Truth in a Lie
Psychopath's Notes: Look, I figured out (at least a little) where this one is going. I present to you all; a NON-YAOI Vash + Wolfwood friendship fic. Booya.
Chapter 2
The amber liquid swirls in my glass. It's almost a mesmerizing thing, and watching it keeps me from making eye contact with any of the number of unsavory patrons the saloon has managed to attract today. With this lot, I'm more than confident, to say the least, in my ability to take any of them down. At the moment, though, I'm in no mood to deal with a brawl with a mob of drunks... nor am I in the mood to listen to the whining of one outlaw I happen to be expecting. After all, Lord forbid I should defend myself.
This particular outlaw happens, as is usual, to be the topic of conversation in my current locale. If nothing else, the tales are amusing. Not because he's incapable – physically, at least - of what they're saying he's done, but because the mere thought of anyone doing the sort of things he's accused of would be enough to set him into a typical round of hysterical crying, which, naturally, yours truly would get to deal with. That sort of thing was not in the job description.
The job. Hmm. I could almost forget, sometimes, that I wouldn't be here were it left up to me. Not that I would leave – I couldn't abandon that idiot now, not after some of the things I've seen him face, that I've helped him get through. I just wouldn't have ever stumbled across him in the first place had I been left to my own devices. Not that it really matters, now. My job is to protect him, which works well enough, as it means I get paid to keep my friend alive and out of too much trouble. Of course, there is the eventual objective... but I wasn't given a deadline, and the boss has got plenty of time and more to worry about getting his brother to him. I don't know what it is the bastard intends to do with him, but I won't be the one to hand him over to Knives.
I'm cut out of my reverie by a collective gasp from my fellow patrons. Word has reached them, apparently. Vash the Stampede is on his way to their unsuspecting little town. I've seen the routine sixty billion times by now – this is where they panic. The ones willing to admit their fear will run for their homes. The ones who want to feign bravery will sit in this saloon, fingers on their triggers, and talk about what they're going to do with their reward money. And I... sit here and laugh. Because they won't see him coming, they won't know it's him when he's right under their noses, and more than likely, he'll be the one who's saved all their asses in a matter of days when my "esteemed" coworkers come trailing after him
The usual routine begins – one of the cowards, on his way out, warns a man entering the bar, draped in a long red coat, that the legendary outlaw is on his way. The man in red shoots him a smile and thanks him for the warning, then waves after him as he goes. I let out a good chuckle as I order a drink for Vash the Stampede.