duocaeli inbox;

[petitejournalism]

DUONET ID: meryl.stryfe

"This is Meryl Stryfe. Sorry I missed you! If this is about a scoop, let me know a time and place and I'll meet you in person!

If not, then just leave me a message, I guess, and I'll get back to you!"

✉️ ☎️ 📷

Comments

[petitejournalism]

[ see, they actually have something to talk about when it comes to all the water and plant life, when they can get past their arguments.

she doesn't move to keep her notes from him, actually kind of appreciative of the interest he's taking, but understanding full well why he'd take it in the first place. they're both from a land devoid of this, so they both can understand the significance of it. there's something nice about being in the company of someone who understands? when everyone else is so used to this.

she stops writing for a moment, tapping her pencil against the page. ] I don't make a habit of it, no. Just... happened to get the urge. [ yeah, that makes sense.

she peers over at him now. ] It's not any worse than wearing sunglasses at night, though. Don't you ever take those off? How can you even see?

[ yeah she has to call him out on it, sorry. her voice isn't full of the same vitriol that it might normally, though. just a tiny bit of teasing mixed with incredulousness. seriously, wolfwood. ]

[ndw]

[ He lifts a brow behind said glasses when she calls him out, mildly surprised. Instead of answering honestly—that he's just so used to them it feels weird not to have them on—he smiles at her, full of mischief. ]

What's the matter? Hopin' to get a chance to gaze into my eyes?

[ What Happened Under The Tree was terrible and should be forgotten, except in moments that he wants to lord it over her.

He's hoping to get a reaction of her, maybe flustering or maybe denial, and tries to pluck the notebook from her grasp while she's distracted, leaning back enough until he's no longer crouched, falling onto his butt. ]

What's your research tell you anyway? That plants need—what is it—oxygen, water and sunlight to grow?

[petitejournalism]

[ okay she takes all those thoughts about this being kind of nice back. this guy is the worst.

she immediately feels a surge of embarrassment run through her upon hearing those words, freezes up and gives him the perfect chance to take her notebook. she drops her pencil, too, in the process, before shouting, face a bit red from the embarrassment. god, god. ]

A-Absolutely not! Fine, keep them on in the dark, see if I care! [ HUFF.

she knew that stupid tree experience would haunt her. she knew it.

shifting her position to face him more now that he's fallen backward, on her knees, she groans a little, trying to keep herself from letting this become another argument. fine, look at her notebook, she's not hiding anything in it anyway. ]

Of course it at least tells me that. But some of them need different amounts, kind of like how people do. [ she can fit far less in her than her larger companions, as an example. and that reminds her of: ] Have you heard of "cacti" yet?

[ndw]

[ Thankfully Meryl is mature enough to try and keep this conversation productive, whereas Wolfwood would be content for them to poke at each other all night. It's not malicious at least, despite the suffering that he's inevitably caused her, a smile on his face and a beat of happiness that he hasn't yet thought to beat back so that he can return to his usual sullen demeanour.

He's curious about her notes too, not having stolen them just to antagonize her.

And, just to be annoying, he plucks his glasses off so that he can read what she's written, squinting at her handwriting and diagrams. ]

Cacti? [ ???

Wait, people need different amounts of water? He blinks, supposing that makes sense. The amount of water that Wolfwood drinks would probably drown Meryl's little body. ]

[petitejournalism]

[ she takes his smile as a reaction he's having to his own teasing, not questioning it any further, and making A Face when she sees him take his glasses off. okay, fine, be that way. always so difficult.

she sighs, recomposing herself, and moves herself to sit next to him properly, reaching to flip the pages in her notebook as it remains in his hands. ] Yeah. It's called a "cactus" when there's only one of them, though. Look here.

[ ah, here's the page. there are more notes on cacti than most of the other flora in her notebook, and for good reason: ] They can survive in deserts. [ her voice holds quite a bit more weight here, as she hopes he understands what this could mean for them. ] They still need water, but way less of it than other flora.

[ pointing at her notes about its water consumption and heat tolerance. ] They might even be able to survive on...

[ their home planet. without the need to be in particular, controlled locations. ]

[ndw]

[ He can see why she pointed this particular to him, and the suggestion makes him stomach twist uncomfortably. A mixture of guilt and fear; the icy sensation that this is all some terrible illusion, and the bone deep awareness that life could never be better in No Man's Land.

Regardless of Meryl's good intentions. ]

There ain't anything that could survive in that hellhole. [ The words come out gruffer than his previous lighthearted curiosity.

It's unusual for him to feel another pang at guilt for stomping on her budding hope. It was instinctive, and he wonders a little why he can't just keep his mouth shut sometimes.

He swallows, feeling awkward. ]

Dunno how the worms and toma do it.

[petitejournalism]

[ she's used to this part of him by now, as much as she doesn't particularly like it all the time, so he doesn't so much as quash her hopes as much as be difficult, as per the usual.

her eyes narrow for a moment, unamused with his pessimism, before she pouts and takes on a determined tone. ]

Well, we have, too. Not that it's been easy or anything. [ she exhales, somewhat tired sounding. ] Look, I just think this has a lot of promise, you know? What's the harm in trying to learn from it?

[ if she can bring them back to no man's land, that'd be amazing, but she's at least trying to get information. if anything, she can help luida... ]

[ndw]

[ Wolfwood doesn't think that he ever thought about it like that; that they have to survive. He had just accepted that eventually they would all perish in the hellscape that is Gunsmoke.

He just looks at her for a moment, wondering where she's able to find such determination.

Conceding defeat, he hands her the notebook back. ]

You think we'll get back there?

[ They don't even know how they ended up here in the first place. ]

[petitejournalism]

[ she takes the notebook from him, continuing to hold it open on the page about cacti, staring idly at it as she responds. ]

... Dunno. [ after a moment, she closes it. ] Should we even want to go back there?

[ it's a question that she's pretty sure she knows how she should answer. her family, friends, everyone she knows aside from the few here are back there. it's her home, despite how terrible it can be. her life is there — not to mention her desire to help it be better. nothing about ditching it and staying in a safer world feels okay to her. so she knows what she's decided, in the end, but she'd be lying if she said this place didn't feel like heaven compared to it. ]

We should, right?

[ndw]

Who the hell would want to go back?

[ The words come out with a snort, dry and disbelieving. He understands where Meryl is coming from—this place is perfect. Heaven. Leagues better than any life they could have ever cobbled together with their worn and weary hands back on Gunsmoke, but that doesn't make it right for them to stay here. Not when they know so intimately the names and faces of those left behind.

Though he does wish for her sake that she wouldn't feel the guilt too keenly. Even if it doesn't feel right, Meryl is someone that deserves a life like this. Vash too.

But it's not that easy. ]

Only an idiot would want to go back, but if there's a way, then we should probably take it. [ He squints at her. ] I mean, I got shit to do, but you've got a bit of a hero complex, huh?

[petitejournalism]

[ you know meryl by now, wolfwood. always feeling far more than any journalist should, about just about everything. it's her biggest incompatibility with journalism, and a pitfall she's fallen into plenty of times. she can't help the guilt that she inevitably feels with the deep desire to stay here, clashing with her good heart, knowing she needs to go back home for a multitude of reasons.

she pipes up, her tone slightly indignant for a moment. ] Hey, it's not a "hero complex"! That sounds so weird. [ she doesn't picture herself that way at all. and she elbows him softly in the side — for once not actually meaning to hurt him or anything. ]

I just... can't leave people to suffer, that's all. [ hmph. ] I-I agree with you, though. That we should take the chance to go back, if we get one.

[ and maybe that only an idiot would truly want to go back, if they're talking about the planet itself. ]

[ndw]

[ Glad that they're both idiots then. Wolfwood isn't entirely sure how he feels about going back... It's inevitable, in the way that all terrible things are. He doesn't know if he'd be happier staying or returning, but it's not like there's much of a choice either way, so he supposes it doesn't matter.

He tilts his head, looking at her curiously. ]

You don't think of yourself as a hero?

[ It's a stupid question, he knows, but he still wonders why. Doesn't doing stupid things for the sake of others usually qualify as hero behaviour? ]

[petitejournalism]

[ she certainly thinks it's a stupid question, and coming from wolfwood it's even stranger.

she looks at him with utter confusion on her face, eyes squinting like she doesn't quite trust this line of questioning. ]

Huh? Why would I? It's never even crossed my mind.

[ she just. does things. most of the time without thinking. but "hero" is a word that goes way too far for her to ever consider herself. it feels foreign and strange. ]