Disclaimer: I own my feeble brain, my sketchy prose and life-giving hot chocolate, but, unfortunately, I do not own Trigun.
A/N: Oh my god. Oh. My. God. -waits to be stoned- How could it take me nearly a whole year to update? I didn't know where the time went! I'm worse than Meryl. ;;
Ehehe... I wonder if anybody on this site remembers this fic. Or even me. n.n -waves and reintroduces self- Hey, guys, I'm Orpheus and I lurk so hard like you don't even know. I don't mean to. .. It just happens.. Anyway, I won't delay you the story any longer! I'm sure there were a couple of people waiting for this..
Today, your narrator is Meryl.
'Courage is the price that life extracts for granting peace.' – Amelia Earhart
Three: Sleep Outside
I was thoroughly unmotivated toward my new assignment. It was the first time in my life that I had entertained any form of apathy. I just wasn't anticipating meeting a guy who had made himself the image of a hero. I've had enough of heroes.
I frowned as I browsed over the task folder one last time and packed up mission necessities into my duffel bag. I could have laughed, had I not been so emotionally preoccupied. The assignment was undeniably the most trivial job the insurance society had ever thrown at me. The objective leaf was completely laughable. In a whole page's worth of words, insurance jargon, all it basically ordered was that Milly and I locate Seamus Hawkeye and—I scoff—congratulate him (and, in small print, sell him insurance).
It wasn't as if I had much of a say in the matter. Especially since I was at the risk of loosing my job if I didn't accept this assignment. However, indifference not restraining, I definitely could have raised an issue of ethics concerning it. After all, congratulating a potential criminal-in-disguise doesn't exactly seem like something an insurance company is wont to do.
I suppose all it means is that the Bernardelli Insurance Society has been taken in by what gets fed out through the newspapers and tabloids. At least I was still sane…to a degree. I suddenly remembered my little coffee incident of the day before and flushed in self-embarrassment. I sighed.
Why am I so out of it, sometimes?
I heard a rap at the door, then.
"Meryl, may I come in?" The door muffled her voice, but there was distinct cheeriness in Milly's voice that I couldn't miss. I quickly checked my reflection for telltale grey marks or fatigue-lines, what would have been results of last night's complete lack of sleep. There was only a slight pallor, I noticed with relief—no bulging purple streaks or blemishes. No signs that I had been crying, either. For that, I was particularly thankful.
"Come in, Milly," I said, keeping my voice light. She entered my room, looking fresh and upbeat. I smiled and hoped she wouldn't notice the effort behind the expression.
"Good morning," she grinned.
"Good morning, Milly. Are you ready?" I asked. She nodded, seemingly as excited as I wasn't.
"Yep. I came to see if you were, too. If we hurry we can catch the next bus out!" She seemed eager to get going, at least. Someone had to be, I thought cynically. I was happy for her, though. Work was probably the best—and only—escape Milly had now. Lord knew, she needed one.
I need one, too, I mused. Maybe more than her. My own selfishness stung me. I put those thoughts roughly away.
"Just a couple more things, Milly," I said.
She generously helped me pack. It turned out that in my moments of out-of-itness that I'd barely even noticed, of which there were plenty, I'd forgotten more than a couple of things. I turned away and blushed when Milly pointed out a lack of spare underwear in my travel bag. Geez, I needed some focus these days. I used to be so efficient, so thoughtful.
Of course…I used to be a lot of things.
"Shall we go, then?" Milly asked when were done. I hesitated, and then nodded. I wasn't keen, but I was ready. All I could think of to justify the situation was, I have to do my job. It was the usual excuse, and, after probably three years of use, I felt it wearing thin. I wondered idly how much longer it would motivate me.
"Let's go," I said in a muted, reverent tone. Milly hefted my bag up onto her back, smiling, and made down the stairs. I went to follow, paused and turned back. My eyes wavered over my tiny apartment. Meagre as it was, only big enough for one person and barely that, it was the only home I had ever known since I had returned. Even so, it only pained me slightly to leave it so. I farewelled it one last look, and then shut the door. Locking up, I was wondering when I'd next see this place. Hopefully soon, but knowing how these wild-goose-chase assignments usually turned out, I gathered it would feel like years.
The sky outside was a clear, cloudless azure. The city swam in sunlight, though the twin suns were gentle today. The air was crisp and pleasant. It was the most beautiful day I had witnessed for months—the kind that makes you want to forget all your problems, as Milly had once put it. She was right. Unfortunately I found myself begrudging it, for it would be wasted as I traveled today. Why was it that good things always had to happen at exactly the wrong time? I guessed that was precisely my luck—sour.
Milly had already loaded our luggage onto the waiting bus, so I had no time to stand and savour the day. I felt my heart drop a few more notches as I stepped up onto the bus. The pot-bellied driver gave me a dubious look.
"Where you headed?" he asked gruffly. I thought for a moment, calculating the rumours I'd made sure to investigate, speculating the whereabouts of the so-called Sand Pirate, and then decided which direction seemed the most reasonable.
"Inepril City," I answered, desperately shutting out the memories that threatened. I paid the driver Milly's fare, and mine, and he seemed satisfied.
I took little comfort Milly's wide grin as we took our seats.
"Here we come, Inepril!" she chortled. I looked up. Her look of genuine excitement and anticipation should have been infectious. It used to be.
"Gee, won't they be happy to see us, there, huh, Meryl?" I grimaced, but quickly rearranged the expression so as not to dampen Milly's spirits. I was quite certain that our friends in Inepril, who were rather his friends, would only be half-heartedly pleased to see Milly and I. It was entirely possible that they wouldn't even recognize us. They'd be ecstatic if only we turned up with their hero—thinking the very name had me squirming—Vash the Stampede.
"Yeah," I mumbled. My voice was a dead giveaway that I cursed myself for. I hastily plastered a faux grin on my face and gazed up at my friend. "Of course they will," I lied to Milly, not the last of innumerable times. The smiles and the lies hurt, but the cruel truth would pain my friend even more so. My friend had sacrificed so much for me over the years. It was my turn now.
But a horrible, nagging spot on my mind wondered how long I could keep chivalry alive, how long I wanted to.
-
The bus ride was only just tolerable. I was tremendously uncomfortable, not because the ride was rough or bumpy—it was quite the opposite, in fact—but because I merely had too much time on my hands. And too much time inevitably means, for me, too much time to think. Oftentimes, I tried distracting myself. I opened and closed the window at regular intervals, but even the pleasant drafts prompted thoughts. I was made to remember the countless times I'd driven like this before, with Milly, Mister Wolfwood and him, the four of us a neat, if unconventional, little troupe.
Too many thoughts like these entered my mind, thus making the day-long journey a discomforting, let alone poignant, event. I had thorns in my mind.
The sky was darkening when we arrived at Inepril, a citrus orange sunset splashing final rays of peachy light across the building faces, shadows clinging to everything else. People lined the streets here and there. Much raucous laughter and shouting projected from the near-by saloons, meeting my ears with too much familiarity. I promptly caught myself before I my wandering mind managed to evoke the image of him, amusingly drunk, wearing an ugly, designer's-nightmare necktie he had managed to wrestle off some poor soul.
…Okay, maybe I hadn't caught myself.
My throat constricted.
"Meryl?" Milly spoke. Startled, I quickly shook my head back to reality. I glanced sheepishly up at Milly.
"Yeah, Milly?" I busied myself with stretching out my travel-wearied limbs.
"Well, Meryl," she said as she unloaded our luggage, "I was just thinking…" She paused, her expression loaded.
"What is it, Milly?" I asked, curious. "Is something the matter?"
"Oh, no!" she laughed and shook her head. "I was just wondering," she continued eagerly, "whether we could perhaps drop by one of the saloons to see our friends?" I immediately balked at the notion. Milly must have picked up on my discomfort, for she frowned.
"A saloon would be a great place to start collecting more rumours," she pointed out, obviously having misunderstood my hesitation. "And, after all, we've been traveling all day!" Milly restrained the groan in her voice but I knew she'd be rather disappointed if I refused her. Had she known my reason for desiring to avoid saloons, I was sure she wouldn't have pressed me. I didn't begrudge her for the misunderstanding, however.
"Well," I began, still apprehensive, but the fact being Milly had already won. "I suppose so." I put aside the sigh and grinned for my partner. "Why not?" I chuckled. The sound was heavy.
-
Milly and I found a hotel in record time. Usually we would board in a single room, but decided, since we had been traveling all day, a fact that Milly was quick to point out a second time, we would lodge in separate rooms. I gave up the farce of objecting. The cost didn't bother me, and I knew that later in the night I would want to be left to my own company, anyway. I'd developed, despite myself, an unhealthy brooding routine that seemed to fester at night. Milly and my tears in the same room was a hazardous combination, and one I could do without.
After depositing our luggage at the hotel, we proceeded to a saloon. We wasted absolutely no energy in finding one. It seemed a trademark to Gunsmoke that wherever a hotel rested, a bar wouldn't be far away and, if not, drunken laughter could easily guide you. In our case, we simply had to cross the street.
The atmosphere inside was much the same to every other bar I had entered in my life. Well, my Bernardelli life, anyway. A cloak of cigarette smoke hovered low from the ceiling, but not quite heavily enough to make anyone uncomfortable. The round wooden tables were chipped and weathered from use, the chairs little different. The tabletops themselves were messy at best, bottles, full and empty alike, playing cards, cigarette butts and the occasional peanut shell strewn over them in an predictably chaotic fashion. A surly looking old bar lady wiped glass after glass behind the grimy bar, surveying the room with wary eyes, ever the silent vigil.
The occupants themselves were many, each as drunken and indistinguishable as the next, most of them working class men and women. Loud as they were, it was surprisingly easy to ignore them. I realized that I had barely even noticed them upon my arrival. It occurred as odd that I should notice them less inside the actual saloon than when I was outside.
A few men looked up upon our entrance, but without anything more than detached interest. There was no recognition in their eyes. I was disappointed for Milly's benefit only.
"Meryl, Meryl!" Milly squealed beside me. "I see some of our friends! Let's go say hello, Meryl!" I didn't bother to see where she was pointing. She was positively jumping. I stared up at her ecstatic face and knew I wouldn't be able to even pretend to share her elation. I had to get away. I needed privacy from Milly. She might not have thought it, but I knew she didn't need my lingering melancholy, either.
"You go, Milly," I told her. She looked down at me, questioningly, her brows pleated.
"Don't you want to see them, too, Meryl?"
The muscles in my cheeks smarted from disuse as I gave her the widest grin I could manage. It was getting uncomfortable, having to hold my sighs tight in my chest all the time.
"Of course," I lied with a laugh that wasn't very convincing after having used it all day. "But… I think I'll get a drink, first."
Alcohol. It was the first time the idea had entered my head and I wondered why I hadn't thought about it before. The notion was strangely appealing.
"I'll just be at the bar," I said, nodding infinitesimally in response to internal questions, a reassurance mechanism. "I'll be right over, okay?"
Milly considered me a minute.
"Okay, Meryl," she chirped, and bounced her way toward our friends. I didn't watch to see their reaction, making myself scarce before Milly could point me out to them.
I made my way to the bar and quickly hid myself between two doubled-over, drunken masses of patrons. It felt strange sitting on a saloon stool again after having spent so much time in office chairs, staying as far as was possible on Gunsmoke to stay from a saloon. But it was stranger still how such a simple thing had me fighting back memories of why I used to spend a lot of time in saloons. Lord, Meryl, I groused at myself. You need a holiday. And fast. My forehead fell into my palms as I leaned forward on the bench, finally at liberty to heave a whole day's worth of staved sighs. It was probably a good thing that, but my privacy didn't live long enough to see my eyes well.
"What'll ya have, sweetheart?" a husky female voice inquired somewhere above me just as I felt the sting of salt water around my eyelashes.
I started and glanced up. The barlady stood over me, the trademark tea towel in her hand, with a neutral, but curious expression.
"Um…" I paused. I cursed my knowledge, or lack thereof, of alcohol. Why did I always need things that I knew almost nothing about?
"Uh, b-bourbon?" I asked sheepishly, hoping to god I didn't sound like a complete idiot. She regarded me briefly then shuffled to the bottle-rack behind the bar.
"Here y'go," she said, slapping down a short glass in front of me and filling it half way with what I saw to be Wild Turkey.
"Thanks," I mumbled, surrendering some double-dollars. The barlady left to pursue other tasks and I was grateful for the solitude again.
I stared down into the amber liquor for a long time, gazing idly as it settled into a smooth meniscus. It took several minutes just to reach out and close my hand around the glass. It wasn't cold, but it wasn't hot, either; just dull, smooth and boring beneath my touch, but somehow important to that moment. I clutched the glass tight in my fingertips, and slowly brought it to my lips, taking the tiniest, cautious sip. The whiskey was unlike anything I'd ever tasted—silky and thick on my tongue, but also thin, thinner than water. It burned as it snaked down my throat and I found myself desperately muffling back a coughing fit.
After that, I didn't dare take another sip. I just used the liquid as a distraction, swirling the contents of the glass and waiting for them to settle, then repeating the motion. Swirl and watch—a pleasant and numbing routine. Swirl and watch. Swirl and watch. Sigh.
Swirl. How many weeks had it been? Watch.
Swirl and watch. How long could I keep this up? How many weeks would it take before I couldn't pretend any longer?
Swirl. Watch.
Why do I always do this? Watch. Why do I always inflict this purgatory on myself?
Watch. I have to do this. I have to do my job. I can't—…
Watch.
Watch.
What if…
Watch.
Was he still alive?
When she spoke, it was as if an age had passed, as though I'd risen above my own body to watch the world turn and swirl beneath me.
"Strong spirits for a small woman," drawled a female voice from behind me. It was only when she spoke that I realised her shadow had been hovering over me for some moments. It took me a moment or two to unlock my fingers from around the liquor glass, only then understanding how tightly I'd been grasping it, but eventually composed myself enough to turn around.
The face that met me was beautiful and cynical and triggered something at the back of my mind that I couldn't quite pinpoint—a vague familiarity. She was dressed lavishly, sporting a violet dress, that only barely made her cleavage decent, and lilac ribbons everywhere. A wide-brimmed, too large hat was perched on her head, beneath it a neat crop of brown hair that fell almost over her eyes. It was her eyes that I remembered, emerald green and obscure.
"You…I remember you," I said.
"Then I'm not the only one," she said with a lazy laugh. "I'm Elizabeth."
It all fell into place then.
"Oh!" I gasped. "You were the one who fixed this city's main plant!" I remembered her clearly now. Had it really been two years since… since then?
"I did my part," said Elizabeth. There was a momentary shift in her expression. "I'm afraid I don't remember your name."
"Meryl," I replied. "Meryl Strife."
"The insurance girl." She nodded to herself. "It's been a long time."
"It has," I agreed. Everything has been a long time. Too, too long.
Elizabeth sat herself down next to me.
"So," she began conversationally, brushing imaginary dust from her lap. "What brings you back to Inepril?" She signalled to the barlady for a drink.
"Work," I said mechanically.
"I see. Still tailing…him?"
Elizabeth had no idea how much I respected her right then. As much as I detested the question, she hadn't said that name.
"No, actually," I said quietly, eager to move on. I had a sudden thought. Maybe she could help. "Our new mission is to track the so-called 'Sand Pirate', now."
"Hawkeye?" Elizabeth gushed. Her eyes grew curiously narrowed then, as if she'd taken personal offense to something I'd said. She pursed her lips a moment then asked, "Where are you planning to search for him?"
"Er…" The realisation suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't even thought about it. It didn't take me long to figure out why. "Well, maybe North, if he's no where near here," I gave after a moment.
"North?" she repeated, taking a sip from the glass the barlady had brought. "I wouldn't go North if I were you."
"Oh? Why not?"
"Are you too busy or too lazy to read the papers?"
I flushed.
"The thing is," she went on, dabbing her lips with a handkerchief, "it's become very dangerous for anyone to travel too far North."
"Why?"
Elizabeth looked at me is if I was incontinent or something worse.
"Why?" she echoed, incredulous. "Because of the oceans and the plants and the Aqua Project."
Oceans? My mind processed the foreign word, my interest piquing tenfold. That was when I worried myself. Just how much time had I missed? How much had happened that I had ignored? I suddenly had the feeling of waking up after a dull dream.
Everything spilled out of my mouth at once.
"What do you mean 'oceans'? What's the Aqua Project? And what about… plants?" The word had a strange, unearthly tone.
Elizabeth simply looked at me.
"Tell me everything," I begged.
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