I do not own Vash the Stampede, Rem Saverem, Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Milly Thompson, Meryl Stryfe, etc: they all belong to the incomparable Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow.
It occurs to me that Vash -might- compose letters in his mind as the way that he re-examines his day, unwinds, and learns any lessons he can from it.
This is an attempt to blend the tales in both manga and anime. Anywhere there is contradicting information, the manga's will be used. I use manga dates where they are given. Where dates are not given, I'm using my best guesstimate.
As the various "Unwritten Letters" accumulate, there will be more and more spoilers.
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Priest?
Year 110, month 8, day 5
Dear Rem,
I met someone today. He's different from anyone else I ever recall meeting.
While riding a bus with the kindhearted young insurance girls, I saw something afar off on the sands. I called their attention to it, and they made a fuss and stopped the bus.
It turned out to be a man with a huge cross. One of the buckles that strapped a wrapping onto the cross had caught the sunlight, and that is what I'd seen. He was nearly dead of dehydration when we found him.
Seeing the poor fellow in that condition made my heart ache for him. They gave him my canteen, and he drank all of my water. I made a protest, because I knew that would be expected.
However, in truth, I was glad to see him recovering. I could bear being thirsty. It was a small sacrifice, to help him live.
He says he's a traveling clergyman. Oddly enough, he doesn't look, carry himself, or smell like any other clergyman I've ever seen. In fact, he moves like a fighter. It's uncannily like looking in a mirror, at times, when I see the way he moves.
He looks nothing like me, though, except that we're nearly the same height. His hair is dark instead of blonde, his eyes are deep blue instead of pale, his skin is slightly more swarthy or tanned, and he's moderately more solid-looking where I'm merely lean.
I thought about introducing myself to him by using a long silly name, but I knew that wouldn't wash the instant he got a good look at me. He recognized me immediately. I could see it in his eyes. In fact, I had to clap my hand over his mouth to prevent him from announcing my name so loudly that everyone on the bus could hear it.
Thankfully, my reflexes are slightly faster than his. Occasionally, being other than "standard issue" human has a few advantages.
I didn't want the others in the bus to panic. Most times, my evil reputation does more harm than good.
Though I still wonder how he knew me so quickly. Was it really only the red coat and spiky hair, as he said? Or was there anything else going on? Something in his words, or perhaps his scent or tone of voice, simply did not ring true.
This young fellow named Wolfwood is a clever, charming sort. He persuaded the bus driver to let him ride for a discount. He carries with him a "portable confessional" that looks like a chapel, except it's a hat or mask that covers one's head and face.
He could tell when I smiled from my heart, and when I didn't.
I often smile to be friendly or encouraging. I don't do it to be deceitful. I may be aching for someone else's pain, or else trying to cheer them up even though I don't feel very cheerful myself just then.
Though I may need to live in pain, it is not something I wish to inflict upon others. I wish them joy. I wish them health and healing. I wish them love. I wish them peace.
Because I love them, I want them to have all the good things it seems doomed that I shall never have. So, no matter how much I'm hurting, I try to help them find the joy, health, healing, love and peace that I cannot enjoy myself. If that means I should smile when I feel like crying, then that's what it means.
Wolfwood says his church is also an orphanage. I saw how he is quick to notice children and be kind to them. So that part about the orphanage might be true.
He's so slick a salesman, though, that I have my doubts about some of his other claims.
I suppose time will tell.
I'll watch how he behaves around the kindhearted young insurance girls. That should tell me a great deal about what manner of man he is.
I love him because he's human, a child of your sacrifice and therefore my little brother by adoption. Yet I also find that I'm beginning to like him for himself.
I miss you, Rem. I wonder if you'd like young Wolfwood this quickly, too.
- Vash "the Stampede"
