Vash munched on a doughnut as he listened to the old man yammer away.
Occasionally he would nod, pretending he was listening. He had already
heard the story a thousand times before, and so far the old man hadn't
brought any new information to light. They sat perched on hewn bar stools
with peeling red paint. The smell of alcohol and stale smoke wafted through
the air. Loud voices, shouts, and boisterous laughs came from all sides.
The saloon itself was an old shack with layers of paint and old wood
paneling on the floor. There were bullet holes in the walls, and wanted
posters were slathered everywhere. Behind the bar dozens of glittering
bottles sat upright, their colors and labels beckoning. Vash poured the
last of one of those colorful bottles' contents into the old shot glass in
front of him. He brought the glass to his mouth, carefully avoiding the
crack on its lip.
"And that's as far as I know," the old man concluded. Vash eyed his drink as he nodded.
"That's quite a story Mr..."?
"Ramus. The name's Arthur Ramus. And the story is true blue!" the old man replied.
"I believe it!" Vash exclaimed with a flashy grin. "Can I buy you a drink"? Ramus smiled, his features softening. He had a face that should have been carved in granite, all blocky square and deep grooves. He was built like a bullet, broad at the base, narrow at the shoulders. His hair was steel gray with bold strokes of white. His voice was like sand and fine wine. rough and rich. A cigarette hung limply at the corner of his mouth.
"Make it a Redbeard," he replied. Vash hailed the barkeep.
"A Redbeard and a shot of that stuff in the blue bottle," he ordered, pointing at the shelves of liquor.
"So uh. you said your name was Riley?" Ramus asked once Vash was finished. Vash forced down a chuckle at the use of one of his many aliases.
"Yup. No last name, just Riley". The barkeep set the drinks at his elbow. Sliding the red tinted bottle to Ramus, Vash exchanged money with the dark haired man behind the counter.
"You just passin' through?" Ramus questioned as he popped the top on his beer.
"More or less," Vash replied nonchalantly. "I'm actually looking for someone who makes custom bullets". Vash poured himself another drink and knocked it back. "You wouldn't happen to know anybody like that, would you"? Ramus ran a hand across his three-day stubble.
"Can't say as I do. But I know there's a guy a block or so from here who customizes weapons. Maybe he can help you out". Vash nodded.
"Thanks for the tip. I'll check it out before I hit the road. Now, about that mysterious gunslinger."
"Back to that again, eh? Well, as I heard it, no one knows who he is. Alls anyone knows is that he's got a price on his head that would make a man's head spin. This guy's wanted in a hell of a lot of cities. Word on the street is he's a smuggler for some big time crime organization, but then that's only gossip. People have actually stopped talking about Vash the Stampede lately," Ramus replied as he studied the bottle in his hand. Vash cringed.
"Really? That's something. I thought Vash the Stampeded was the local obsession around these parts".
"He was," Ramus replied, "Up until about a week ago when rumors started that this trigger happy weirdo was headed our way. All of a sudden the Humanoid Typhoon stopped being interesting. Don't know why. The man's a fucking legend". Vash smiled at him.
"Well, I'd better be going. Long day tomorrow," he said as he slid off of the peeling bar stool. "I'm too close to drunk to stay here". Ramus smiled a knowing smile.
"And it's a wise man who can tell himself he's had enough. I should be off myself. I've got a good hundred miles to haul tonight".
"Then good luck to you Mr. Arthur Ramus," Vash replied with a grin. "I have hopes we'll meet again".
"And to you Riley. Thankee kindly for the drink, and I prays we find each other again under, shall we say, more lenient circumstances," Ramus said with a slight bow.
Once outside, Vash stretched and breathed deeply in the cold night. He looked at the empty streets that lay before him. Most people were already asleep, tucked safely away from the cold of the desert night. The midnight wind was bitter as a scorned woman and just as bad tempered. Vash didn't mind it. He found it invigorating as he walked the three crosstown blocks to where he remembered he'd seen an inn. Behind the scraggly trees lining the streets, the moon faded to a hint of shape by the city lights and drifting clouds. He came up to an old building with a sign on the door that read: "Hamilton Inn and Pub".
"Perfect," Vash said to himself. He hefted up up the wooden stairs and threw open the door, only to be greeted by the sounds of late night partying.
"May I help you?" an aging woman asked from behind the reception desk.
"Why yes ma'am, you can," Vash replied with his sweetest smile. "I'd like a room for a couple of days". The old woman nodded and opened the leather bound register.
"And your name"?
"Riley. That's all. I'd like a room on the top floor. if that's at all possible". The woman gave him a paternal smile.
"Of course. There's a room with a very nice view of the city on the top floor. Is that acceptable"? Vash nodded. "Well then, I'll just need your signature here and payment for the first night," the woman explained. After everything had been taken care of, Vash was shown to his room by a young boy in a uniform jacket.
"Here we are sir, room 413," he announced. Vash took a look around. It was a modest room with soft colors and plenty of pillows. There were threadbare rugs on the floor that gave the room a certain homey feeling. Vash tipped the boy and threw his duffle bag in to the corner. Peeling his clothes off and tossing them to the floor, he threw himself onto the bed and buried himself in the layers of blankets, falling fast asleep.
"And that's as far as I know," the old man concluded. Vash eyed his drink as he nodded.
"That's quite a story Mr..."?
"Ramus. The name's Arthur Ramus. And the story is true blue!" the old man replied.
"I believe it!" Vash exclaimed with a flashy grin. "Can I buy you a drink"? Ramus smiled, his features softening. He had a face that should have been carved in granite, all blocky square and deep grooves. He was built like a bullet, broad at the base, narrow at the shoulders. His hair was steel gray with bold strokes of white. His voice was like sand and fine wine. rough and rich. A cigarette hung limply at the corner of his mouth.
"Make it a Redbeard," he replied. Vash hailed the barkeep.
"A Redbeard and a shot of that stuff in the blue bottle," he ordered, pointing at the shelves of liquor.
"So uh. you said your name was Riley?" Ramus asked once Vash was finished. Vash forced down a chuckle at the use of one of his many aliases.
"Yup. No last name, just Riley". The barkeep set the drinks at his elbow. Sliding the red tinted bottle to Ramus, Vash exchanged money with the dark haired man behind the counter.
"You just passin' through?" Ramus questioned as he popped the top on his beer.
"More or less," Vash replied nonchalantly. "I'm actually looking for someone who makes custom bullets". Vash poured himself another drink and knocked it back. "You wouldn't happen to know anybody like that, would you"? Ramus ran a hand across his three-day stubble.
"Can't say as I do. But I know there's a guy a block or so from here who customizes weapons. Maybe he can help you out". Vash nodded.
"Thanks for the tip. I'll check it out before I hit the road. Now, about that mysterious gunslinger."
"Back to that again, eh? Well, as I heard it, no one knows who he is. Alls anyone knows is that he's got a price on his head that would make a man's head spin. This guy's wanted in a hell of a lot of cities. Word on the street is he's a smuggler for some big time crime organization, but then that's only gossip. People have actually stopped talking about Vash the Stampede lately," Ramus replied as he studied the bottle in his hand. Vash cringed.
"Really? That's something. I thought Vash the Stampeded was the local obsession around these parts".
"He was," Ramus replied, "Up until about a week ago when rumors started that this trigger happy weirdo was headed our way. All of a sudden the Humanoid Typhoon stopped being interesting. Don't know why. The man's a fucking legend". Vash smiled at him.
"Well, I'd better be going. Long day tomorrow," he said as he slid off of the peeling bar stool. "I'm too close to drunk to stay here". Ramus smiled a knowing smile.
"And it's a wise man who can tell himself he's had enough. I should be off myself. I've got a good hundred miles to haul tonight".
"Then good luck to you Mr. Arthur Ramus," Vash replied with a grin. "I have hopes we'll meet again".
"And to you Riley. Thankee kindly for the drink, and I prays we find each other again under, shall we say, more lenient circumstances," Ramus said with a slight bow.
Once outside, Vash stretched and breathed deeply in the cold night. He looked at the empty streets that lay before him. Most people were already asleep, tucked safely away from the cold of the desert night. The midnight wind was bitter as a scorned woman and just as bad tempered. Vash didn't mind it. He found it invigorating as he walked the three crosstown blocks to where he remembered he'd seen an inn. Behind the scraggly trees lining the streets, the moon faded to a hint of shape by the city lights and drifting clouds. He came up to an old building with a sign on the door that read: "Hamilton Inn and Pub".
"Perfect," Vash said to himself. He hefted up up the wooden stairs and threw open the door, only to be greeted by the sounds of late night partying.
"May I help you?" an aging woman asked from behind the reception desk.
"Why yes ma'am, you can," Vash replied with his sweetest smile. "I'd like a room for a couple of days". The old woman nodded and opened the leather bound register.
"And your name"?
"Riley. That's all. I'd like a room on the top floor. if that's at all possible". The woman gave him a paternal smile.
"Of course. There's a room with a very nice view of the city on the top floor. Is that acceptable"? Vash nodded. "Well then, I'll just need your signature here and payment for the first night," the woman explained. After everything had been taken care of, Vash was shown to his room by a young boy in a uniform jacket.
"Here we are sir, room 413," he announced. Vash took a look around. It was a modest room with soft colors and plenty of pillows. There were threadbare rugs on the floor that gave the room a certain homey feeling. Vash tipped the boy and threw his duffle bag in to the corner. Peeling his clothes off and tossing them to the floor, he threw himself onto the bed and buried himself in the layers of blankets, falling fast asleep.
