Stressing the black
Disclaimer: I own nothing
A/N: betaed by the lovely Celesma, thank you very much dear :)
"You know, I have always wondered about this."
Vash was sprawled haphazardly over the bed, watching Wolfwood with his head upside down. There was a look of wonderment on his face; the innocence in it may or may not have been fake. It was wasted on Wolfwood anyway, since the priest was standing with his back to him (and innocence, fake or not, didn't do it for him).
Rolling his eyes at Vash's cryptic randomness, he finished buttoning up his shirt, while concentrating on not getting too much ash on it in the process. The thing wasn't that white anymore, but still. One had to cling to principles.
Chuckling briefly to himself at the ridiculousness of that thought, he forgot for a moment that there was a cigarette clamped between his teeth; and consequently, the plan of saving his shirt was shot to hell. He gave it up, reaching for his black jacket. With Vash around, his clothes would soon be sent to hell anyway.
"Wondered about what?" he finally asked (having long since learned that ignoring Vash was just going to make the Humanoid Typhoon and the headache he gave everyone who happened to be near him that much worse).
Vash just continued staring, seemingly contemplating his answer (seriously, did that man live to irritate Wolfwood? No wait, stupid question).
"It's just... why black? And it's not just you; all the priests I've seen wear it. Why black? When it's supposed to be all about holiness and virtue and hope – why such a depressing color?"
Wolfwood just snorted, turning the cigarette around in his mouth and blowing the smoke out through his teeth with an irritated hiss. The nerve of some people...
Finally turning around, he caught Vash still staring upside down at his black clothes, brow furrowed in thought. Either he was really thinking about this – which would be ridiculous, but therefore very Vash – or he merely wanted Wolfwood to think that he was. Observing his reaction while really meaning something else. The Humanoid Typhoon blinked at him, apparently confused by his silence.
Wolfwood shook his head.
"Don't look at me, never asked myself. Wouldn't wear white, anyway."
He kept his gaze steady, but didn't look at Vash, instead staring out at the window, as if contemplating the heat outside. Wearing white he'd probably start tearing at his own flesh. Not to mention he'd look like the fucking Hornfreak. He could feel his scowl harden at that thought, but thankfully Vash was still oblivious to it, lost in thought.
"You know," Vash said after a moment of silence, "I just don't really like black – somehow... it seems like a mark of loss."
Wolfwood felt a strange flare of anger and bitterness at that, but he managed to reign it in.
Snorting, he once again shook his head, crossing the room to collect his gun from one of the Punisher's hidden panels.
"And what do you want me to do, dress like you?"
Vash furrowed his brow to a scowl, sulking. He had finally turned on the bed.
"There is absolutely nothing wrong with the way I dress."
Wolfwood just snickered in response, refusing to believe the impertinence he was hearing.
Maybe having his head upside down for that long had actually managed to make Vash even more infuriating than usual.
He pulled the strings around the Punisher tight, the gunpowder so familiar that he breathed it in deeply, along with the smoke.
"Isn't there?" he finally threw back at Vash. "You are aware of the fact that blood is red, right?"
Vash looked stunned. Wolfwood mentally shook his head and bit back a bitter laugh. This was so ridiculous. Suddenly he felt ill.
He faced the window again, frowning at the dirty glass, while Vash frowned at his back.
"That's not why – a lot of other things are red!"
The priest just snorted.
"Oh yeah? Like what?"
He smirked. He could practically feel the other man's frown deepen.
"Like – like apples! And the sunset!"
Hearing the priest's barely hidden chuckle, the Humanoid Typhoon decided to throw down his winning card.
"It's red! It's the color of Love!"
Now Wolfwood didn't even bother to hold back his laughter.
Vash managed to furrow his brows even more, setting up his Serious Face.
"Don't laugh! At least I'm wearing an actual color!"
Wolfwood wasn't sure what he meant by that, but it wasn't like it mattered.
Finally getting his breath back, he turned and said:
"Look, can't say why all these other guys do it, but I'm wearing black because it's bad-ass and because I have no laundry money. You're wearing red because you're crazy and a fool, and that's perfectly all right, okay? Now, let's find something to drink so I can forgot that we, two grown guys, have just been arguing about love and our choice of wardrobe."
With that, he pushed his gun back into the waistband of his pants and strode out the door, a stunned and strangely thoughtful looking Vash at his heels.
Just a few meters before they reached the door that led to the bar and Wolfwood was just beginning to feel safe again, Vash suddenly stopped.
"But wait... you're not a bad guy – why would you want to be mistaken for one? And your shirt is white!"
Wolfwood didn't turn. Biting down hard on his cigarette, he was fighting the urge to – again – laugh bitterly. He took a breath, forcing his voice to sound uninterested and dismissive.
"Who cares? And the white is only stressing the black. Now come on, I'm bored and my mouth is dry."
With that, he forced his mind to grow blank and his body to move onwards, away.