drab

drab·ble (drab´'l) n. : a story exactly 100 words long, excluding title

7. Lying Together

That breath. That look, that touch she gave him - still so uncertain and so sad. It was an emotion between them, something burning with desperate intensity and limned with unbreakable fear.

He tried to silence it with kisses, to stay those glances that should have held tears with caresses.

But sometimes she turned in his arms, grey eyes searching the wall.

"I can't give you forever," she whispered.

He pressed his cheek to a bare shoulder, breathing in that painfully real moment when she was his alone in her love and anxiety.

"Don't lie to me, Meryl. You already have."

8. Donuts&Irony

The look they had shared was definitely panic, Vash decided sourly. Panic slipping slowly into a gleeful sort of clever malice. He should have suspected then.

It just isn't right! he lamented silently - speech impeded unhappily by one of Wolfwood's socks. What kind of priest didn't wash his socks? Damn him anyway.

But Meryl . . . she was worse. This was her idea. Was forgetting his money really unforgivable?

No! he thought wildly.

Nonetheless, the gleam in Meryl's eyes had foreboded ropes. He found himself tied neatly in them on the scuffed floor of the donut shop.

Left as payment.

Irony sucks.

9. Again

Say it again.

His name, those brittle words you use to condemn him over and over again. That slash in that air that just hangs there in frozen desolation.

Make him wince again, make his blue-green eyes shutter themselves in wordless pain. Hurt him, bring him one step closer. It's power. It's pain. Give it to him, he asks for it. He's surrendered it to you.

It hurts him. Make him hurt! My Master commands it. For what he's done. This surrender isn't all he denies.

Crush him. Make him believe! Say it again.

Vash the Stampede.

Say it again!!!

10. Christmas

Wolfwood gazed solemnly into his congregation's eyes, before drawing himself up in front of their . . . tree, and speaking, "If there is one lesson that the Lord our savior has taught us on this perilous road . ."

He paused a moment and the insurance girls nodded sweetly in agreement.

"It is that improvisation is next to Godliness," he drawled.

Milly clapped in anticipation and Meryl cast her a sidelong glance, before sending Wolfwood a very clear "hurry up" look.

He grinned and waved the big girl ahead.

She bounced forward and leaned up delicately to place the star on Vash's uppermost spike.

11. Love

The scars the reflection bore were hurtful, new red. His eyes - weary, defeated - were drawn to the artless sight again and again. The silvered glass repeated them to him.

A gift from his brother.

The bullet hole was a fascination. Other were worse; a rib had broken, compound, and the ugly scar always lured back the image - white and bloody. But the bullet hole was an act, a moment, a result.

A sin upon his shoulder.

It was desperation - his brother's.

It was beauty - forbidding - and love - finally his.

Into eyes not his brother's, Knives smiled.

12. Cashmere

"Sigh," Milly sighed.

Wolfwood couldn't help but agree. This kept happening. He kicked insolently and with no small amount of bitterness at the linen blanket they'd been left.

It was disgraceful. When he thought of what they got . . . Well, it made him think unpriestly thoughts.

Milly yawned and stretched in a way that inspired unpriestly thoughts of an entirely different sort. He smiled and gestured to the bed, despite it's distasteful sheets, "Why don't you take a rest? I'll deal with that stupid author when she gets here."

"I can't believe she took the cashmere again," mumbled the girl sleepily.

note: Okay, I'm going address some things that don't make much sense. Again is based off the fact that Legato (er, it's from his POV if its not clear) and other assorted baddie have a severe fondness for saying Vash's name. I know this is partly due to translation-y things, but I figured why not give it more significance? Cashmere probably makes sense to approximately three people. It's a joke, albeit not a very funny one, off of the combined facts that 1) I tend to ignore main characters for the sake of Vash and Meryl and 2) the suggestion my spellchecker brings up for Vashmeryl is cashmere 3) if find #2 oddly hilarious. I know that it's not very funny. I'll do better next time. And if you have a problem with characters saying they're emoting actions when it's the written description of what they're saying, well, then you live in a far darker place than I. Hmmm, what else? Oh, yes! If anyone wants to knows, I do in fact have a mirror fetish. Love is the second time it's cropped up. It will no doubt rear its malformed head again. I like sand, too. It's neat.

Trigun is copyright (c) Yasuhiro Nightow and Young King Ours.

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