The newly bought baking goods and cooking supplies were dropped off on the kitchen table, adding drastically to the clutter on its surface. Pots, pans, and spatulas were already making themselves comfortable on it. Cook books were open on the counter and island. A thick one that was covered in abnormally large font had a trail of flour over its pages. Another cookbook displayed water damage.
Wolfwood heaved a sigh. His fingers left the handles of the plastic grocery bags. He could leave.
But before he could bid the insurance girls farewell, the infamous spiky-haired outlaw poked his head into the room. He cast a whining expression over at the Priest and Millie.
"Hey, this place isn't a restaurant," the outlaw pointed out. "Are you bringing all your food to cook over at my house too?" He asked Wolfwood with a hint of annoyance.
Wolfwood only took in half of what the outlaw had said. The other half was lost in his muddled brain, which seemed to be functioning worse the further away he was from his trampled cigarette.
"These girls just marched in here, interrupting my privacy," Vash explained. He was in front of Wolfwood now, glaring at him.
"But Mr. Vash, we don't have a kitchen in our hotel room and we asked nicely," Millie reminded.
Quickly, she began removing all the baking ingredients from the grocery bags. Meryl was checking the oven at the other end of the kitchen.
Wolfwood could tell by the look on Vash's face that in his opinion the insurance girls hardly asked at all. This idea was probably true. Judging by their excitement, both of the insurance girls were probably already inside the house when they had asked Vash for permission to use the kitchen.
"It doesn't matter anyway, I was just helping Millie here bring back some ingredients," Wolfwood explained, echoing the outlaw's edge. "Actually, I'm leaving right now."
Vash's face softened unexpectedly, but he said nothing.
Millie had finished unpacking the groceries. Instead of all the items being in bags on top of the table, they were stacked on top of one another, bare, on the table. Without the bags, the table looked more cluttered than before. The artificial light reflected off of several containers. She had just put down a new bottle of vanilla extract when she looked back up at the Priest with her bright, blue eyes.
"Are you leaving already Mr. Wolfwood? You know, we could really use your help if you're not busy."
"Vash doesn't look like he's doing anything," Wolfwood pointed out automatically. He was feeling eager to get out of the house, to find a pack of his dear friend.
Millie glanced sideways at the blond. "Ms. Meryl doesn't trust him in the kitchen." She whispered loudly.
"I've seen Vash cook, and he does just fine," Wolfwood argued, not bothering to keep his voice down.
At once, Vash's eyes darted to Meryl, hoping she had heard the compliment. Perhaps now he would have permission to use his own kitchen. Unfortunately, the small insurance girl gave no notice of the Priest's word. Instead, she turned on the faucet next to the sink and began filling up a dirty mixing bowl.
"Millie, will you wash this bowl out? We need to get started on the brownies," Meryl explained.
Either she had entirely missed the entrance of the Priest, or she was choosing to ignore it. Vash was betting on the latter.
"I'm on it!" Millie rushed to the job.
Wolfwood felt a small amount of tension fall away from him. Vash's eyes returned to him, staring at him, with an unusual expression. The Priest didn't bother nor care to ask what was on the outlaw's mind. Finally, he would be able to sneak away from the little house. He turned to exit the room once more, when Millie loudly announced Wolfwood's promise.
"Mr. Wolfwood is going to quit smoking."
Meryl shut the refrigerator abruptly. The kitchen appliance looked battered, and at the bottom the fan had apparently broken. The front of it was completely missing, leaving an opening. Her violet eyes landed on the Priest, joining Vash's stare, which was now oddly surprised.
"When are you starting?" Vash asked at once. "Are you starting now?"
The edge that had been in the outlaw's voice only moments ago, evaporated. Suddenly, it had been replaced with obnoxious enthusiasm and idiotic ramblings.
Before Wolfwood knew it, Vash had put his arm around him and was calling out joyously.
"Oh what a glorious day!" The outlaw cried. "Come on insurance girls, you two got to brew up something delicious and special for this hard-working priest! Today marks a moment of change! Endurance," Vash pounded the kitchen table with his fist, "tension,"—and again—"withdrawal!" On the final hit, a tower of boxes toppled over. He laughed loudly.
Wolfwood, who was thoroughly taken aback by the outlaw's unpredictable outbreak of joy, tried to rip himself away from Vash. To his surprise, he was unsuccessful. Vash's left arm was squashing him.
"Redemption!" Vash cried happily, his wrist jabbing into Wolfwood's rib.
"What?!" Was the only word Wolfwood could spring from his lips.
Since his arrival Vash's mood swings had been unpredictable. The word redemption rarely spewed from the needlenoggin's mouth, and the fact it had entered the conversation in reference to Wolfwood's predicament was nearly offensive.
"That's unexpected. What changed your mind?" Meryl asked. The question was represented with caution as if she was afraid Wolfwood would suddenly sprout wing and breathe fire all over her cook books… or perhaps she was just worried about Vash's behavior.
"Agency!" Vash answered before Wolfwood's mind could digest the question.
Just then the buzzer went off on the oven. Meryl went to silence it, but her attempt was unsuccessful. The buzzer continued loudly over Vash's idiotic ramblings.
"…The conquering of addiction… the taste of freedom…Love and Peace!"
BBBBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
Meryl twisted and contorted the knob in various positions, but it persisted. The bug-like noise wore on her patience. Millie came to her aide, turning the knob several times and putting it in abnormal positions until it popped off completely. The cylinder shape clattered and rolled across the kitchen floor, escaping under the fridge.
The buzzing continued.
"Mr. Vash, the timer won't stop," Millie pointed out innocuously to the gunman. "I think it's broken. It popped off and rolled under the fridge."
"Oh, you have to push it in, wiggle it, and then turn it to the right," Vash responded with ease. He finally let go of Wolfwood. "I'm surprised it even works at all after all these years," he added.
Apparently, Meryl had given up on it entirely. She put on a worn pair of yellow oven mitts, and opened the oven.
An enormous cloud of smoke eschewed from the depths of the dirty unknown. The dark enemy blew passed her head, causing her eyes to water and skin to redden. Holding her breath, she mustered up some courage and quickly grasped the cookie sheet. She dumped it on a safer surface and shut the oven with her hip, while coughing.
The mushroom-like shape of smoke began to file out through the room, darting to the ceiling and then gradually spreading over the surface like an ominous omen. Wolfwood watched it swirl and tumble over itself. As it darkened the room, it reminded him terribly of what wasn't in his pocket.
The obnoxious buzzing continued and Millie was now reaching under the dirty fridge, groping for the tiny little cylinder. With a frayed old broom in hand, Vash came to her side. One fast jerk and the bristles were under the fridge. Vash swiftly swept out a surplus of debris, which included crumbs of old molded food, a light bulb, the buzzer knob, a rag, and a large fat rat.
Millie jumped in surprise.
The rodent was demented. Half of its body was naked. Bald spots revealed its fat lumpy stature. In fact, a closer look revealed that its massive stomach was barely off the ground and was bulging at the sides. Its tail was limp and its whiskers were twisted. The fur that was remaining was knotted and wiry like rusted steal wool. Prickly nails protruded from all of its toes but one, which looked like it had been shut in a door.
Suddenly, the rat darted away from them and ran straight into Meryl's shoe. She looked down. Her eyes found its one, pulsing, red eye. She let out a small shriek and nearly stepped on it as she tried to dart away. But the rat stayed close to her, its nails apparently caught on her shoe. She shook her foot vigorously in the air until it plopped on the floor. Then she scattered away from it.
Wolfwood was abruptly brought into action. Yanking the broom from the outlaw's hand, he went after the hideous creature.
Half blind, the rat scurried around the room. It hit a cabinet, and then a chair's leg.
Aiming carefully, the Priest swatted the villain hard across the back. When he pulled the broom off of it, it was sprawled out on its fat stomach.
Success!
He went for it again, but someone else had seized the cleaning tool. He looked over to find a huge red coat.Vash's grasp had prevented Wolfwood's second attack.
"What are you doing, Needlenoggin?" Wolfwood ask angrily.
He tried to tear the handle out of Vash's hands
"Don't hurt it," Vash insisted.
"What? That thing is diseased!"
"You don't know that."
Wolfwood glared at him.
Vash returned the favor, mustering up his angriest eyes.
For a moment all they did was glower at one anther, while Meryl and Millie stood back at the other side of the island. Then the fat rat, breathing heavily, risked another escape and scurried anxiously back under the fridge.
Carefully, Meryl peered over at the refrigerator.
How long had that thing been living under there?
Millie was the first to collect her emotions. Cheerfully, she opened the dusty window above the sink. With stealth, the smoke began to slip through the opening to freedom.
Vash and Wolfwood were still arguing.
"This is my house, and you'll treat everyone in it fairly," Vash insisted.
The Priest looked disgusted at the news. Two parts of the outlaw's words bothered him. The first being the fact that Vash apparently did own the little home one way or another. And the second being that a garbage-eating-rat deserved the same respect anyone else in this room did. According to scripture, these two creatures were not of equal value, and obviously not of equal intelligence. Wolfwood's dark eyes narrowed.
"Fine!" He growled.
After searching the Priest's expression, Vash let go of the broom.
"Good," he agreed.
"I'll make sure to treat everyone equally," Wolfwood said harshly. "Including outlaws!"
Then with a swift motion, he brought the broom down towards Vash, who darted out of the way. Wolfwood continued after him.
"Help insurance girls!" The outlaw cried.
The dirty broom bristles whacked the island.
As Vash danced around the room, Wolfwood felt dislike for the outlaw surge through him, the cigarettes, the preaching, all the stupid dangers that followed him, and especially the adolescent spiky blond hair!
Swoosh!
The broom headed straight for the freshly-baked snicker doodle cookies. Vash grabbed them just in time. Smoldering heat issued from the cookie sheet. He gasped from the unexpected burning and lost his grip on the snicker doodles. He found it again just before gravity could take the sugary treats to their doom. His eyes watered madly, obscuring his vision.
Finally, it hit him. The dirty bristles swatted the back of his head. Vash felt several near his ear and a handful scathing his upper neck.
"Stop! Stop! You're going to ruin the cookies!" He yelled.
Judging by the flow of water leaking from the outlaw's once cheerful eyes, the Priest had won. He shoved the broom into Vash. The gunman dropped the cookie sheet onto the island before grabbing it.
Satisfaction finally overcame the Priest when he admired Vash's condition. The broom in his arm out did everything else. The cleaning utensil resembled Vash's extreme hairdo superbly.
Vash was unaware of Wolfwood's gaze and laughter. He could feel his heart beating in his burning fingertips.
Millie was wiping off the knob to the oven. By following Vash's earlier directions, the bug-like buzzing finally ended. The silence that followed felt out of place after so much noise had issued. Wolfwood felt an annoying ringing in his ears. He was abruptly aware his head ached. Instinctively, he reached for his pocket—empty.
"Darn you!" He growled, hitting his fist on the flour covered cook book. A puff of white powder rose into the air, lingering in front of his face.
"Me?" Vash asked skeptically. He had wandered to the sink, running water over his burning fingers. The clear liquid splashed and swirled before flowing down the dark drain.
"All of you!" Wolfwood spat. "I need a cigarette!"
Vash's eyes widened with understanding.
"And, I'm getting one"
Meryl rolled her eyes. Predictable. She didn't think he could last three hours.
"But Mr. Priest, you promised to quit!" Millie reminded, her big blue eyes penetrating him.
Wolfwood almost told her of the faulty in his promises, how he never seemed to keep them, how his devotion to anything always fell through. Instead, he redirected his words.
"It's not that easy."
"Oh, we'll help you, Mr. Priest!" Millie said at once.
Annoyance occupied Wolfwood. Help him? Help him? How? Not one of them had ever been a smoker. They had no idea what they were getting into! If everyone went through with their promises, this was going to get dirty.
"Don't worry," Vash said, his mood swinging decoratively again. "I know just the thing to get them off your mind."
But when Wolfwood looked into the outlaw's radiating eyes, he felt far from reassured.
Author's note: I'm still getting the story properly set up, thanks for reading and reviews are lovely!