[ trust isn't something Vash demands - or even asks - from others. whether it's because he doesn't believe himself deserving of it or that it is too presumptuous a request is inconsequential, he doesn't need it. actions speak louder than words, and regardless of faith - or a decided lack thereof - he won't let himself let Set down.
he's lost enough. he suspects Set has, too; losing any more pieces of himself can't be acceptable, either.
Vash permits Set to take his hand, lets the god examine each of his fingers as if they were mysterious, curious things. the gentility of the gesture is at distinct odds with the eerieness of the words that follow - and yes. the cold, hollowing tendril of frigidity and familiarity that curls through his insides to hear Set lament his fate...
the quiet feeling of Communion - Set's Communion, nostalgic for the way it brings Vash back to warm, sun-baked sands beneath clear, blue skies - manages to banish that temporary cold, even if the sensation that unfolds between them is not precisely comforting. it is more comforting than what preceded it. (why are the similarities he finds between himself and this man ones that fill him with grief, with the ache of empathy, and fear, and loss, and--)
Vash remains still where Set has crouched before him, but through the space of Communion - a place he is comfortable, a place he is used to after so many years reaching out to his sisters in an unspoken bond - he is a bright red beacon on the horizon of desert sands, seated among the stretch of undisturbed dunes that have soaked up much suffering. Vash has tugged the glove off his scarred hand, running the fine, coarse grains through his fingers as if he can see and count each and every one, finds something important in their number. ]
That isn't true.
[ what he's refuting might not be immediately obvious, but at least he thinks to clarify as each small, precious grain filters through his hand. ]
Things are different now. I don't think they'll ever be the same as they were, either.
[ Set's divinity has been altered. and that means his brother's would be, too; this is something Vash has given a great deal of thought, a great deal of sleepless nights contemplating for reasons Set would understand.
that familiarity. ]
He can't take what you don't give him. We're right here to stop you if you try, you know?
[ the last grains of sand trickle from his fingers; the Vash seated among the scent of fresh soil and earth joins the Vash seated among the vast stretch of desert. a gloved hand squeezes Set's; a naked hand presses into the land in unison. ]
no subject
he's lost enough. he suspects Set has, too; losing any more pieces of himself can't be acceptable, either.
Vash permits Set to take his hand, lets the god examine each of his fingers as if they were mysterious, curious things. the gentility of the gesture is at distinct odds with the eerieness of the words that follow - and yes. the cold, hollowing tendril of frigidity and familiarity that curls through his insides to hear Set lament his fate...
the quiet feeling of Communion - Set's Communion, nostalgic for the way it brings Vash back to warm, sun-baked sands beneath clear, blue skies - manages to banish that temporary cold, even if the sensation that unfolds between them is not precisely comforting. it is more comforting than what preceded it. (why are the similarities he finds between himself and this man ones that fill him with grief, with the ache of empathy, and fear, and loss, and--)
Vash remains still where Set has crouched before him, but through the space of Communion - a place he is comfortable, a place he is used to after so many years reaching out to his sisters in an unspoken bond - he is a bright red beacon on the horizon of desert sands, seated among the stretch of undisturbed dunes that have soaked up much suffering. Vash has tugged the glove off his scarred hand, running the fine, coarse grains through his fingers as if he can see and count each and every one, finds something important in their number. ]
That isn't true.
[ what he's refuting might not be immediately obvious, but at least he thinks to clarify as each small, precious grain filters through his hand. ]
Things are different now. I don't think they'll ever be the same as they were, either.
[ Set's divinity has been altered. and that means his brother's would be, too; this is something Vash has given a great deal of thought, a great deal of sleepless nights contemplating for reasons Set would understand.
that familiarity. ]
He can't take what you don't give him. We're right here to stop you if you try, you know?
[ the last grains of sand trickle from his fingers; the Vash seated among the scent of fresh soil and earth joins the Vash seated among the vast stretch of desert. a gloved hand squeezes Set's; a naked hand presses into the land in unison. ]