Chapter Two

YAY!  Thaank y'all fer the positive feedback.  ::snigger.:: it's just so much FUN to mock the characters.  ::sighs happily.::

The girls, of course, possessed no matching rings, leaving the priest and the outlaw with the disturbing realization that they were, indeed, wedded.  Meryl and Milly were bemused (and, perhaps, a little amused,) but they congratulated the hapless happy couple nonetheless. 

"Thanks," growled Wolfwood as he made a beeline for the proverbial hair of the dog.  More of the same was among the best cures for a hangover- and if it didn't work, there was always the option of unconsciousness again.  Which is probably not a good idea.  God knows who I'd marry then.

Vash, meanwhile, was currently sitting at a table staring into space.  He'd never dealt well with hangovers, but at the moment the pounding of his head took second string to the thoughts buzzing within it.  Great.  Just great.  As if it weren't hard enough to have a good time with the insurance chicks following us around, now I'm married?  Slowly but surely, he flopped forward onto the table, the pounding of his head finally managing to distract him from infinitely more painful thoughts.  He gave a low, prolonged groan.

The girls were somewhat less bothered.  Milly, though a little perplexed, finally decided that Mr. Vash and Mr. Wolfwood were both nice enough people that she hoped they'd be happy together, and besides they'd always argued like a married couple, and was just wistfully regretful that she hadn't known, to send flowers or pudding or something.  Meryl was busy at her typewriter- ostensibly writing a report on the current proceedings.  In a way this was the truth. 

Dear Mother,

You know how you've been pressuring me to find myself a man...?  And remember that I told you I thought

I might have...?  Well, I'm afraid you won't be having grandchildren any time soon- he's already married. 

She thought perhaps she ought to leave it at that.  The particulars of the situation were confusing to her.  Besides, I am SO much cuter than that unshaven priest-guy.  Meryl glared at nothing in particular for a few moments, sitting alone at a table in the common room of the hotel.  A waiter, shaking a little, scuttled over and queried in a tremulous voice whether she'd like anything to eat.  The fire of her stare was turned on him, and he shriveled further.

"A banana sundae.  With extra whipped cream."

Not like there was any reason to watch her figure, all things considered.  She awaited her treat, drumming a rhythm on the table with her fingers.  When it came, she spent a few moments staring in the direction of the red-coated man, clutching her spoon like a weapon, before she began to eat without looking at her sundae.

Vash, meanwhile, had drifted into a more natural unconsciousness.  He did not, may we stress, deal well with alcohol.