[ meryl listens to them talk, continuing to peek out to gauge the situation. vash's words essentially reiterate what knives had said earlier — that death means nothing here — and yet they're far more believable than his. the assertions that it'll be okay help, even if it's still hard to reconcile in her mind. death is death. it's difficult to think of it as anything other than something final, something that ends, and so even if logically she can believe vash, it's a lot harder to put into practice. she's still scared, the images of what knives did to him swimming in her mind endlessly.
she's quiet as a mouse behind that stand until vash empties his gun, holsters it, and then she can't help the soft: ] Vash... [ that escapes — hardly audible but stained with nervousness at the action.
and then they're continuing, meryl wondering whether she should stop this somehow, if she can, when vash offers himself up, but then knives is gazing at her hiding place and talking about how vash isn't like "them", and... she's not stupid. she knows there's something fundamentally different about vash. she knows vaguely what he is, what he's capable of, and what can happen to him. but that doesn't change the way she looks at him in the slightest — he's vash. he's a person, whether human or plant or whatever. she doesn't look at him as a species, or a typhoon, or anything else — just as himself.
and who he is at his emotional core is exactly what makes her want to follow him and believe in him.
so, meryl stands now, still mostly obscured by the wooden stand due to her height compared to the small street stall, and takes a half step out into visibility — still hidden enough to retreat behind it should things go south, but out in the open enough to try and assert herself, in knives' line of sight. the images of that room, with conrad, continue to bombard her, along with the feelings she held in there — the need to protect vash from this man. ]
N-No one has to prove anything here! [ about the whole dying thing. no one kill anyone, please. she balls her hands into fists now. ] It doesn't matter who Vash is "like". That doesn't change who he is.
[ typhoon, stampede, plant, independent, human. none of that matters to her when it comes to him. one last image of his face when he was in that pool, of the way he looked so devoid of himself, flashes for her, and she can't help herself: ] So just... leave him alone!
[ bravery, thy name is meryl. she was brave then and she can be brave now. for vash. ]
no subject
she's quiet as a mouse behind that stand until vash empties his gun, holsters it, and then she can't help the soft: ] Vash... [ that escapes — hardly audible but stained with nervousness at the action.
and then they're continuing, meryl wondering whether she should stop this somehow, if she can, when vash offers himself up, but then knives is gazing at her hiding place and talking about how vash isn't like "them", and... she's not stupid. she knows there's something fundamentally different about vash. she knows vaguely what he is, what he's capable of, and what can happen to him. but that doesn't change the way she looks at him in the slightest — he's vash. he's a person, whether human or plant or whatever. she doesn't look at him as a species, or a typhoon, or anything else — just as himself.
and who he is at his emotional core is exactly what makes her want to follow him and believe in him.
so, meryl stands now, still mostly obscured by the wooden stand due to her height compared to the small street stall, and takes a half step out into visibility — still hidden enough to retreat behind it should things go south, but out in the open enough to try and assert herself, in knives' line of sight. the images of that room, with conrad, continue to bombard her, along with the feelings she held in there — the need to protect vash from this man. ]
N-No one has to prove anything here! [ about the whole dying thing. no one kill anyone, please. she balls her hands into fists now. ] It doesn't matter who Vash is "like". That doesn't change who he is.
[ typhoon, stampede, plant, independent, human. none of that matters to her when it comes to him. one last image of his face when he was in that pool, of the way he looked so devoid of himself, flashes for her, and she can't help herself: ] So just... leave him alone!
[ bravery, thy name is meryl. she was brave then and she can be brave now. for vash. ]