( His mouth opens, closes. One darting tendril aims their way and Vash shoots at it without thinking, the thundercrack of the bullet too close and too loud. )
Stop.
( It does not sound confident. It sounds like a plea. The figure of Millions Knives regards him with careful eyes, almost the same hue of blue as his own. You know how to stop this, Vash, he says, and Vash shudders, his fingers against Hunter's tightening. Come with me. Choose right this time. Aren't you tired, little brother? Aren't you finished yet? I'll look after you this time. No more running. )
What if - ( Quietly, desperately. ) What if it's really him?
no subject
Stop.
( It does not sound confident. It sounds like a plea. The figure of Millions Knives regards him with careful eyes, almost the same hue of blue as his own. You know how to stop this, Vash, he says, and Vash shudders, his fingers against Hunter's tightening. Come with me. Choose right this time. Aren't you tired, little brother? Aren't you finished yet? I'll look after you this time. No more running. )
What if - ( Quietly, desperately. ) What if it's really him?