drab

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

somewhat important thing to know: #48 is a sequel to Cashmere (#12)

43. Animus

Rem locked gentle eyes onto her young scholar, carefully considering how to answer his question, "It's something all creatures possess. The soul is beyond us and the very essence of us at the same time. Although everything flows, and life does fade from our bodies, the soul remains.

"The end of life does not end it's meaning. The truth of a person's life is carried on in the soul, which is immortal and pure."

"So death creates the soul?"

She bit her lip, "In a way. An end is only another beginning."

Knives' eyes gleamed, "What if you don't die?"

44. Complex

Knives' many quirks were, if not blatantly worshiped or accepted, largely ignored by the Gung-Ho Guns. Any other reaction had long ago been culled from their minds by Legato and his fierce yellow eyes.

But there was one that raised eyebrows. In a way, it made sense for one of Knives' kind. But Midvalley couldn't help wondering if his boss had a bit of a Lolita complex. Or a Shota complex. Like he could tell if they were different sexes.

And so it was, that no one was in the least surprised when Knives died.

Electrocuted "screwing in" a lightbulb.

45. Smile

It still hurt. A year, and it still hurt. Vash still awoke everyone morning expecting to see Rem, to see Knives - sane and well. A year.

No, it had been longer than that. Sometimes he forgot, it was so blurred, but they were older and they were separate.

Vash gazed out the port of Sky City, wondering if Rem was really dead. If he'd failed her. Tried to remember her words, that twisted in his heart like something unfulfilled

A little girl stared at him, and he jerked when she spoke, "Hey, mister! Smile!"

He closed his eyes, "I'm trying."

46. Superior

Legato stared at his Master. He was so beautiful. The blue-haired man again doubted the reality of the golden man standing before him. How could such a being of grace sully Himself with Legato's presence?

But how could his pathetic human mind even mimic Him?

No. It was no dream.

Knives turned slightly, glancing in the mirror and frowning, "Are you sure of this, Legato?"

Legato repressed the urge to drool. Knives looked marvelous, smooth and shimmering cruelty masked by softness, lace, and chiffon. The dress suited him well.

Yes, his Master was superior to dirty humans in every way.

47. Thing

That single word. It defined everything he knew about humanity. All that he hated. Pathetic and needy and submissive. No meaning of it's own. Mutable simplicity that pretended so much more.

It was sacred on his lips. Divinity cool and sweet to taste because he knew what it meant. Shared it with one other person alone.

He didn't see. But he would. He'd know and whisper and scream that word hoarse with hatred. Label every human with that word.

Smile on elegant lips, Knives thought he might love that woman for her name. The word to name his enemy.

"Rem."

48. Fleeced

Wolfwood sprawled onto the bed, eyeing her woolen vest suspiciously.

Milly attempted to reach him once again, "But she said she had reason, Mr. Priest."

He huffed, punching an innocent pillow, "Yeah, that damned author always has a 'reason'." He narrowed his gaze at her, "But she didn't actually tell you what it was, did she?"

Large blue eyes filled with uncertainty, "She just said that it was 'fitting'."

"Ah. I get it." He pulled the brunette to him, "Wolves are always trying . . ."

She stared as he plucked at the buttons, murmuring around a kiss, "To get into sheep's clothing."

notes: Pop Quiz! Do you remember the Latin lesson from Syntax (way back in the first set)? If you do, yay! If you don't, I'm going to point and laugh at you and make insinuations about your hygiene. And remind you, of course. Rem is a Latin word, the accusative singular form of res; literally thing. In this particular form it can only function as a direct object. It also had a bazillion other means, like all Latin words. So in #47 Knives is calling all of humanity a weak, indefinite, passive, thing. Isn't he a sweetheart?

Other than that, this edition kinda (really!) sucked. Sorry, guys. Sorry, Knives-sama. You deserved better. If anyone actually read this, that is.

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

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