Welcome to Gaia! ::

Soryu looked at her tail and didn't really care about her moving hips. "It's Soryu. That's all you need to know, and all you need to write on the cheque." He said, lighting a cigarette

"nice to meet you so here is what i think we should do i need a bath and i know you need one too!"
under her breath "i can smell you from over here"
so why not take the night to rest and clean up then talk in the morning how about that what do you say?"

(i have to go i have class) but that goes for all of us and with that sam starts to go up stairs i will talk to who ever want to lesson tomarrow.

The moment the realization hit Vash, Knives could tell. A cold smirk slithered across the cloaked man's lips.

He saw the metaphorical hamster go from light jog to sprint as his twin's mind began to reason - most likely considering preserving the insignificant lives of the bar patrons should he expect that Knives had come for a confrontation. A snort of amusement escaped his lips when his brother reached for his gun.

The truth couldn't be further from it. He didn't have the kind of time on his hands for that at the moment – there were more important things to be done. He did, whoever, have ample time to watch Vash squirm. Knives idly wondered how terrified he could make his brother for the lives of the humans he so adoringly protected before Vash realized how very pointless it would be. It was tempting, simply, to reduce the building to ruins in order to show his twin just how hopeless his cause was.

Remembering that the rivalry of opinions was not his original purpose for coming to the town, Knives digressed to more subtle tactics. The chair squealed slightly as he pushed himself from it and floor boards creaked when his heavy boots pressed them as he crossed to the bar, eyes focused and smirk in place. He felt much like a lion walking amongst lambs. The knowledge that he could obliterate the entire population of the city within moments was both soothing to his anxious nerves and invigorating.

The stool to Vash’s right was empty and Knives slipped into it, thinking he hadn’t actually seen his brother in ages. What would be so wrong in wishing to converse with him for a while?

He pulled at the folds of his cloak to cover the bar before resting his right arm on top of the cloth, still wary of the filth caked on the surface of the counter. The other hand reached back to pull something from within the shadows of the aged cloth, and, moments later, a clatter of heavy metal hitting solid wood echoed through the establishment as Knives’ ebony colored Colt revolver was tossed onto the counter in front of him. His iced blue eyes rose to fix on Vash.

It was more of a means to mock him than anything else. They both knew Knives could get to the revolver just as fast as Vash could knock it away. They both, also, knew that Knives did not need that gun to make him, and the humans around him, hurt.

((Sorry, I'm doing some office work at home so I'll be slow to respond. >.<))

Knives snorted, mildly amused by the 'small world' comment. Not so much 'small world' as it was 'small population.'

"Just passing through on... business." He chose his words carefully, though, honestly, what other purpose would he have for willingly immersing himself in a parasitic hive such as Forstall? The Plant's lips curled into a sneer as a particularly drunken man sitting at a card table shouted something loud, obnoxious and, for the most part, incoherent. Disgusting. Knives fingers twitched for the revolver lying on the counter top of the bar. "Believe me, brother, it's not a pleasure trip."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, exactly..." Knives smirked wistfully - the kind of Chesire cat expression one never really knows what to make of. The conversational tone of his brother's voice was amusing and some how annoying at the same time. "Whether the trip is enjoyable or not rests in the end result of it."

"Unfortunately, on this particular trip, I don't have the kind of time to spend on more... preferable activities." All amusement or morbid playfulness began to seep out of his tone, as if the voice were as bipolar as its owner. Cold eyes scanned the faces of the offending beings sharing the building. His jaw tightened. "Perhaps I'll have to pass through a second time on my way back to take care of the mess I'll let alone now."

"Considering how previous situations have gone when you try to 'greet' me, I'll be looking forward to the second trip as well." Knives had been planning, recently, on letting the Guns deal with his dear brother for the time being, but what's one more city thrown in the face of eventual global extinction?

Though, knowing Vash, he'd most likely have the entire town evacuated by the time Knives returned. Still, the fact rested, one more cluster of a homo-sapien hive would be destroyed and those pests he so loved would hate him all the more for it. Perhaps maybe enough to convince him his species was never welcome amongst theirs to begin with. "And if present dealings go as planned, I might bring along another shining example of the good of humanity for you to dote upon."

If Knives did succeed in hunting down the man he was after, he sincerely doubted he'd throw him against Vash immediately. Knives never expected any of the Guns to be able to withstand a conflict with his twin, and, in fact, would be personally insulted if they did. The trip would be a wasted effort to trash the new resource so soon.

((Sorry, I've got to go now. This scene was great fun rp'ing with you ^_^))

A low chuckle resonated from deep in Knives' chest, "I'm sure you have, Vash."

In July, it wasn't so much Vash that did the 'greeting' as it was Knives, seeing as it was him that had been waiting from his twin, perched calmly on the desk of Rem Saverem's freshly deceased relative. It tugged slightly at his nerves to remember the incident and how Vash, his brother, had shot at him with the powers they shared, leaving his physical body completely shattered. Recuperation through 'lost' technology had been long and considerably painful - none of it memories Knives was particularly fond of recalling.

Either way, Knives had always seen July as a victory for himself. Of all the damage done to his body, he had robbed Vash of his last connection to the woman he cites for all the self-righteous, logically flawed theories on morality and humanity and, in the same instance, unveiled the destructive power he and Vash had been born to utilize. Burning that bridge for his naive sibling, Knives reasoned, had been worth the expense.

"If I told you what exactly my business was that would take the surprise out of it." Again, the Chesire cat, dangling a prize above Alice's head. "Patience, brother, something you were never very good with."

"Speaking of business," A gloved hand reached out from inside Knives' cloak and clutched the jet black revolver on the counter top, pulling it back to himself and it's holster. "I ought to return to it. I've put too much work into this one to let it pass by."

He rose, stretching out long limbs as he stood. One last unabashedly disgusted glance about the establishment and Knives began to pace toward the door, when he came to a halt at the spikey haired man's left shoulder. A single hand fell on the shoulder, and as Knives inclined his head to whisper, fingers dug into muscles and tenders there, aggravating pressure points and summoning up bruises that would be evident the next day.

"I'll be looking forward to that second trip, my dear brother." Knives took Vash's sarcasm and paid it back, venom dripping from his words as they were all but growled into his twin's ear.

He released him and left all evidence of the hostile tone there as his boots again dropped heavily on the floor boards as they neared the exit. Only a couple more steps from the door and the visit would have been without incident, if only a man who had had too much to drink hadn't chosen that particular moment, that particular body to stumble into.

Knives froze.

In the bustle of the crowd, no one paid any mind to the cloaked figure shoving the drunk off of him and against the wall. And when the man collapsed into a ball on the ground a second later, whoever might have seen took it as someone at their limit passing out. No one noticed the growing crimson stain that painted the front of the human's dirty, brown shirt.

Knives made a note to wash his hands thoroughly the next chance he had.