The Ballad of Stoneridge
Location: The City Stoneridge
Vash
Humanoid Typhoon or not, the absence of this member was hardly a relief from the terrible misconduct of human resources Stoneridge was experiencing. Death was ultimately the most grievous and wasteful of any sort of production, and in a barren wasteland like Stoneridge, life was even more precious. There is no second chance for those faced with death, immortality a simple folly of those fortunate enough to be long lived. The laws of Causality withstanding, killing was not the realm of humankind, but rather a right belonging to a divinity that did not exist, which in essence pointed to the conclusion that murder was never justified. Creation was precious, and destruction too natural.
This was what Vash understood as he kept solemn watch over Stoneridge, his fingers dancing on the drum of his Colt. Yet some force compelled him to stay his hand. Her turned his gaze away from the aftermath of the firefight. Despite the Gunman's good intentions, the zealous devotion the other members had toward violence turned his stomach. He should have stopped them, stayed the fighting a little bit. Saved what meager lives he could have. There had been many instances before on Gunsmoke where he had done such, leaving to killings in a firefight, weaving between gunmen, disengaging pistols, rifles, explosives and moving away without being noticed, or being misinterpreted as a idiotic buffoon. He could not do that here. Here he had no jurisdiction, and it ate away at his very heart and soul. Vash placed a gloved hand on his face and gently massaged the bridge o his nose. He stared into the middle distance, the falling sun danced in the pols of his yes.
"There is nothing master can do," BlackHarte said. The little black mass had less humor in his voice as the long day had passed. His cheerful air faded into the simple processes of a mechanical creature.
"I'm not your master, I'm your friend," Vash answered, his eyes straight forward, but his mouth contorting into a twisted friendly half-smile.
BlackHarte paused and looked out over the city himself, casting his eerie green gaze upon the still dusty world.
"There are survivors in need of assistance. You ought to help."
"They are being handled by more capable hands. I'm no doctor, it is better if I stay out of their way."
"Master is rather unsociable." BlackHarte said. He swung his body across Vash's shoulder and hooked himself on the otherside, building a grotesque pitch scarf around Vash's red trenchcoat.
Vash forced a laugh, but it came out much less than a forced chuckle. "I'm useless here, only good for killing. I cannot partake in any other form of phenomena intervention." Vash stood up and took a step off the roof, landing in the hazy street below. The bowing sun was hot against his skin, but Vash felt little discomfort.
"Where did master hear that phrase." BlackHarte seemed suddenly interested, possessed by another type of being entirely. His voice was haggard and violent, brusk yet flowery. It felt as if a million different consciousnesses were trying to speak at once through a medium that was far too limited to encompass all of them.
"I'm not your master," Vash repeated, heading slowly toward the Church. He picked up the Colt in his right hand and placed it gently on BlackHart'e single green eyes, "and I was warned about you," Vash gave a grim lost, regretful smile. The gun discharged and the black mass dropped to the floor, writhing in simulated pain. The lights on his black skin flickering on and off. "The girls warned me about you before they sent me here," Vash finished. He pulled the collar of his jacket over his face and slipped on his sunglasses.
"You're a monster, just like me." Vash stepped into the church.
---
The (Un)Real World
Location: Wells Fargo Tower | San Francisco | California
Time: July 4th, 2014
Deborah | Titania
"Why does mistress always insist on spending her time at the highest elevation in the immediate area?" Deborah was sitting crosslegged with her back against the final slant of the tower before it tapered off into communication atenas. The bitter wind whipped into her skin an caught between her tanga and her body, lifting it uncomfortably. She pressed softly on it to smooth it out and glanced scornfully down at the streets below. The Golden Gate sparkled deep azure in the distance, reflecting the magnificent luminescence of the summer sun. Her top and tanga were uncomfortably loose, Titania has spent the entire day pulling and tugging at them while they browsed the streets of the city. Deborah had only originally agreed to wear the outfit because the humid heat of the city in the summer months was well known, but she had not anticipated, perhaps in a fit of blindsighted naivete, that Titania would not use every single moment and excuse to try and make her indecent. Titania had succeeded a sizable number of times, and many of those times while in crowded sections of the city. Though, no one really seemed to care.
Titania herself wore a pareo and a brandau, both in a matching sea blue and leaf green mix. Her long white hair was done up in a small bun at the back of her head and she wore thin black sunglasses to cover her green eyes.
"I Like to feel like I'm taller than everyone else once in a while."
"Could you not just make yourself taller? Why do you insist on keeping that fourteen year-old appearance."
Titania padded over to Deborah and pressed a hand onto her flat stomach and played teasingly with Deborah's navel.
"Because it makes me look innocent and cute."
"It makes you look like something out of Nabokov's Lolita."
Titania pouted and sat down next to Deborah, slipping her self under Deborah's arm and fitting snugly into the nook of her underarm and breast.
"Because I like to be able to do this." Titania closed her eyes and turned her head toward Deborah. Deborah grimaced, Titania's acts of affection always felt tainted in some way. An indescribable terror beat away at the pit of the Blue Sorceresses' stomach.
"Is there anything you want to do before the fireworks come?" Titania snaked her hand upwards from Deborah's navel. Deborah caught her with her own hand and held it firmly.
"Other than that."
"You're not fun, slave." Titania opened her eyes and smiled sweetly.
"How about you tell me how Vash is doing?"
Deborah waved her left hand and summoned the old leather bound tome again. She took it with both hands and opened it to a blank page. Deborah gasped and snatched Titania's hand again,
"No."
"That time I didn't mean too. Just tell me how our Humanoid Typhoon is doing."
"Mr. the Stampede has taken out BlackHarte's physical body within the AA currently. He's heading to interact with a group within a church. The group consists of Garm, Chris, and a few others."
Titania lay her head softly across Deborah's lap and looked up, smiling,
"I do enjoy it when we have a participant that actually listens to what I have to say."
"Mistress, you have to be more honest with yourself."
Titania reached out and grabbed Deborah firmly, she gave a terrible smile,
"Well, isn't that the pot calling the kettle black."
"I didn't mean honest like that."
"I know."
