( WITH MY DARLING : JOININGish? )

[WANDERER]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]/ the first paragraph can be entirely ignored lmao and long story short he's trespassing after helping bandage a random npc's wounds

Surprise of all surprises, he hadn't stayed in The Typhoon. A greeting, a passing interest, and then he'd turned back into the world that he had no place in. Everyone always sad you couldn't go home again — what they didn't say was that finding a new place you could call home was just as impossible. There was a sense of aimlessness chasing at his heels, and it seems that desperately searching for a purpose ran in his family. Val had walked long enough now that his paws were calloused and well-adjusted to the heat of sand and the sick slick squelch of mud. Life went on, and on, and on. But these days it feels like a tedious monotony instead of a new adventure around every turn, and he's gotta say that at least part of that is the lack of company. No matter how many times a day he'd end up snapping at Butch to stop talking (no, dimwit, that's not the way it works; shut up Butch; stop screwing with my fur, Butch), he misses the commentary now that there's just silence. He'd see something pretty and look for the collie to say something or ask some kinda dumbass question.

He'd gotten used to not seeing his dad after a month, his best friend after three weeks, and Butch — he's not even sure how long it's been, but he's starting to fucking wonder.

Whatever. The point is that he's here and not anywhere else. The desert sun burns at his back and brings out the gold in his fur. Only the leather satchel strapped to his side offers any sort of cover, but his skin boils even under that. If he doesn't find some shade soon, he's gonna end up dead of a heatstroke. (Butch would hate it here. He's more prone to heatstroke than the Shepherd. Shut up, Val.) With some halfhearted sigh, the dog stops walking and twists towards the water he kept with the satchel, teeth clamping into it. Almost empty by now, another reason to find somewhere to settle down for a while. As soon as he gets a hold of it, it's knocked out of his mouth along with all the air in his lungs. He hits the ground with a yelp that's far from flattering, tumbling with the force of it until, miraculously, it ends with his feet in the sand again.

The animal that faces him, breathing hard and heart almost beating out of its chest, looks worse for wear than he does. A gash on the wolf's forehead drips red to their eyes, and he can see bruises coloring their skin where fur ruffles or parts. "Hey." They flinch a little. "Hey. Cool it, I'm a doctor." Sort of. Not quite. "The hell happened to you?" They relax a little, still ready to dash off but not right now, so the dog steps a little closer. Satchel's already undone, doesn't take more than a second to reach for his supplies. He bandages the gash in silence as the wolf gets antsier and antsier, then, just like that they're gone. "Hey!" he shouts again as they rush back into the heart of the desert. Val huffs in disbelief and follows at a slower pace — at least now he can see... something out there. So much for gratitude, but it's not like he'd expected anything else out of this world. Just a new place to go.

[B. DELORIA]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]Monotony. Yeah, Butch knew about that. The days all bled together when he was supposed to spend them at the beck and call of everyone who was above him, lugging around shit they couldn't be bothered to carry and trying not to pass out under the harsh sun. He was more convinced now that...well, he wouldn't be happy if he was left here to rot in his collar, but it'd be worse if Val were in the same position. Val was too smart to spend his time playing pack-horse. Sure, Butch was too pretty for it, but Butch didn't have a dad out there he had to find- Val did, and his dad was worth finding, because as much of an egg-head as he was, he was also a good guy. Butch had been awfully envious of that as a kid in the vault, James so even-tempered and supportive of a brat, whereas he'd go back to his room to find his mother either too drunk or too sober to speak with for long. Seemed so stupid looking back, didn't it? Hating the kid for having a dad. Wasn't like he could hate his own dad, though, seeing as he'd never met him. Val was convenient, though not exactly easy.

He was always feisty, didn't hesitate to throw himself in. Butch had a few small scars on his ears from those encounters, and even when they struck out into the world unknown, Val still gave the things sharp tugs whenever Butch was being a dunce.

It'd been a while since someone had been that kind.

Exhaling, the collie pushed on through the heat. He wasn't gonna roll over for the sun, and he knew if he did, somebody'd pounce on him before long, so there wasn't much of an option. At least he was temporarily left to man his own wheel, with no asses to kiss or random knick knacks needing lugged. Damn, but it was hot, and he was convinced he was gonna flip his lid- or maybe he'd already had, because he could've sworn he just heard Val's voice. Wasn't that a desert thing? Playing tricks? It beat Butch, and he'd ask Val, but obviously, Val wasn't here. Maybe.

He was less convinced when he saw him. His heart did funny, acrobatic flips in his chest, like it belonged in the circus, and it felt like he'd just sprinted several marathons because breathing was stupidly difficult. The collie stayed where he was for a second, just trying to get his lungs to work again, before he really did start running, throwing all cares to the desert breeze. He was genuinely surprised when he collided with a solid shape, instead of face-planting in the sand.

"Val! You're here! I've got so many questions I've been waitin' to ask- like sand! What's sand? Oh, can I take a dip in poisoned water? I missed you like crazy, man, you-" Butch cut himself off abruptly, eyes darkening, and he swallowed through his dry mouth, backing off of Val. "You gotta leave, Val. Right now. Beat it. Scram. Haul ass. This place is a shit-hole. It's Nowheresville, and you need to find your old man."

[WANDERER]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]Their experiences aren't quite comparable, are they? Maybe that's a first for them. It's not something he realizes, pays attention to or anything, but — they'd been locked in the same building or most of their lives, they'd left together, Butch didn't have a dad and Val didn't have a mom. They could sit and laugh about Brotch's class and they saw this brave new world together, but now they were both alone. He wanders with his freedom being some sort of burden. No home, no friends, no goal. Then Butch's stuck in one place, and he's got too much. The collar and the orders and the people. He'd never been a slave like that but he knows what it's like to have too much on his shoulders and too little to support him. Maybe Val'd had a dad, maybe he learned fast, but Butch had friends and a sort of confidence he'd just lacked back then. He finds it pretty stupid too, now that they're so distanced from it. Butch is an egotistical asshole but he's charming and sweet (sort of) and not that bad. He's just not bad.

Some sour part of him says that he's not that great either. Even if he's over the particular sort of cruelty it took for clumsy fights and his sort of sneers, he still very much deserves the nickname dimwit.

The rest of him, however, is nothing short of elated when he's tackled for the second time that day. He yelps a little bit, the sound not as awful as it had been the first time. Like Butch, he had assumed that it was some trick of the sun until soft fur was practically smothering him. "'M not a walking dictionary," he snaps, though his protest is muffled as he pushes his face against the collie's shoulder. Whatever stupid argument had started all of this — for a moment, it doesn't matter. Then it does because he didn't stop talking and steps back instead. Val's expression darkens too, confused and strangely hurt for something that shouldn't bother him. "What the hell are you going on about? What are you wearing?" Maybe it would have been stupid to imagine, just for a bit, that he'd be leaving here with the one friend he had left, but he had hoped. Hoping for nonsense was apparently his specialty.