I think I've been forgetting to put a disclaimer. So here it is. I don't own Trigun - but I own, Grayfall, Stormie, and Oriole.

Rocker Baby, you can't steal Grayfall - HE'S MINE!!! AHAHAHA!! Poor, mentally unstable baby - who'd want to be the illegitimate child of Legato??? I'm trying to think of a way to get some romance or at least romantic angst for him - or just a reason to talk about all his scars and how a girl would react. Any ideas??

Zetsumei, thanks for your words of encouragement. It's nice to be called original - it's what I strive for. Yeah, I know, what is it with girls fantasizing themselves bonding with Vash over a span of two seconds? I'm trying to make him more realistic with Grayfall and Oriole - you know, not becoming instant soul mates with either of them, getting to know them, having a little bit of discomfort in the relationship, ect.

Alba Aulbath, thanks for trying not to swear. LOL I'm glad you like Stormie - I'm trying to make her and Oriole likeable. Vash and Grayfall will get along - and maybe Knives and him will try. Maybe.

Mellinia, Shadowwind, Gunslinger, and Ghosts-girl23, thanks for reviewing! I appreciate it!

~~~~~

"Vashu," grumbled Knives, his eyes still squinted closed against the sunlight pouring through the kitchen window in an obnoxious amount, "have I gotten my magazine yet?" He shook a box of cereal angrily over where his bowl supposedly was, hoping against all hope that some of those grain- based, sugar-coated flakes would float his way. "Come to think of it, have we gotten the mail at all lately?"

"Mm? No, I don't think so, Knives," murmured Vash from his spot at the sink, scrubbing at the pan he had used to cook his eggs that morning. He'd also made some bacon for their visitors, but Grayfall, who had holed up in the storage room, sleeping on the small cot there, had yet to emerge, and Oriole had tromped over that morning, grunted hello, taken the bacon, and marched back over to Stormie's. Now Vash had to contend with THREE people who were not the morning type and one who was a near basket case - that being Grayfall, not Knives. "Actually," he said, "I think it's been a week since the mailman has come our way. They must be having trouble at the post office."

"Must be."

They were quiet a few moments, and then Vash, peering out his small window behind the sink, spotted the lone figure of Grayfall sitting on a sand dune not far away, gazing at the town in the distance. He had reclined back onto his forearms, one knee drawn up slightly and the other leg stretched out before him. "What a strange man," mused Vash quietly. "He must've climbed out his window."

"Grayfall?"

"None other."

"What are we going to do about him? He makes me uncomfortable, and we don't have room to keep him around. And besides all that, he's a stranger. Does he show any interest in maybe going to town, getting a job - MOVING OUT?"

"Knives, number one, everyone makes you uncomfortable. Number two, he should not be a stranger. He's the son of Legato, your right hand man, and after all the guilt you've recently experienced over what you did to that poor man, you should be seizing this chance to be kind to his offspring. Number three, he doesn't show interest in anything, and even if he did, he's only been here a few days, and I don't know him that well. And last of all, I want you to stop complaining or else YOU are going to town to pick up the groceries."

Knives nearly choked on his milk, cheeks ballooning out comically as everything within his mouth threatened to explode out. There was nothing he hated more than going into town and being encompassed by hundreds of humans. The last time he had accompanied Stormie, he had gone dizzy and fallen into a dead faint, forcing her to try to carry him home. Halfway there, she had already dropped him seventeen times and had grown too exhausted to move. So she sat down with him and waited for him to stir. When he had awaken, it turned out he had to carry her home, for she had worn herself out trying to drag him through the desert. It had all been very embarrassing for the both of them, and they had sworn to never go there again - or at least not together.

"Are you going to be nice now?" teased Vash, smiling smugly.

"Yeah, yeah," growled his brother irritably. "I'll be nice."

~~~~~

"Do you mind if I join you?"

Grayfall, his head hanging back, warmth heating his face, had been sunning himself much like a cat would, even if he was wearing jeans and one of Knives' T-shirts. He wasn't sure if Knives knew yet that he was wearing it, but Vash had told him it was ok. "Sure," he agreed, even though he desired to be alone.

Oriole sat down at his side, cross-legged, and wasted no time in getting her point across. "Naoshi wanted you for an apprentice."

"Why is Naoshi such a high point of interest for you?" he complained, opening one eye and glancing over at her with that golden orb. His back had started to hurt, as were his elbows, so he let himself fall into the sand, lying there with his arms spread out on either side. He had been reluctant to wear a short-sleeved garment at first because of the scars on his arms, twisting up along from his palms to his lean biceps and then even over his shoulders. Each dark mark slashed in a different direction, was a different size, had it's own distinct quality whether it was shape, roughness, color... He was ashamed of them, especially around the three plants, because they were all beautiful and flawless, it seemed, but Vash, sensing his apprehensive attitude, had rolled up his sleeve and winked, showing him that no one was as wonderful as they seemed. Besides that, Oriole's badly disfigured hand had made him feel better. Even such a confident, pretty woman with so many talents like her had something to make her imperfect.

"Do you want to know why?" she asked, and when he looked at her confused, like he had forgotten what they were talking about during the slight pause, she raised her good hand to her forehead as if annoyed and shook her head vigorously. "Grayfall, we were speaking of Naoshi. You wanted to know why I have this obsession with tracking him."

"Obsession was your word."

"Yes."

"Tell me then," he said quietly, closing his eyes and relaxing again. "I'd like to know."

She took her mangled hand within her working one, cradling the limp, scarred fingers with the rough, gnarly skin, curved like claws, as if she could not move it without great difficulty. She didn't seem too sad, just thoughtful. "My father was a plant, and when he met my mother, she was only seventeen. He didn't respect people too much - just her. I think it's because she could do things that even an empath shouldn't be able to do. Not only could she tell you exactly what you were feeling, but if she had something - like a blanket an old woman had knitted - she could hold it and tell you what that lady was thinking about when she was stitching every single thread."

"Can you do that?"

"I inherited it, yes."

"My father was a telepath. I'm nothing like him." Grayfall frowned gravely, waving a hand. "Please, continue."

"They married when she was eighteen, and he...he supported us, but he couldn't stay with us. Understand?"

"He was unfaithful."

"Yes... My mother tried to ignore it, but she was still very young and very inexperienced with men. Of course she was jealous, hurt... I was too. It seemed his mistress was a mere human woman from town, and he brought her gifts and spent the weekends with her. But when she became pregnant with his child - well, that relationship went to pot. You can imagine the hurt."

Grayfall reflected on his memories of being a fatherless child, wondering why Legato, as he knew the man, left his mother so suddenly and never returned. The story seemed so much like his. "I...can," he whispered, a bit of morbid sarcasm creeping into his mind. "Your father's name wouldn't happen to be Legato, would it?"

"No. We knew him only as North." Oriole smiled wryly, sensing the hurt flowing from Grayfall with such strength that it nearly overwhelmed her. "He drifted around after that, coming home every now and then when he was hungry or needed a change of clothes. Mother was just glad she didn't have to put up with him as much anymore, and I had made up in my mind, for I was around six at the time, and having grown as a plant would, I was very adult then, as much as I am now, that I was very angry, and very disgusted, and I wanted nothing to do with him. But his other child was of interest to me. My mother often sent me out to spy on the woman, just to keep tabs on her and my half-brother."

Grayfall waited for the rest, but she lapsed into silence after that, her eyes closed as if she was meditating. He decided to give her a moment, just in case she was feeling a little emotional, but after two minutes or so of nothing but the whistling wind, he hummed quietly in his throat, the sound prodding her awake mentally.

"She had been telling him that my father had raped her," Oriole growled, her disfigured hand beginning to shake and twitch, the only thing she had no control over. When she was angry, it showed it. "Maybe he did, too. Maybe she had never consented to be his little toy. Whatever the case, the boy was angry, and by the time he was sixteen, he was vowing to use his plant-like strength to rid the planet of the race of his father. My mother felt nothing for my father then, but warned him casually anyway, telling him to stay away from the house in case the boy tried something. Of course he thought it was an empty threat and ignored it."

"And he killed your father, right?"

"Of course. And as sad as it is, I didn't mind seeing him go, because for the first time since I had known her, my mother seemed to feel free..." Her voice trailed off. "Do you want to finish the story, or shall I?"

"Your half-brother is...Naoshi."

"A child come into existence through rape, brought up fueled on hate, and strengthened by my father's plant blood, Naoshi is my brother - and a man to be feared."

~~~~~

"MAIL CALL!" Stormie was standing out on her porch, banging a wooden spoon inside a huge, blackened pot. Her hair was up in a bun, an apron neatly around her waist, and when Knives and Vash emerged from their house to stare at her in wonderment, she set down her make-shift 'bell' and laughed daintily, crying in a horrible southern accent, "Oh my, Mr. Vash, I do declare, if you just ain't lookin' handsome this fine evening! And Mr. Forks, you're lookin' just as sour as ever!"

Knives waved a hand at her as if to say, 'Fine, if you're going to be that way about it!' and headed back into the house. He was never amused by her little 'role-playing games', personalities she took on when she was feeling in a southern mood, an Italian mood, a French mood, a Spanish mood, ect.

"Vash, dear, you have a letter!" she exclaimed, waving the envelope back and forth in the air.

He walked over quickly and accepted the mail from the blonde girl, casually looking at the return address. "I don't know who 'the Harpers' are," he commented, ripping the envelope open and pulling out the piece of paper inside.

Stormie waited patiently while he read, seeming content to just inspect her finger nails. She had been trying to let them grow, but they always seemed to break. Honestly, she hoped her life never depended on the condition of her hands, because if so, she'd be in a whole lot of trouble. Of course, she couldn't think of an example where someone would execute her because of her finger nails. Maybe a rogue manicurist? You never know...

An insane grin spread over Vash's face, and he clenched his fists around the letter, his eyes growing misty with tears of joy. His shoulders began to tremble.

Stormie knew what was coming, so she stepped back.

Vash shot into the air like a bullet, leaping up with a whoop of excitement, and then turned and ran back to his house, screaming the entire way.

Knives came out to see what all the commotion was about, and got bowled over in the doorway, ending up flat on his back. Sitting up, he rubbed his head and looked slightly disoriented. "What's going on?" he questioned of Stormie, who had strolled over across the yard to see how he was faring.

"MERYL'S COMING!" Vash's exclamations of enthusiasm floated outside.

"Meryl's coming," repeated Stormie, smiling.

"Meryl's coming," whispered Knives, horrified.