Author's note: Trigun and Fight Club. A combination that makes sense when you've just watched the entire series of Trigun in one day, seen Fight Club not less than a day before, and gotten four hours of sleep on top of that. It's kind of like Coke and Rum, except for the fact that a Rum and Coke is guaranteed to be good while this new combination is relatively untested. Though I hope this venture of mine produces similarly positive results (unlike that of Orange Juice and Baccardi 151). Regardless, enjoy!
Disclaimer: If I owned Trigun, Fight Club, or any of the other anime characters and their respective series mentioned herein I'd be happy and rich. As is, I'm only happy and relatively broke for the most part. So logically none of these properties are mine. Duh. :)
Fight Club - Trigun style
Mischief. Mayhem. Keroneko.
INT. BERNADELLI INSURANCE BUILDING. NIGHT.
Wolfwood holds a Colt .45 with the barrel lodged in Vash's mouth. Vash is sitting in a chair. They are both sweating and disheveled. Both look to be around 25; Wolfwood has short black hair and a handsome physique (we can't see his face yet, only his body moving). Vash, meanwhile, has spiky blonde hair and is built about the same as Wolfwood. His features appear much younger and his face holds an almost innocent quality.
Vash (v.o.):
People are always asking me if I know Nicolas D. Wolfwood.
Wolfwood:
Three minutes. This is it. Ground Zero. Would you like to say a few words to mark the occasion?
Vash:
i…ann..ignf…agyng…
Vash (v.o.):
With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels
Wolf slowly removes the gun from Vash's mouth.
Wolf:
I'm sorry?
Vash:
I can't think of anything.
Wolf:
This isn't really death. We'll be legend. We'll never grow old.
Vash:
Wolfwood, you're thinking of vampires.
Vash (v.o.):
For a second, I totally forget about Wolfwood's whole controlled demolition thing and wonder just how clean that gun is.
Wolf approaches the window so that he can look down – eight stories.
Wolf:
Getting excited now.
Vash (v.o.):
That old saying, how you always hurt the one you love? Well, it works both ways.
Cut to:
Starting with an outside view of Wolfwood and Vash behind the window, we drop down the side of the building, passing through the ground, and coming to stop in the basement-level parking garage. Zoom in on a Truck toward the back. We zoom in through the back, coming to stop on a homemade bomb wired to several barrels of liquid. We zoom back out and travel sideways, passing through the ground, revealing a cross-section of pipes and cables, coming to a stop in another basement of a nearby building. Zoom in on a support column wrapped in several layers of brown bags, all of which are wired to a blinking box with a timer on it reading: 2:40 and counting down.
Vash (v.o.):
We have front row seats to this theater of mass destruction. The Demolitions Committee of Project Mayhem wrapped the foundation columns of a dozen buildings with blasting gelatin. In about two minutes, primary charges will blow base charges, and a few square blocks of corporate property will be reduced to smoldering rubble. I know this, because Wolfwood knows this.
Cut back to:
The inside of the building. Wolfwood checks his watch.
Wolf:
Two and a half. Think of everything we've accomplished.
Vash (v.o.):
And suddenly I realize that all of this: the gun, the bombs, the revolution, all had something to do with a girl named Faye Valentine. But then, maybe I should elaborate…
Cut to:
EXT. FRONT OF TAVERN IN NEW KANSAS. EVENING.
Vash and Wolfwood come out of double doors. Both stand there momentarily while Wolfwood lights up.
Vash:
What time is it?
Wolfwood:
(Checking his watch)
Uh…little past 3.
Vash:
God, it's late…Oh, thanks for the drinks.
Wolf:
Sure thing.
Vash:
(Musing to himself)
Should probably find a hotel….
Wolf:
What?!
Vash:
…what?
Wolf:
A hotel?
Vash:
Well…yeah…where else am I going to sleep tonight?
Wolf:
Just ask, man.
Vash:
(Perplexed)
Ask what?
Wolf:
Three pitchers of beer and you still can't ask.
Vash:
Huh?
Wolf:
You called me because you needed a place to stay.
Vash:
(Apologetic)
Oh, no, no…hey, man-
Wolf:
(interrupting)
Yes, you did. So just cut the foreplay and ask, man.
Vash:
…Would…would that be a problem?
Wolf:
Is it a problem for you to ask?
Vash:
…Can I stay at your place?
Wolf:
Sure.
Vash:
…um…Thanks.
Wolf:
But first, I want you to do me a favor.
Vash:
Yeah, sure.
Wolfwood:
(Lightning fast)
Iwantyoutohitmeashardasyoucan.
Vash:
Come again?
Wolfwood:
(Slow and explanatory)
I want you to hit me as hard as you can.
Freeze picture
Vash (voice over):
Wait…let me start a little earlier.
Pull back from Vash's face. We see that his face is pressed between two large breasts that belong to…Grencia Mars Ellijah Guo Eckener, a gangly man with long, black hair and very feminine features. Gren envelops Vash in a big hug and weeps openly.
Vash (v.o.):
Gren. Gren had bitch tits.
PULL BACK TO WIDE SHOT OF –
INT. 2ND METHODIST CHURCH. NIGHT.
Men are paired off, hugging and talking in emotional tones. Near the door is a sign on a stand that reads: "Remaining Men Together."
Vash (v.o.):
This was a support group for men with testicular cancer. The tall, skinny guy, slobbering all over me…that was Gren.
Gren:
We're still men.
Vash:
(Deadpan)
Yes, we're men. Men is what we are.
Vash (v.o.):
About eight months ago, Gren's testicles were removed. Then came hormone therapy. He developed bitch tits because his testosterone was too high and his body upped the estrogen. That was where I fit in –
Gren:
They're gonna have to open my pecs again to drain the fluid.
Vash (v.o.):
- between those huge, sweating tits that hung enormous, the way you think of God's as big.
Gren looks at Vash with empathy.
Gren:
Okay. You cry now.
Gren hugs Vash tighter, almost smothering his face is his tits.
Freeze Picture
Vash (v.o.):
Oh screw it, I'll just start at the beginning.
INT. VASH'S APARTMENT. NIGHT.
Vash (v.o.):
For six months, I couldn't sleep.
Echo: "I couldn't sleep, I couldn't sleep…"
Vash lies in bed, wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling fan above his bed. His movement is limited to blinking every now and then.
Vash (v.o.):
With Insomnia, nothing's real.
Close up. Alarm Clock. It reads "4:29". As we watch, it flips to "4:30".
Vash (v.o):
Everything is far away. Removed.
INT. TAVERN. DAY.
A bowl of cereal in front of him, Vash sits alone at a table, motionless and with his eyes half-open, paused in the movement of lifting a spoonful of his breakfast to his mouth.
Vash(v.o.):
Everything is a copy-
As he talks, we pan across the room. In moving from left to right, the patrons become more and more alike, until everyone seems to be wearing the same faded brown shirts, overalls, and hats.
Vash (v.o.):
-of a copy-
Close-up. Someone holding a hand of cards, all of which bear the same picture of a black cat with pointed ears and large, white eyes.
Vash (v.o.):
-of a copy.
A shot of the liquor racks behind the bar, the shelves lined with identical bottles all filled with the same brown, unappealing liquid.
INT. VASH'S APARTMENT. DAY.
Vash walks around the cramped room, talking on a cordless phone, looking at a gun magazine.
Vash (v.o.):
Like so many others, I'd become a slave to the armament industry.
Vash:
(Into phone)
Yes, I'd like to order the "Raging Bull" Long Colt, Model 45.
Operator (v.o.)
Please hold a moment.
Vash drops the catalogue on the bed.
Zoom in on catalogue. Full page spread of various Colt revolvers.
Vash (v.o.):
If I saw something with enough firepower to level a small community or an antique that no one even bothered to manufacture ammunition for anymore, I had to have it.
Pan around room as Vash walks from one end to the other.
Vash (v.o.):
The M608 eight-shot .357 magnum with optional mounted scope…
Shot of desk foreground. The .357 appears there as he mentions it.
Vash (v.o.):
…the M1 Garand semi-auto rifle, the M249 Squad Assault Weapon, the R93 machine-pistol, or the AK-74 with flash suppressor and genuine walnut stock.
The other guns appear consecutively as he mentions them at various places around the room.
Vash (v.o.):
I would flip through catalogues sometimes and wonder, "what kind of jacketed ammo defines ME as a person?"
A pile of clips, all various types, appears where Vash was just walking. He continues to the other side of the room, to a beaten mini-fridge, opening the door and crouching down to look inside.
INT. REFRIGERATOR .
Shot of Vash perusing the three items within, including a jar of mustard, an empty bottle of liquor, and an opened container of pudding. Vash smells the pudding and tosses it over his shoulder after making a face of disgust.
Vash (v.o.):
I had it all, even the Gil Hibben throwing knives with the heat streaks that shone when you held them up to the light, so that you knew they were hand-tempered by the hardworking, indigenous peoples of…
Operator (v.o.):
Please hold a moment.
Vash (v.o.):
…wherever.
Vash grabs the jar of mustard and closes the door on the camera.
Vash:
(Into phone)
I WAS holding.
Operator (v.o.)
Your call is important to us.
EXT. VASH'S APARTMENT. DAY.
Vash walks over to the desk, opens the drawer and begins fishing around in it. After a brief search, he pulls out a butter knife.
Vash (v.o.):
We used to read pornography, now it was the Helston gunsmiths collection.
Shot of Vash continuing to pace, now eating the mustard out of the jar with the knife.
INT. BERNADELLI INSURANCE AGENCY. VASH'S OFFICE. DAY.
Vash sits at his desk, staring into his coffee.
Vash (v.o.):
I work for the Bernadelli Agency. Or at least I think I do. Mostly my job consists of sitting in an office alternately filling out crossword puzzles and reading "Firearms Monthly" to pass the time. Sometimes I fill out papers that my boss hands me. Either way I get paid every other week. If you'd asked me a month ago, though, I would never have expressed the desire for employment of any kind. I guess the strain of nomadic life finally got to me.
His boss Meryl, a young woman of small stature with short, dark hair enters, dropping a stack of papers in front of Vash, snapping him out of his reverie.
Vash (v.o.):
It must've been Tuesday. She was wearing her "cornflower-blue" ensemble.
Boss:
(Sorting through papers)
Gonna need you out of town this week. We've got some red flags to cover.
Vash (v.o.):
Sometimes I fantasize about just walking out and never coming back. Then I remind myself that there isn't anything else out there except sand dunes and other, equally unimpressive towns.
Vash:
(Listlessly)
You want me to re-prioritize my current reports until you advise a status upgrade?
Boss:
Make these your primary action items. Here are your travel coupons. Call me from the road if there are any snags.
She walks briskly out of the office.
Vash (v.o.):
She was full of pep. Must've had her grande latte enema.