(A/N: This was written waaayyy back in 2007, but isn't here and I figured somebody might like it. It was the product of a prompt, which was 'I'm like, you're like, he's like, she's like' from LJ. It's been edited from the original post, since I realized my grammar had improved over the years. It was originally intended as only a very short piece, fit for half an hour of writing time, therefore it's pretty lax on anything descriptive.)
The food tasted great, until Meryl realized that she would be the one paying for all of it. Her eyes slipped across to Milly then, who'd given her a look of faint distress and a half-muttered, 'but Mister Vash and Mister Priest should help'.
She'd glanced up at the boys after that, and realized there was no solution to be had with them. Nick was knocking back another shot of whiskey, and Vash was watching some pretty girl walking by the window. So not for the first time that day, Meryl put her head in her hands and sighed, letting it all go.
Was there any meaning in this madness she called her life? Was there any way to really describe how outrageous everyone around her actually was?
One of her companions on the other side of the table shifted in his seat, and she looked up, watching as Vash leaned in close, brow creasing in confusion.
"Hey, insurance girl," he questioned, suddenly tilting his head to the side, giving her that one look that she both hated and worshiped him for. "You look pretty down."
"Well you would be too Vash if you were picking up the entire tab for the both of you. Honestly, are either of you ever not ravenous pigs?"
And it was then that Vash smiled, a rather fake one really, but it was mischievous enough to put most little boys to shame, his eyes closing softly.
"Well, lighten up, you aren't paying."
"Whaaa?" She started to stammer, then shut her mouth tight, pursing her delicate lips, small jaw clenching. "What in the hell are you talking about?"
Vash's glance shifted, and she followed it. Milly was giggling, and poking at a clearly unconscious Wolfwood.
"I think that Mister Priest has had a little too much liquor and not enough sleep, Meryl," she explained when she realized they were watching her.
Meryl turned back to Vash, thinking that perhaps she understood, but not really wanting to.
"You're not serious! Of all the stupid, terrible, pointless things you've ever suggested Vash the Stampede I think that this has to be-"
He merely flashed her another of his brief mayfly smiles and darted off toward the barroom's double doors, plunging through them with a sort of ungraceful half-trip and a startled yelp.
Sighing and rubbing her temples, she turned back to Milly, only to find her standing, checking her stun gun before pulling the strap back up to one shoulder.
"Milly? Not you too! You can't be-"
"I don't know about you Meryl, but I thought our job was supposed to be following Mister Vash. Mister Priest is a big boy, we can pay him back later."
Meryl found some small part of her mind laughing at this. After all, he hadn't paid for even his own food so far, and the next check from Bernardelli wasn't for at least a week and a half.
Why not?
"Good idea Milly, we'll pay him back when our check arrives."
And then both girls slipped their way between tables and out the door.
Some hours later, Nicholas D. Wolfwood had been jostled awake by a very insistent hand on his shoulder.
"Your check sir," a man in a grease-stained apron had informed him.
He'd looked at the check, given the other side of the table a sleep-glazed glance, then tilted his head to the empty chair on his left.
"I…I….gah," he'd cried, dropping his head into his hands and causing the server to take a step back. "Why is it always me, you damn spikey bastard! Every single time, why is it always me!"