#v.thread

[whencicatrized]

@fatewoven asked for death: of course you're going to see me again.

Wind whipped through his hair as they stood on the balcony of Home. Jumping off and landing hundreds of iles below on the sand would have probably hurt less than the words uttered.

It had been roughly seven months since they left each other's sides - since Vash walked into the arms of his brother (and the painful control of Legato) in order to help Wolfwood achieve whatever his goal had been. He didn't know, because he never asked, but he knew with every fiber of his being that it was protecting someone - probably a kid - because he knows Nicholas better than he knows himself. And because of this intimate knowledge, he also knew when the other was lying. Especially when it was this blatantly, without any half truths trying to soften the blow.

Wherever Wolfwood planned to go next, he planned to die.

Alone.

Vash's eyes stung, and though he tried to blame the sand and wind, the exhaustion, the pain, he knew it was merely the threat of tears. One swallow, two, and his throat was mostly clear enough for him to speak. "Of course, yeah." Did the words ring just as false to Wolfwood? "After I stop my brother we can finally get those drinks, right? You owe me, you said." They both knew it wasn't Vash's mission that was going to keep them apart this time.

Movement at the edge of his vision almost got him to turn, but he stared resolutely forward. It would hurt less, he thought, if he didn't have to see the pity sadness in those warm brown eyes. Maybe this avoidance would let them both have one more night of pretending - that this wasn't the end, that there could actually be a future for them, that either would get the chance to settle down and learn what peace felt like.

"I think we should travel further west. There's this spot, way past where humans have settled, its this canyon the worms ended up carving through a mountain. Gorgeous view. You'd really like it, I think." If he just kept speaking... "maybe you could teach me to whittle, I think that'd be an inspiring place to learn a craft" if they never let this moment change into the next... "do you think we can do that, Wolfwood? Can we go there some day?" Please, please, please... just give me this one wish.

Eight months later, Vash stood alone at the edge of the canyon. It was larger than when he'd been there before, though that had been several decades ago. The wooden bird he held in his hand was barely more than a lump - uneven and rough, asymmetrical, leaving plenty of splinters behind as it was carved.

Maybe if someone had been there to teach him how, it could have turned out beautiful.

[containatrocity]

He doesn't do costumes, not really- the tail end of the era of Ziggy's willingness to play dress up had, all things considered, likely been whiled away in prison. It's not like he's without a little willingness to participate in the cheer, sat at the radio booth with KB and Cash, the dog wearing a pair of cardboard cutout bat wings on his harness and Ziggy carving crude buttons for KB's projects- passing one to the older man a moment later. He'd taken on the task of helping the host repair his home in the last few weeks- as KB had been one of the few people in town who received him somewhat kindly early on. "Here's another one, old man." He declares, KB laughing and rolling his eyes.

"Oh- Hello Miss Ryan!" KB greets pleasantly as he places another crochet critter on the booth in front of himself- Ziggy glancing up- and nearly choking on his toothpick.

"H-Hey. Bri." He greets, coughing and straightening up- Cash letting out a happy warble and stretching, lumbering out of his spot under the counter to demand attention. "you look... Uh. So! I didn't know they still even did these here- the uh, festivals? All things considered."

@violenttempest

[containatrocity]

"I mean, they talk, of course, but havin' a proper conversation beyond let me innnnn isn't exactly in their wheelhouse. Imagine, one just sittin' down for a drink, I'd be pretty sure I done walked off th' deep end mentally." He chuckles despite himself at the image, then shrugs. "Ah, ain't never a bad thing to have a little extra information on the neighbors- never know when you need to lean on somebody fer somethin' in the future." He's read the paper since returning, and if the gossip column was to be believed, there wasn't likely to be any issue with Huntsville's population staying stable, as far as babies were concerned. He'd seen more than a few of the post-paradox kids around town too- enough to still populate an elementary school class or several was almost impressive- but he figured that much like in his childhood, the town didn't offer much in the way of entertainment that wasn't knocking boots or doing exactly what he was doing now- drinking and gossiping.

He lays the ration cards on the counter as Noah settles his drink in front of him, taking a long swallow and relishing in the burn in his throat. It was a reminder that he was alive, if anything. "And it ain't nothing you need to worry yourself on. Ghosts around here aren't just the ones that turn up after sundown for some of us. I'm... tryin' to exorcize some of 'em, I guess. Best thing I can do, while I'm stuck 'ere. But only about one of them's willin' to stop hauntin' long enough to hear me out." Bri's family would hold it against him forever, maybe. But Bri... well. They'd talked, and the anger that lingered was colder now- old wounds clung to by a boy Victor wasn't anymore. "Do yourself a favor, just remain an impartial observer a' the kind a' stuff you hear about here. Bein part of it... well. Drives ya t' the bottle."

Noah shrugged, a slight smirk on his lips at the thought. Was there any hurry to anything anymore? It was still a surprise to him at times that the town never truly devolved into chaos... Perhaps surprise was the wrong word. Miracle. That was better. "Drunk the fastest huh?" He asked, leaning onto the bar, "should I even ask?" He didn't mind Ziggy becoming a bit of a regular there-- sure, he had a bit of a past, but everyone did at this point. They were all stuck in Hell and it was best to try to make good company.

"Same old, same old..." He said, then moved to make up an old fashioned, something strong but basic in the ingredient section. "God, wouldn't that be something? I'd think if the ghosts started talkin it'd be a sign I finally went and lost it..." He chuckled, overpouring just a bit. He knew how to treat regulars. "Nah, just the usual gossip and griefs. You'd think I'd be sick of hearing who might be pregnant or who's taking extra rations at this point-- but I can't lie, it has a way of making me feel a little special when I'm trusted like that."

[ofblackxbirds]

𝕥𝕒𝕘 𝕕𝕦𝕞𝕡 .

♥ ‘ﾟ‣ { V.space saver } —  ❝ this is a template ❞

[containatrocity]

"You know, I feel like it aught to be a testament t' how much I like you that I'm willing to endure this whole... Ball thing." Ziggy chuckles, adjusting the straps of the decor on his suit. "Especially when apparently my old trusty suit and tie isn't the 'right way' to dress for it." It's good natured ribbing, and as he offers his arm to Bri, he takes the time to take her in. "God. been a long time since I took you to any sort of dance, huh?" It had to have been his senior prom, just before things got... complicated. "Granted, the outfits? Way different. similar amount of black and tulle, And if I'm rememberin' correctly, most everybody was secretly wearin' converse underneath their dresses so we could pretend we really didn't give a shit about dressing nice, despite the fact that, much like today, I stood in my bedroom wondering if you'd accept 'sheet ghost' as an outfit so I wouldn't have to accidentally embarrass myself."

It's easier, now, to reminisce on things when they were young- knowing that perhaps in another time, maybe, just maybe, he and Bri never fell apart the way they did. Knowing Nattie's safe (relatively, it was Huntsville, after all.) But it doesn't do anything to quiet the nerves- and the vague butterflies. "you... you look real good, Sparkplug. Gonna get both of us all kinds of jealous looks tonight."

@violenttempest

[containatrocity]

THE DESPERADO: VICTOR "ZIGGY" CALHOUN

Outrunning karma, that boy He's such a charmer. All the bugs and their larva, follow him out to Colorado. Ten dozen hearts in a bag Their bodies lying, he'll drag them down to Colorado- A modern desperado.

"Victor Calhoun- most everybody just calls me Ziggy. I'm 40 years old, and Huntsville born and raised. Up til about 12 years ago, I called Huntsville home, and as an enforcer for the local biker gang I made certain our crew was paid out to on time- through any means necessary. In April of 2012, I was arrested as an accessory to murder, And served a 10 year sentence in state prison. I've been a free man for the last eight months, and have taken a job as a long haul truck driver. But I guess that's then, and this is now. I live in town, with no job to speak of. My greatest vice has always been my Haste to act out in violence when the going gets tough."

Name: Victor Robert Calhoun

Aliases: Vic, Bear (Among the Devil Dogs), Ziggy (From the other truckers at his company.)

Age: 40 (January 22nd.)

Sexuality/Gender: Bisexual Cis Man

Personality: while previously a violent, unkind young man with a propensity for bullying, harassment, and a full-willingness to get involved in a physical altercation as a way to pass time- it was the murder he'd be sent to prison for involvement in that would change him entirely. After ten years serving a sentence and doing his level best to keep his head down, he's come out the other side largely repentant, desperately trying to flip the karmic scales back into balance with what he believes is very little time remaining- Huntsville being an inescapable Hell containing the people he'd spent his early life making miserable, however, seems to have kicked the sympathetic engine into overdrive- He's desperately clinging to a measured, calmer temperament, but old habits die hard, and he has a tendency to flick to violence if a conversation becomes too difficult to solve with words and he can't beat a hasty escape.

Occupation: Unemployed handyman, largely living off what he's made trading and helping distribute the supplies he arrived with to the townspeople, former long-haul trucker.

Affiliations: Ex-Devil Dog Enforcer.

Scent Profile: He smells of cigarette smoke and leather, the still-present smell of mass produced cologne and soap he's not yet run out of given the recentness of his arrival. Vaguely of dog, thanks to Cash, as well as wood-shavings and motor oil, always somewhat dirty with one or the other thanks to the much lower supply of things like clothes he'd had with him for the drive he was making.

Aesthetic: A perfectly lacquered guitar and a baseball bat cracked and splintered, the rumble of a Harley's engine and the low din of a biker bar, the stale smell of liquor lingering. Blood and busted knuckles, bite marks and scars earned in love and war- the devil's right hand, the muscle. The bite of metal handcuffs and the murmur of a courtroom- the foreman's verdict as good as a guillotine for your freedom. Something you can't shake, about the incident that put you here. A decade of bars, a bird in a cage with a cracked and broken beak. when the door's finally slipped open, you fly free- not for long, Karma circles back- a Hell tailored to you. New names don't destroy what you damaged to start anew.

He's never gonna make it, all the poor people he's forsaken, karma Is always gonna chase him for his lies. It's just a game of waiting, from the church steeple down to Satan, karma. There's really no escaping 'til he dies.

CHAPTER ONE: LIFE IN HUNTSVILLE POST PARADOX

An incredibly recent arrival to Huntsville, Victor Calhoun- better known now by his call-sign for the trucking company that employs him, "Ziggy," Has only been free on parole for a short time, not even a full year of freedom before winding up in Huntsville once again- a place he'd called home until his sentencing in early 2012. it's a momentary detour- intending to just drive through town and see what had changed in his absence while making a long haul trip in the area to deliver the first stock truck for a CVS opening in West Virginia- he found himself circling town in the dim light of the evening- Cash growing more and more uneasy alongside him in the cab, ears pinned back and gaze set on the forest beyond.

It's on loop 3 he begins to feel as if he might be going crazy- a mental break brought on by returning home- a HAM radio no longer pinging the dispatch for his trucking company- faces starting to appear out of houses and businesses, at the heady rumble of the truck's engine. It's only when he's waved to stop that he grabs the shotgun from under his seat and disembarks the truck- demands to know what's going on- and why everyone's staring at him. It's a former classmate who barks his name first. Oh fuck me, it's Vic Calhoun. Just leave him to the ghosts, Mayor. It's disbelief, as the sheriff explains what's going on and people who's faces he somewhat remembers eye the truck like a flock of vultures.

He plants the butt of the gun in the chest of one of the approaching townspeople headed for the truck's back hatch hisses at them to fuck off- listens to whispers, murmurs of interest- of concern, about a commune, about the town- about the mayor. His head spins- He listens to Nat.

It's been only a small handful of days, now, and he's settled in his childhood home- parents long dead, brother just the same- he supposed it explains why they never wrote. His ownership over the keys to the freighter and the shipping manifest remains his only real leverage, for now, and while he's happy to help- He's made it clear that he's not about to let himself be screwed over- insisting Nat and Sunflower "work their shit out" and come to an agreement for the supplies split before a war breaks out over something only he can open...

and he wants first dip, of the townsfolk, of course.

[containatrocity]

"Cash here's for protection. And company, I guess." He informs. "Couldn't own a gun legally after the arrest, and I wasn't about to start cross-country trekking without somebody to watch my back." The dog is pretty, big, deep brown eyes and a wiggly, happy tail- He's not exactly threatening, like this. "He'll get there eventually, I'm sure. Just gotta let 'im finish cooking." He watches her consider the offer, every momentary concern flickering over features he'd known every inch of, once- his own are different now, age marked into them- a scar once prominent on the side of his face from a teenage scrap now faded into slight wrinkles and life-weariness. He wonders if the flickers of a cocksure 18 year old are still there, when she glances at him, the way he still sees someone all too young forced to grow up in hers for even just a moment.

And then she points out she'll have to stay the night, if she stays for dinner. "I've been gone eleven years, Bri. That's a lot to catch up on. Especially with you- I mean, hell, you got yourself outta here, made it big- Didn't even need me to tell Huntsville to kiss your ass, when it came down to it." He sighs. When she offers to clear the air. "Ain't got no reason to hold nothin' against you, sparkplug." it's an old nickname, and it's just as stupid now. "Might be older now, but... You and me, we're square, far as I'm concerned. I was a stupid, mean kid. And I'll never be able to fix the damage I dealt t' people here- includin' you. Feedin' ya and lettin' ya stay the night... Least I can do, for the person I was gonna spend m' life with, once upon a time." He smiles, nudges her with the toe of his boot. "You were m' ride or die, Briana. And it ain't your fault I was a bitch kid with a mean streak. I'd like t' talk things out. And it's a big house. I got space."

Briana crouched down and gently pet the dog, scratching under his chin and behind his ears. "You always were a dog person." She murmured. She mulled the offer to stay for food over. She shouldn't. She had already put off talking to him so much that it was late enough in the day that she should head home soon. Louis would worry and probably think she walked outside willingly. Still, she wanted to talk more. She wanted to figure out who he was not. How much of him was still the Vic who understood her better than anyone? Did he still like the same music?

"I wouldn't mind a bowl but... Staying for food in these parts kinda comes with the risk of an over night stay. Especially with winter drawing in. It'll be dusk soon." Bri motioned to the window. "But if you're... if you're okay with it I'd like to stick around. Talk. Answer any questions you might have. Maybe try and wash away some of the bad blood between us? We always use to see eye to eye. I know it's been a couple decades and more than a few traumas but you use to be my best friend."

[containatrocity]

"Listen I'm just thankful we're nearly done with it, been rebuildin' since Halloween, a light at the end of the tunnel is a welcome way to start a new year- especially if it means getting in out of the cold." His conversation trails off as he and another of the construction crew make their way into the hardware store- Ziggy adjusting his beanie down over his ears further as he makes a concerted effort to go unnoticed by the man behind the counter- of course the day he's sent to pick up more screws would be the day Louis was in. He'd pulled a gun on him last time, and that had been for the sin alone of being back in town. He's loathe to learn what might come of being around Bri again- of being around Natalie. For a moment, there's a flicker of his old self- that devil-may-care sort who'd dare Louis Ryan to pull the trigger. Instead, he moves back to the counter, sits a baggie of screws that he hopes will fit the repairs they're making after eyeballing the stripped out ones on top of it, and fishes his wallet from his pocket.

"Alright, what's the damage." He's avoiding eye contact. He's crossing his fingers that this won't be the kind of trip to the store that ends in having to answer for his time with Briana- or the newfound tension that's surfaced between them since Christmas. He spares a look at Louis. The expression on his face implies he should uncross his fingers. "What, Ryan? What about me just bein' in your store makes you look at me like I took a shit in your frosted flakes?"

@wanderinglcst

[containatrocity]

He's been watching the kid for a while now, subtly. He knows a con when he sees one- his own history more than a few shades of criminal, after all. It's almost heartwarming, to know that a swindler and a pickpocket managed to persist in a place like this. But it's when Roman finally acts- moves to snatch something in the pocket of the man's bag- and is caught clean by the wrist- that Ziggy leaves his post by the wall outside the diner. "Hey, Hey, easy. Easy. Guy's clearly just confused your bag for his- happens all the time- no need to get heated about it, yeah?" He straightens, 6'1, broad chested frame quickly put into action- subtle intimidation that comes out successful, as the man releases his grip- cursing and storming off.

"Gonna have to get a little lighter with the fingers, kid." He declares, turning to face Roman properly. "Not bad though. That wasn't your first swindle, was it."

@endlessreruns

[containatrocity]

It's not like being back in Huntsville was ever something he had planned on coming to pass- he'd profaned the ground of his old haunting grounds time and again, and it had been twisted curiosity that sent him on the detour to see what had come of the little nothing town that built him. And now he was stuck here. From the barred walls of one prison into another. It was enough to drive a man to drink- and that had been his intention today, a flask in his hand and blue eyes trained on the house his brother had often bragged about. A terse conversation with Mallard had informed him his parents were dead- his brother too, not long after. It was hard for Ziggy to muster anything other than apathy about it.

The warden had neglected to mention, between insistences he go fuck himself or take a short walk into the woods near dusk before Duck would ever give him a job, that his brother's home hadn't died with him. So it's surprise written on tired features, when from his place on the sidewalk- he watches his brother's wife climb the front steps. "....Claire?" He questions. "Jesus. I didn't know you'd..." Managed to tolerate his brother long enough to be widowed, really. "Uh. Sorry- I didn't know you were still livin' here."

@ambercast

[containatrocity]

He had hoped to put a little more circumstance on all this, it wasn't every day he met the child he didn't know he had until around a month ago, and there was something all too... normal, about this happening over breakfast after a few hours working on repairs around town. Surely there's supposed to be more to this than- "You want something to eat? My treat." The offer's made as he motions for the two of them to sit down- as she starts them off, by asking simply- Does he know who she is?

"I know your name's Natalie." He starts, well aware that's not what she means. "I also know that Bri's your mama, which. Given what I know about me and Bri- that I'm... your dad." He sighs. "I had this vain hope you were off somewhere that wasn't this place, was clingin' to the idea you mighta managed to escape the Ryan family curse."

where: your choice who: ziggy calhoun (@containatrocity)

“So . . .” Natalie wasn’t entirely sure what to say. This was awkward already, but she didn’t know how to tell him that she’d worked out who he really was. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. Just watching the way Briana and Ziggy were around each other after the earthquake and some quick math had revealed the truth. She wasn’t an idiot.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked finally, deciding to just go that route to start, wanting to know how much he knew first.

[containatrocity]

Thank God the water's cool. Sure, Ziggy's never been one to complain, at least, not after he'd decided that he needed to repent for his lifetime of being an insufferable dick, but it had been a cooker the last few days on the handful of odd-jobs he'd undertaken, and he felt bad for Cash, the German Shepherd panting more than he was doing anything else lately. So it's no surprise that he's playing frisbee with the pup and a few of the other locals now, a towel around his shoulders and swim trunks both already wet from a few trips into the lake- at least one of them surely to chase the dog, similarly wet and thrilled to partake in the day's festivities.

He's taken by surprise, though, when in the middle of chasing a throw, Cash halts in his tracks to start barking, wagging his tail wildly. "What the hell's gotten into-" He trails off, turning to look where the canine's attention has settled. "Shoulda assumed it was you, Sparkplug, everybody else in this town's about as interestin' as wallpaper to Johnny Cash here." He reaches down to pat the pup's head, crosses arms over his bare torso with a grin as he take Bri in. "Damn nice day out, ain't it? Crossing my fingers it stays that way, been a scorcher the last few."

@violenttempest

[containatrocity]

"Oh no it's pretty clear why nobody here wants to give you a job, actually, because most of us remember exactly the kind a' person ya are." It's declared rather flatly, as Rusty does his best to disengage the conversation. "You better than most know how long a grudge holds in a place like this'n, Calhoun."

"Fuck me, PJ-" Rusty stops on his heels, turning to shoot a glare over his shoulder.

"Rusty- right, sorry, my bad- I'm going insane with nothing to do, alright? I'll take whatever-"

"Well then ya can pester folk who ain't me. Learn an' change all ya want, but I ain't forgot the way you treated folk. Way you looked at me an' my husband like we were a sideshow, kinda words you had fer people like us- you know, I've half th- mind to-" He stops, reeling himself in as another person approaches their... very public argument outside the outdoors shop. "Evenin' Bri." He greets- tone kind once more- as Ziggy chokes on his words. Rusty looks between them. Scoffs. "Have th' day ya deserve, Calhoun."

"I- Brianna?" it's disbelief, really- last he'd heard of her, she'd been famous, making albums, selling out arenas. And now, on the cragged sidewalk of their hometown- Brianna Ryan was the one ghost he'd hoped no longer haunted this place. "I thought you were... I thought you woulda been-" He almost wants to go back to arguing with Russell- the other man's nowhere to be found now. "you... you look... good. uh. Christ."

@violenttempest

[containatrocity]

His history with the Ryan family is... Complex, to say the least. It's a family home he never quite felt welcome in belonging to a girlfriend who looked past the fact he was a particularly terrible young man- at least until she vanished without a warning for nearly a year and the anger that lived in him- that he'd fed like a starved wild animal- quickly turned on her, as well. It's why he's not exactly shocked that when he walks into the hardware store, the man at the counter turns to glare daggers at him instead of continue whatever conversation he'd been having with an employee. Ziggy swallows, bending to pick up the butt of the cigarette he'd been smoking from the sidewalk and throwing it in the trash outside. "...Afternoon." He clears his throat- the dimly lit store sprawling in front of him as he holds up the bag slung over his shoulder. "I uh. Was told y'all might get use sellin' this stuff. It's the toolkit I kept in the freighter... And some a' the shit scrapped off of it, considerin' I'm not leavin' anytime soon."

He can't remember the last time somebody had leveled him with a gaze that felt pockmarked with Hate. Louis Ryan's pretty well nailed it though.

@wanderinglcst

[containatrocity]

"Not exactly the sort of welcome I was expectin." It's stated flatly as the door to the home he's been offered comes open. "Well. I expected the hate an' loathing- the folks tellin' me to walk outside at night. Didn't expect... all of you to be stuck here. You look well, Cabell." He grimaces, slightly, at his full name, even without the vitriol, being 'Victor' had weight around here. "Uh. Ziggy, if you rather. Tryin' to make up for who I used to be is easier when folk ain't hissin' my name like it's poison." He looks almost the same as the day he was carted off to prison, maybe more tired, older, with some gray casting in his hair- but he'd not changed enough to make his return anything but a painful reminder, for most.

"Listen. I... Want to apologize, first off. I'm gonna be doin' it a lot around town, and I've been told to shove it more than a few times already. But... I wasn't a good person when we were growin' up, and if I ever did anything to you to hurt you I do... wanna make up for it. If we're all going to be here- now's as good a time as any to repent."

It wasn't like Cab and Vic were buddies. In fact, they were often at odds with one another but never directly at each other's throats. Victor was nasty and mean and Cab did what he could to buffet the man's attacks away from those who didn't deserve them. They danced their way through high school without really knowing each other outside of status and name and then Vic graduated and got into more trouble and dissapeared. And that was that. At the time, Cab remembers thinking nothing more than 'good riddance' which he regrets now. Obviously, Vic had more going on in his home life than Cab could have possibly understood.

When the door open Cabell took his father's hat off his head. A gesture of respect given freely. An olive branch perhaps.

"Y'know, I wa'n't sure I'd ever see you again, Victor. Much less under such..." he exhaled, squinting out over the road, sun illuminating his face, "--Unfortunate circumstances. But. For what it's worth..." Cab -- now Reverend McCay -- turned his attention back to Victor, "Welcome back, Brother Calhoun."

@containatrocity

[containatrocity]

It's hot, and the only saving grace for the sheer lack of things to do during the day is that Cash is still a puppy- which at the very least, means Ziggy has been getting his steps in. Not that he's tracking them, smart watch dead and phone practically useless. He's been drifting listlessly, for the most part, and even now, with Cash resting at the near-empty house he was now calling home after a few hours walking among the shells of a once rather bustling small town, the biting sense of boredom is impossible to shake. The scant lights still on around town are enough to send him from point to point like a moth, and that's surely why he's wound up at the diner for the first time since he arrived- sitting himself down at the counter and begging whatever God cares about people in Hell to cool it down, a little. "This is going to be a long shot... you got anything cold to drink that ain't water or liquor?" He questions, pushing loose dark hair back from his face before squinting, slightly. "...Celia?"

@callofthxvoid