Disclaimer: I don't own anything Trigun, so don't sue me please, thank you!
Tying up Loose Ends
Chapter 2
Roamings and Ravings
Angelina II rumbled through the desert, the twin suns glaring at her and her rider from their position just over the horizon. Nicholas D. Wolfwood had been trying to follow the reports of where the infamous Human Typhoon had last been seen, but opinion was mixed. As well as leaving behind his trail of destruction minus death, it seemed that Vash had also left behind his equally infamous red coat and had gone into hiding again. Wolfwood puffed on his bent cigarette as his eyes trailed down to the saddle bag behind him. He had found the coat not far from an oasis where a scuffle had occured, but the land had long begun to grow over it and heal itself. From what he could gather, the two brothers had met, fought, and one was the victor, but no one was left behind. Knowing Knives' compassion for Vash and Vash's compassion for everything, Wolfwood couldn't figure out who was who, but at least he could be relatively sure that they were both alive. He had travelled to all the surrounding towns and then the not so surrounding ones, but nothing came up. Wolfwood was at a dead end.
It had been a long time since they had parted ways; Vash had made it evident he was going to face Knives alone and it just happened to turn out that Wolfwood had some skeletons to shove back into the closet in the form of old "friends." Wolfwood protested a little, but both understood that it wouldn't be good for the priest to follow. Wolfwood didn't know if Knives knew that Chapel's loyalty was wavering, although he was pretty sure this fact had been made evident; that sniveling, creepy, nasty, little quadrapelegic Legato seemed to be very on top of things for a guy who spent all his days in a full metal casket. Nicholas didn't feel like dealing with that now, though, so he did what he always did best: dissapear off into the sunset. Wolfwood hadn't heard anything from that side of camp either, and that worried him. They apparently were fine with the fact that the "Master" hadn't checked in for seven months; of course, the "Master" treated them all like insigificant little worms and they probably felt it best to let him do what he wished. There were very few left to care, anymore, what with most of the Gung Ho Guns dispatched to the next world.
"Tongari, where the hell are you," he muttered to himself.
At that precise moment (because, as this story will eventually display, narrative has the best timing) Angelina II let out a few unhealthy knocks and a couple of feeble pings, slowing down until they finally came to a stop. They ended up on a dune over looking a tiny little town that didn't seem to be on any map that Wolfwood possessed; quite honestly, it didn't look like it had any right to be. It looked to be a huddled mass of houses, a general store, a saloon (of course), and a filling station, all laying in the shadow of an old and obviously long defunct plant.
"At least there's a filling station," Wolfwood sighed, "I didn't mean to run you dry, sweetheart."
Wolfwood rolled into town just as the two suns surpassed the horizon. He barely took notice of the busted old sign that read "Welcome to Ecks, Pop. 83."
* * * * *
"Can you believe it? They just up and left in the middle of the night, and with the poor invalid brother too weak to travel!"
"They also skipped out on this months rent, I heard."
"No, it was my uncle they were renting from and he said a small pile of cash was left on the table, just enough to finish out the last three months on the lease and then some, apparently, for his troubles. It was odd, though. The simpleton had called upon my uncle about some problem around the house yesterday, hoping Uncle could come and check it out. Rats, I think. Rats take kindly to the old house, it being right next the old well and the market. They seem to love the dry place to live in with food at a paws reach away!"
"Well good riddance if you ask me. They were a creepy pair. One brother you never saw but could always hear cursing and spitting and yowling like an old tom cat if it was quiet enough (and even if it wasn't) and the other was a terrible, spikey-haired punk who was always cutting out of work to play with the kids. He even had an earring! No good, I tell you, no good."
"Aw, you shouldn't be too harsh. Who knows what pain the one was going through and the other obviously couldn't help it; he was probably born that way, the poor thing. When he did work, we was a hard worker, and he seemed to really take as good care of his brother as he could."
"Eh, their gone now."
Wolfwood managed to stop choking on a mix of scotch and his cigarette butt he had inhaled rather suddenly. He couldn't believe after three months of careful tracking he'd roll into a tiny little dump not even twenty-four hours after Vash had rolled out. It was obvious from the saloon gossip that Vash had been the victor of the oasis scuffle but that didn't help Wolfwood much. He didn't know why they left, where they were headed, or if they were even still together. Square one all over again, but at least this square had a relatively fresh trail leading from it. It was also kind of odd that his bike had run out of gas where and when it did, too.
"You work in mysterious ways, that's for sure," he thought with a glance heavenward. Wolfwood finished his scotch and headed out, hoping Angelina II was ready. He'd had the local mechanic give her the once over to make sure she was okay to travel after running on empty. He needed her in top form if he wanted to catch up with Vash.
Of course, the motorcycle wasn't ready, and wouldn't be for another couple of hours, so Wolfwood took advantage of the time to check out where Vash last was. Someone had said the house was right by the market and the old well, and although he'd never been to Ecks before, Wolfwood found it pretty quickly.
A short search of the exterior perimeter proved that they were heading west, one and then a while later, the other. The first set of tracks started with and obvious plummet into the dust. Over that were the tracks of someone who had ran around from the front of the house and then followed them out. Knives apparently hadn't healed all too quickly under Vash's care and decided not to remain there any longer. Knives' trail had begun to fade as the wind picked up throughout the day and Vash's was following suit. They basically struck out due west in the beginning, the both of them, at least until they were out of town. Wolfwood placed a hand above his sunglasses, further shading his eyes from the suns. The wind was picking up and it didn't look good; a sandstorm looked to be on its way. It didn't stand to be the best time to head out into the desert, but time seemed to be pressing now more than ever. The priest decided to take a look inside.
The house was unlocked, small, sparcely furnished, and appeared to be perfectly built to amplify the disturbing sounds of rats scratching and squeeking away in the walls. Barely any food graced the shelves of the refrigerator; Wolfwood helped himself, figuring that no one else had plans to eat it now and it stood free for the taking. From the sound of it, the rats really didn't need anything else to help them grow big, strong, and capable of ripping a tomas in half; they were doing pretty well all by themselves. The downstairs bedroom stood devoid of personal items, as well as the upstairs one. Wolfwood noted the numerous locks, bolts, chains, and so forth on the door to the second floor bedroom. The whole house oozed depressing minimalism; only one thing existed in excess and that was books. Books sat on most available surface, including the floor, all ranging in topic from memoirs to Ancient Russian literature that survived the Fall. Books didn't come cheap, so obviously much of the money Vash made went into entertainment for him and his brother. How sweet.
"There's nothing here that'll help me, Tongari. How come you couldn't leave a decent clue? All that's here worries me," he muttered to himself, lighting up a new cigarette. It would probably be best if he went to see if his baby was ready for the road. With a glance out the window, it looked like Wolfwood would have to rely on a feeble general direction to find the moron. The storm was rising.
* * * * *
Knives wasn't well. Feverish and weak, he stubled across an old cave, barely a hollow in the sands, but it would do. He'd been running/stumbling all night and with the dawning of a new day came a sand storm. Knives knew he was in no condition to fight it. So there Knives rested, drifting in and out of fevered dreams.
He had been healing well until an infection in his leg arose, one that only Vash's antibiotics could cure. They now seemed so far away, but it didn't matter. Knives wouldn't have taken them. He couldn't fight the scenes of the last seven months that danced across his sickened mind and he could make even less sense of it.
They had met at that beautiful oasis, an Eden in the middle of the disgusting wasteland. He couldn't convince his brother with words and actions didn't suffice, either. Vash had the chance to save his precious humans once and for all, and all he did was shoot Knives. He couldn't believe it; little Vash had shot him again! Then came the promises to heal him, help him, make him understand. It was like asking a man who was blind from birth to describe the color red. Knives would never understand his poor, misguided brother and would never love those that could never treat him like a superior being (because, of course, he was superior to all humans.)
Knives ground his teeth together in fury. As angry as he was with his brother, he realized it wasn't Vash's fault for treating him this way. Humans had slowly chipped away at his brother's fragile body and heart. They used up all the plants until they could give no more and then coerced one final, horrifying surge of energy from their spent bodies. Knives had also noticed how black Vash's hair had become in the back, at the roots. His brother had been pushed to use that much energy (Knives conviently forgot that it was him who had forced Vash) and now he was dying; he couldn't allow all of his brother's hair to turn black and lose him forever.
The humans deserved to feel the pain that his people felt. Knives had to stop them. And now more humans were coming from Earth it great ships to rescue those that Knives himself had virtually sentanced to death so long ago. No longer would they evade their end. The spiders had to die and every one of their webs ripped from the land and the sky. And Vash....
Vash would never see. The need to hurt his brother, to pay him back for the past seven months, ebbed but it didn't change the fact that he couldn't let Vash stop him. He would find a nice place to tuck Vash away for awhile, until it rained humans. Yes, all those mean things he'd said to his brother during his captivity, they were just words, not actions. Words could be forgiven so much more readily than actions. He didn't want to lose his brother, not really.
Knives coughed violently for several minutes straight, spattering his lips and the rocks beside him in little crimson spots. He didn't even wipe his mouth, but stared in mild horror at his blood on the ground. He needed power. He needed the other plants; surely he could make them see, make them help. Who else would? Yes, they would help him. They would give him strength.
* * * * *
Myshkin: Pardon any OOCness, I'm doing my best. Both Wolfwood and Knives aren't the easiest characters to write for! Hope you enjoyed this latest installment!
Tying up Loose Ends
Chapter 2
Roamings and Ravings
Angelina II rumbled through the desert, the twin suns glaring at her and her rider from their position just over the horizon. Nicholas D. Wolfwood had been trying to follow the reports of where the infamous Human Typhoon had last been seen, but opinion was mixed. As well as leaving behind his trail of destruction minus death, it seemed that Vash had also left behind his equally infamous red coat and had gone into hiding again. Wolfwood puffed on his bent cigarette as his eyes trailed down to the saddle bag behind him. He had found the coat not far from an oasis where a scuffle had occured, but the land had long begun to grow over it and heal itself. From what he could gather, the two brothers had met, fought, and one was the victor, but no one was left behind. Knowing Knives' compassion for Vash and Vash's compassion for everything, Wolfwood couldn't figure out who was who, but at least he could be relatively sure that they were both alive. He had travelled to all the surrounding towns and then the not so surrounding ones, but nothing came up. Wolfwood was at a dead end.
It had been a long time since they had parted ways; Vash had made it evident he was going to face Knives alone and it just happened to turn out that Wolfwood had some skeletons to shove back into the closet in the form of old "friends." Wolfwood protested a little, but both understood that it wouldn't be good for the priest to follow. Wolfwood didn't know if Knives knew that Chapel's loyalty was wavering, although he was pretty sure this fact had been made evident; that sniveling, creepy, nasty, little quadrapelegic Legato seemed to be very on top of things for a guy who spent all his days in a full metal casket. Nicholas didn't feel like dealing with that now, though, so he did what he always did best: dissapear off into the sunset. Wolfwood hadn't heard anything from that side of camp either, and that worried him. They apparently were fine with the fact that the "Master" hadn't checked in for seven months; of course, the "Master" treated them all like insigificant little worms and they probably felt it best to let him do what he wished. There were very few left to care, anymore, what with most of the Gung Ho Guns dispatched to the next world.
"Tongari, where the hell are you," he muttered to himself.
At that precise moment (because, as this story will eventually display, narrative has the best timing) Angelina II let out a few unhealthy knocks and a couple of feeble pings, slowing down until they finally came to a stop. They ended up on a dune over looking a tiny little town that didn't seem to be on any map that Wolfwood possessed; quite honestly, it didn't look like it had any right to be. It looked to be a huddled mass of houses, a general store, a saloon (of course), and a filling station, all laying in the shadow of an old and obviously long defunct plant.
"At least there's a filling station," Wolfwood sighed, "I didn't mean to run you dry, sweetheart."
Wolfwood rolled into town just as the two suns surpassed the horizon. He barely took notice of the busted old sign that read "Welcome to Ecks, Pop. 83."
* * * * *
"Can you believe it? They just up and left in the middle of the night, and with the poor invalid brother too weak to travel!"
"They also skipped out on this months rent, I heard."
"No, it was my uncle they were renting from and he said a small pile of cash was left on the table, just enough to finish out the last three months on the lease and then some, apparently, for his troubles. It was odd, though. The simpleton had called upon my uncle about some problem around the house yesterday, hoping Uncle could come and check it out. Rats, I think. Rats take kindly to the old house, it being right next the old well and the market. They seem to love the dry place to live in with food at a paws reach away!"
"Well good riddance if you ask me. They were a creepy pair. One brother you never saw but could always hear cursing and spitting and yowling like an old tom cat if it was quiet enough (and even if it wasn't) and the other was a terrible, spikey-haired punk who was always cutting out of work to play with the kids. He even had an earring! No good, I tell you, no good."
"Aw, you shouldn't be too harsh. Who knows what pain the one was going through and the other obviously couldn't help it; he was probably born that way, the poor thing. When he did work, we was a hard worker, and he seemed to really take as good care of his brother as he could."
"Eh, their gone now."
Wolfwood managed to stop choking on a mix of scotch and his cigarette butt he had inhaled rather suddenly. He couldn't believe after three months of careful tracking he'd roll into a tiny little dump not even twenty-four hours after Vash had rolled out. It was obvious from the saloon gossip that Vash had been the victor of the oasis scuffle but that didn't help Wolfwood much. He didn't know why they left, where they were headed, or if they were even still together. Square one all over again, but at least this square had a relatively fresh trail leading from it. It was also kind of odd that his bike had run out of gas where and when it did, too.
"You work in mysterious ways, that's for sure," he thought with a glance heavenward. Wolfwood finished his scotch and headed out, hoping Angelina II was ready. He'd had the local mechanic give her the once over to make sure she was okay to travel after running on empty. He needed her in top form if he wanted to catch up with Vash.
Of course, the motorcycle wasn't ready, and wouldn't be for another couple of hours, so Wolfwood took advantage of the time to check out where Vash last was. Someone had said the house was right by the market and the old well, and although he'd never been to Ecks before, Wolfwood found it pretty quickly.
A short search of the exterior perimeter proved that they were heading west, one and then a while later, the other. The first set of tracks started with and obvious plummet into the dust. Over that were the tracks of someone who had ran around from the front of the house and then followed them out. Knives apparently hadn't healed all too quickly under Vash's care and decided not to remain there any longer. Knives' trail had begun to fade as the wind picked up throughout the day and Vash's was following suit. They basically struck out due west in the beginning, the both of them, at least until they were out of town. Wolfwood placed a hand above his sunglasses, further shading his eyes from the suns. The wind was picking up and it didn't look good; a sandstorm looked to be on its way. It didn't stand to be the best time to head out into the desert, but time seemed to be pressing now more than ever. The priest decided to take a look inside.
The house was unlocked, small, sparcely furnished, and appeared to be perfectly built to amplify the disturbing sounds of rats scratching and squeeking away in the walls. Barely any food graced the shelves of the refrigerator; Wolfwood helped himself, figuring that no one else had plans to eat it now and it stood free for the taking. From the sound of it, the rats really didn't need anything else to help them grow big, strong, and capable of ripping a tomas in half; they were doing pretty well all by themselves. The downstairs bedroom stood devoid of personal items, as well as the upstairs one. Wolfwood noted the numerous locks, bolts, chains, and so forth on the door to the second floor bedroom. The whole house oozed depressing minimalism; only one thing existed in excess and that was books. Books sat on most available surface, including the floor, all ranging in topic from memoirs to Ancient Russian literature that survived the Fall. Books didn't come cheap, so obviously much of the money Vash made went into entertainment for him and his brother. How sweet.
"There's nothing here that'll help me, Tongari. How come you couldn't leave a decent clue? All that's here worries me," he muttered to himself, lighting up a new cigarette. It would probably be best if he went to see if his baby was ready for the road. With a glance out the window, it looked like Wolfwood would have to rely on a feeble general direction to find the moron. The storm was rising.
* * * * *
Knives wasn't well. Feverish and weak, he stubled across an old cave, barely a hollow in the sands, but it would do. He'd been running/stumbling all night and with the dawning of a new day came a sand storm. Knives knew he was in no condition to fight it. So there Knives rested, drifting in and out of fevered dreams.
He had been healing well until an infection in his leg arose, one that only Vash's antibiotics could cure. They now seemed so far away, but it didn't matter. Knives wouldn't have taken them. He couldn't fight the scenes of the last seven months that danced across his sickened mind and he could make even less sense of it.
They had met at that beautiful oasis, an Eden in the middle of the disgusting wasteland. He couldn't convince his brother with words and actions didn't suffice, either. Vash had the chance to save his precious humans once and for all, and all he did was shoot Knives. He couldn't believe it; little Vash had shot him again! Then came the promises to heal him, help him, make him understand. It was like asking a man who was blind from birth to describe the color red. Knives would never understand his poor, misguided brother and would never love those that could never treat him like a superior being (because, of course, he was superior to all humans.)
Knives ground his teeth together in fury. As angry as he was with his brother, he realized it wasn't Vash's fault for treating him this way. Humans had slowly chipped away at his brother's fragile body and heart. They used up all the plants until they could give no more and then coerced one final, horrifying surge of energy from their spent bodies. Knives had also noticed how black Vash's hair had become in the back, at the roots. His brother had been pushed to use that much energy (Knives conviently forgot that it was him who had forced Vash) and now he was dying; he couldn't allow all of his brother's hair to turn black and lose him forever.
The humans deserved to feel the pain that his people felt. Knives had to stop them. And now more humans were coming from Earth it great ships to rescue those that Knives himself had virtually sentanced to death so long ago. No longer would they evade their end. The spiders had to die and every one of their webs ripped from the land and the sky. And Vash....
Vash would never see. The need to hurt his brother, to pay him back for the past seven months, ebbed but it didn't change the fact that he couldn't let Vash stop him. He would find a nice place to tuck Vash away for awhile, until it rained humans. Yes, all those mean things he'd said to his brother during his captivity, they were just words, not actions. Words could be forgiven so much more readily than actions. He didn't want to lose his brother, not really.
Knives coughed violently for several minutes straight, spattering his lips and the rocks beside him in little crimson spots. He didn't even wipe his mouth, but stared in mild horror at his blood on the ground. He needed power. He needed the other plants; surely he could make them see, make them help. Who else would? Yes, they would help him. They would give him strength.
* * * * *
Myshkin: Pardon any OOCness, I'm doing my best. Both Wolfwood and Knives aren't the easiest characters to write for! Hope you enjoyed this latest installment!