On my previous account Neversaid-I-Madesense, I uploaded a collection of oneshots called The Thought Process of A 152 Year Old Man. This is a spiritual sequel to it. People seemed to like it and I hope they'll like these ones, too. Maybe someone out there remembers me? Some of the things I will be posting are complete pieces, others are the beginnings or snippets of fanfictions I'll never finish.
In an indoor market in some makeshift town a blond man in a red coat argued pointlessly with a seller, "Are you kidding me? These prices are insane!"
"Gotta make a living, pal," ground out the elderly business owner, "Cough up or leave me be. I'm too old for this," callused thick fingers drummed against a grimy countertop, waiting for the Stampede's response. Vash ran a hand through his spiky hair. What to do, indeed. A spark of irritation festered in his forehead. Surely half an hour from now it would be a throbbing headache. Inhuman or not, Vash wasn't immune to the most common of ailments. The flu, maybe, as well as major diseases—colds, however? He got them. He spent too much time with people not to share their mainstream viruses.
Vash wasn't usually so quick to anger but, then, it wasn't really anger he was feeling. He'd had this conversation quadruple dozens of times before, a new face every time. The words he spoke were automatic and well-practiced. It helped that he was actually hurting for cash at the moment. He wasn't exactly a faker, at least he liked to think he wasn't, but when someone was immortal—or just long-lived, Rem hadn't known how long he would live when he was a boy or she would have clarified—they learned the ways of the world around them whether they liked it or not, until they established routines they couldn't escape. It wasn't so bad.
"Alright, alright," he gave in, as he had planned to, "Uh…what is it again?" The other man rolled his eyes, no doubt wordlessly asking something omniscient why he was being forced to deal with such an idiotic customer. Vash didn't quite blame him. He didn't really feel up to his usual moronic antics today for some reason. Granted, half of it was genuine, as Wolfwood was quick to point out. The rest…was for the sake of his sanity, to be honest. Five minutes later, carrying a bagful of groceries which would last a day or two at best, Vash weaved through crowds of passersby like dodging fish while going upwards a stream. The insurance girls would pop up any minute now, he was certain, to his chagrin.
He hoped he'd be able to keep up his crazy grin and breezy attitude for them. If not, they'd notice and worry. Last thing he needed.