nothing, Wolfwood pulls to a stop beside a jut of rock and clambers off the bike, stretching his arms upwards until his back and shoulders pop noisily. He only stops short of throwing himself into the sand to take the pressure off his lumbar spine by virtue of the knowledge that it’s at least another half a day’s travel to the nearest shower, and they don’t have enough water to waste on washing sand out of his ass.
Vash unfolds himself from the sidecar, perching on the edge of the bike’s seat to stretch out his legs, all buckles and shiny thomas leather peering out from under the red swathe of his coat, catching the light as Vash bends his ankles. There’s a little sweat at his hairline, but otherwise he doesn’t seem to be suffering from wearing that much leather in this heat. Lucky bastard.
With his own back in slightly less of a knot, Wolfwood turns halfway to watch Vash as he stretches his head back, staring up at the sky.
“It’s so blue,” Vash murmurs.
“It’s always blue, Spikey.”
Vash’s eyes flutter closed. For a moment, he looks as old as Wolfwood knows he is—laden with time and grief. Wherever he is, whatever he sees, he’s somewhere far from Wolfwood’s side.
“Yeah,” Vash says, with a smile that’s not necessarily false, but hollow all the same. “It is.”