drab

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

13. Incident

A shock of light sprang from the casing, bright and dangerous. Steve rechecked his readings, frowning.

"What the hell?"

Vash spared him a moment of his attention before returning his gaze - oddly ultraviolet - to the Plant. Steve grumbled - the kid thought he was superior? At the control panel, Steve tapped some adjustments, brow furrowing as the readings worsened.

"Stop it," whispered Vash, staring.

Steve ignored him - stupid kid.

"Stop it! You're," his breath was troubled, "You're hurting her!"

The metal bent beneath Steve's fingers - goddamned kid!

"YOU'RE HURTING HER!!!!" shouted Vash again, pulling at his elbow.

A backhand silenced him.

14. The Truth Revealed!

Knives grinned in the darkness. Vash didn't even suspect. For so long, so many iles and towns, he'd been followed. The fool trusts too easily, he thought affectionately, made his purpose that much easier and more enjoyable.

Sometimes he just lay there in the worn, windless night, envisioning that moment - the spark of emotion that would that would flare across his too, too pretty features. When. He. Found. Out.

Knives knew it was perfect, inhuman in its greatness. Fitting of his brother. He only hoped that black little spy would be appreciated.

He relished those words. His spy. His.

Kuroneko-sama.

15. Nighttime Story

He lay on the sand, ungelled hair blending into the ersatz-bedding The fire flickered red in the night, dodging the darkness to light their small circle. His eyes seemed unfocused, not on the sky, not on the fire like hers.

Wolf wood and Milly were asleep, unconsciously turned toward each other.

He didn't say her name, unsure of which he'd say, but the request was the same every night.

"Tell me a story."

So she moved, crossing the light to his side, and perhaps took a liberty not hers - lying down against him.

"What kind?"

"One with a happy ending."

16. Addiction

Watching the scene unfold in the dusty, dark alley, seeing his friend sacrifice that much more of himself, Wolfwood felt sick with guilt. Vash had sought this twisted looking man out because of him.

I was trying to protect him! He growled mentally, taking an angry draw from his cigarette.

Sure, the first time is free,

Vash dug out a rather large sheaf of double-dollars.

but one they have you hooked . . .

The man shined the small container before handing it over.

Wolfwood understood. He'd done the same, suffered the same.

Smiling blissfully, Vash exited the alley, new sunglasses in hand.

17. Innocent

In cruel red-yellow sunlight, in flickering flame, in silver starlight, in insidious fluorescent, he watched her.

She was so innocent.

Too innocent.

She slept and he watched her, a breath away. It hurt to watch her, a pain soft and straining. Her hair curved against her face, childlike strands of gold. He wanted to touch it, cut his fingertips on its shine.

He wanted to hold his cross in her presence; to grasp it and bleed purity. He wanted to know he would not ever hurt her.

She believed he wouldn't.

Believed in him.

Wolfwood smiled.

Because she was innocent.

18. Dress Up

Wolfwood shuddered as he watched Vash in dismay, "How can you be so casual about this?"

His friend spared him a glance and a nonchalant shrug, "You just get used to some of these things."

"But . . ." he gestured loosely to the piles of discarded clothes the legendary gunman was sorting through.

Vash sighed, not finding what he was looking for. He reflexively puffed his unspiked hair out of his eyes before crossing them to examine the lock thoughtfully, "I wonder if they have any tiaras . . ."

Wolfwood groaned. Painfully.

"Honestly, Wolfwood, I can't believe you've never had to cross dress before."

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

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