Wow, I didnt think I'd ever write on this again, but what do you know, Mister Inconsistant is back in action. Maybe I'll bang out a few chapters from my boredom before I go on the inevitable hiatus again...anyway...onyward to the soon-to-be-underreviewed materal..

Disclaimer...man this gets old.
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Shadows are a funny thing sometimes. Light can play on the features of anything and anyone to distort and offer a new perception of an image. It is often, though, the darker shadow that creates and instills the sense of dread within the core of a person. Something about the way the absence of light seems to linger in the most distant corners of the nooks, crannies, and crevices of the mind evokes the deepest fears in most. However, every light has a darkness, and every darkness has a light. It was into this darkness that the light was found. The journey was no easy one, and it was one that cannot be turned away from. This brilliance, hidden within the black veil of absolute doubt, would come to be the greatest righteousness ever known...

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He watched as the the ice inside the faded glass created little rainbows through the droplets gathering on the outer surface. He smiled. It was the simple pleasures he so dearly ebmraced, now. His life was simple, he and Cayle were a family. Thats all he needed. But it was different now. His kind, and aged features faded from a reminiscent smile to a stone-etched determination. Things had changed. The Priest was back. How, he didnt know, but distantly he smiled again, inwardly. The fact that the travelling Priest was alive gave credit to his life, his cause. He had lived for so long, for so long had advocated his practices of pacifism, despite having to use contradictory methods. Such were the ways of the world, he told himself every time. He had to tell himself as much, because otherwise he would not have made it through all those long nights.
It saddened him, though, as well. No God would have brought back one of his own for a purpose of meager consequence. He knew an old fire was being rekindled, he knew that an old generation was being reborn. He could feel the changes happening.
It was unfortunate that the Guns had risen to so much power, and sad. The world was a better place without them, but not without their individuals, he had to believe that as well. The evils of men only manifested when they manipulated each other, as was the way of the Gung-Ho-Guns.
"Father, I've returned." Cayle's voice jarred him from his thoughts. He turned, facing the silouette of his "son", outlined by the bright sunlight of Gunsmoke's double suns. He smiled, Cayle was always a welcome sight. But it was not Cayle that made him swallow hard, not Cayle that brought tears to his eyes. Behind the boy came one of Vash's oldest friends, and the Red Man stood to greet him.
It must have been an unspoken pact between friends, because Cayle had never seen his "Father" act this way. The two men took two steps toward each other and engaged a fierce embrace. Both couldnt manage words, not now. These men were kindred spirits, opposite brothers in the same cause, they had been allies in battle, each the other's shadow; but most of all, they were friends.
After long moments the two seperated. Vash found his voice first.
"Its been too long, my friend," His voice was barely a whisper, but it was there, as he looked upon Nick's haggard features. His friend had seen better days.
"Too long," Nick echoed. For a moment they both wanted to speak, but neither could, they dissolved into a bit of laughter, and Vash motioned back to the table. Cayle only shook his head and went back outside.
"You are a sight for old eyes, Priest. I never thought I'd see you again," Vash couldnt deny the smile that was plastered on his face.
"I didnt think I'd see me again either, let alone you. You look well, though, for a man your age." Nick chuckled. He had learned about Vash, knew what he was, knew about his life. The years had only just caught up with him, tinting the yellow around his ears to grey, but that was all. Nick surveyed the room as he sat. It was small and quaint, typical Vash. The fireplace was freshly tended, and a door on the left wall lead undoubtedly into the bedroom. The kitchen was spotless, and the sparse furniture was pristine. The only real thing of note were the two guns crossed on the far wall; and the hanging cross beneath them.
"Its yours, you know," Vash was looking at his folded hands on the table. "And I know you need it back." He shook his head and sat back, a touch of his old innocence gleaming in his emerald eyes. "Funny how things change with time."
"Nothing has changed, Stampede," Wolfwood retorted. "Evil still runs rampant, men are still blinded by greed, what has changed?" His tone was pleading. Something had to be different.
"You," Something in Vash's eyes forestalled immediate question. "You have not been brough here to entertain me, or to lead a meandering existance. You are here for them. You know that, I know that." Vash's quiet chuckle mingled with a sigh and a near-sob. "I thought I had done it, for a while. I thought I had managed to keep the balance of peace and pacifism with only so much violence." He clenched and unclenched his fists. "Knives died shortly after," they both knew what "after" was. "Priest, it is your responsibility now. The burden of this world is yours. Cayle is like me," Vash continued. "I have taught him for eighty two years. Taught him the ways of peace, and love. It was all for naught, though, until you showed up again."
"Wait, Vash, I just, I dont know what I am suppose to -" Nick stammered, but Vash cut him off.
"I do. I've always known. You posess something within you that is not suppose to exist in a world of godless men. You will be the one who brings hope to this place." He shook his head again. "You, and the Punisher..."

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