Disclaimer: I don't own anything Trigun, so don't sue me please, thank you!
Myshkin: Sorry about the whole Vash in pain in the last chapter. It hurt me to write it, if you must know, but I'm just trying to write what I see fit. You'd be pretty depressed too if you had to go through what Vash does. Anyways, onward.
P.S. from Myshkin: Oh yeah, just because I didn't want to get into trouble I raised the rating to R for the violence in this chapter. To me, personally, I don't think it's R material, but I wanted to be on the safe side. It's kinda bloody. Don't worry, it'll all be okay. Our trusty heroes (and not so trusty villain) have gotten through worse scrapes than this.
Tying up Loose Ends
Chapter 4
Meetings and Musings
Wolfwood got the news an hour after sunset. Vash the Stampede had been sighted 40 iles west of the watering hole he now stood in. Wolfwood, again the master of timing, happened to hear the bandits' first version of "Them vs. Vash the Stampede" as they stumbled into the saloon, shaken but not quite quaking. These were tough men, when the need called for it; granted, they acted like chicken-shit when they first discovered the identity of their "pigeon," but who wouldn't in the face of certain death. Wolfwood listen as the story unfolded and smiled, able to read between the lines of fact and fiction. He knew Vash was alive, if not perfectly well. He also knew Tongari was headed south, towards February, but couldn't gleam anything more helpful from the ragged bunch.
"Reverend, you planning on trying for a reward? I hears no one's paying anymore, on account of him being too dangerous. There's stories about some insurance company sending two little women after him and theys were never seen again," an older man whispered conspiratorially to the priest. They were sitting along the outer edge of the room, both focused on the group of braggarts in the center of the room. Wolfwood grinned for a moment and muttered around his cigarette.
"One wasn't so little and both most certainly held their own against the Human Typhoon."
The old man looked quizzically at the dark-haired man.
"At least," Wolfwood added, "so I've heard."
The old man nodded and took another swig of his scotch. Wolfwood got up and headed towards the door when the old man posed the question again, wanting an answer that would add to the gossip.
"You planning on trying for a reward?"
This time the whole saloon heard the question, turning all their attention towards the priest. Wolfwood stopped and turned to face the "victors," their audience, and all their probing yet fearful eyes. Even the bartender's attention was riveted on the man in black.
"Why, whatever gave you that impression?" he asked innocently. "All I see before me is a soul in need of saving." More like his pathetic ass than his soul, he added to himself.
If possible, the whole saloon went even more quiet than before, except for the slight rustle of hats being draw off of heads and placed over hearts. No one muttered a word of encouragement because they all agreed he was a damned fool.
Little did they know, Vash the Stampede was the one at serious risk of a thrashing when the two men would finally meet. All this run-around, dodging friends crap had to end. Vash was a moron for not letting any of them help, although Wolfwood agreed in keeping the women out of it. Wolfwood also knew that the insurance girls really didn't care what the two gentlemen thought and would have gone to the ends of the earth for Vash. For all Wolfwood knew, they already had.
He felt a slight weight in the inside breast pocket of his jacket, although the item there didn't gain any in the last moment; as he walked out of the room his hand strayed there, about to take out the last letter he had received from Milly about four months ago. Wolfwood was damned if he knew how her letter found him, but it did, and he hadn't let it out of his reach once. Wolfwood sighed and walked out into the cool night. The room breathed in collectively and resumed its normal buzzing drone.
He stood just outside the semi-circle of light pooled around the saloon door, wanting to take out the letter and read it again, but he resisted the urge. He practically knew it by heart and there was no new information he could gleam from those few lines. It surprised him how short the letter was considering its author, a fact that still worried him even now. He could only hope Milly and Meryl were okay and have faith in their abilities. Wolfwood had enough to worry about on this wild plant chase.
Wolfwood straddled Angelina II and rode off into the night, headed for February. Her head light illuminated the sand before him, making it glitter like the stars above. It was so dark that he felt surrounded by the deep vacuum of space. No moon rode across the sky to light his way as he rode deeper into the maw of the wilderness. Several animals let out a cry in the distance, bringing him back down to Gunsmoke. He didn't know what it meant but the primeval part of him that still existed in his gut jumped to ready stance. Wolfwood urged his motorcycle on a little faster.
Time passed but it didn't feel like it to the priest. He was anxious and not being able to see any scenery pass, any sign of progress, made him all the more worried. What his headlight fell on never changed. Curse the moonless night! The howling of the beasts kept him going until at last he realized he actually had drawn nearer to the source. Vague figures struggled in the distance and then the loud report of a gun cut through the unpleasant grunts and snarls. A mighty yelp went up, followed by an apology obviously stated through gritted teeth and without much breath.
Wolfwood had no doubt in his mind: he had found Tongari. Angelina II protested as he urged her over another dune, sending them flying over the fray. There was a sickening, meaty thump as the bike made contact with one of the animals, tangling it up with Angelina II's front wheel. It had the appearance of a frightening cross between a hyena and a pole cat; the whole thing emitted a foul stench of decay and displayed ferocious tenacity.
Wolfwood had heard stories about such scavengers, vicious and eager to eat anything, including humans. Each area had its own name for the monsters, and he remembered stories at the orphanage about the Ravagers, as they were called there. Terrible things that would actually steal into smaller villages and prey on anything from chickens to stray dogs to children. A real, living creature straight from a child's nightmare, they were, and very protective of their catches. Right then they saw Wolfwood as another scavenger, bent on stealing what they rightfully found.
The one lodged on the front of the motorcycle slashed and bit madly before Wolfwood managed to land and spin around, throwing the beast and illuminating a very torn up Vash valiantly trying to fight off a pack of Ravagers without killing a single one. Wolfwood jumped from the motorcycle, letting her fall on her side, motor still running, and ripped off the Punisher's cloth, standing his ground against the beasts.
He panted heavily, blood already dripping from his shoulder as the animals turned their attention on him. Wolfwood let off a round at the mass of fur, claws, and teeth that had begun to circle him, chasing off all but one without hurting a soul.
He really wanted to be able to avoid the whole "You didn't have to kill them, Wolfwood" scene that would have ensued once he and Tongari were able to sit down and have a chat. He was also really lucky that as a whole Ravagers are cowardly beasts when faced down. Who knows what was wrong with the one that couldn't be shaken from the priest, because a lone Ravager didn't scatter at the sound of the gun. Maybe it was sick, or stupid, or whatever, but instead of running, it leapt.
The Ravager's jaws clamped down around Wolfwood's throat, the weight of its body shoving the man to the ground. Blood and breath began to escape Wolfwood as he tried to beat the foul creature; another sickening whump and immense pain in his jugular signaled to Wolfwood that the issue was now heading towards under control. He heard the squeal and snarling when another bullet was fired. At last all Wolfwood could hear was the creature's hasty retreat and its plaintive call to its kindred. Finally the priest summed up enough energy to look around.
To his right stood death warmed over in the form of Vash the Stampede. The poor guy was covered in blood, his white shirt and brown slacks no longer their original hue. He was clutching at his side with his real hand as the gun arm smoked gently at his side. Vash's body was a riddled countryside marred by old battles and now, once again, it suffered new furrows and trenches cut by man and beast. Of course he still had the capacity to grin at his friend who looked as if he was trying to catch up scar-wise all in one fight. Both breathed heavily, staring at each other with unspoken sentiments and slander flying through the air between them. At last Vash spoke.
"Just the man I needed to see," Vash murmured before collapsing, unconscious. Wolfwood sighed and heaved himself up, wincing at the action. Ignoring his wounds to the best of his abilities, Wolfwood managed to heave Vash's limp but still breathing body over the front of Angelina II's seat, straddling the motorcycle behind him. He wrapped one arm around Vash's waist and sped off into the night, hoping that someone was up at this hour in February.
* * * * *
The fever had taken complete hold of Knives; two days without medication and care, lying low in a stinking cave, it all didn't make for the best healing environment. He was delirious and seeing things.
Little Vash from years gone by was sitting by his side, wiping his brow and trying to spoon some hot soup past his unwilling lips. The boy talked in low soothing tones, although his voice was edged with question. Knives rolled over, trying to embrace his brother, but Little Vash jumped back away from the plant's grasping hands, almost spilling the broth. Fat tears began to roll down Knives' cheeks, mingling with his sweat. He begged Vash never to leave him and never hurt him like he had so many times before. All the boy could do was stare.
A gentle laugh, like silver upon crystal, tinkled sweetly at his feet. He turned his attention from Little Vash to see HER, that cursed woman who had ruined everything so many years ago.
"You think Vash has hurt you more than you've hurt him, Knives?" Rem asked.
"You," he growled and gasped, barely able to sit up, let alone lunge at her. She was gone before he could even try again, and then back once more at the entry way to the cave, surrounded by the day's bright, new light.
"You've wounded him so deeply that he's lost his way. He's tired and hurting and only wants the best for you."
"What he expects is the best for me is ridiculous! Love those who fear and hate us?! Take care of those who destroy our kindred?!" he burbled and coughed and spat. Knives wheeled around to Little Vash who was still there, looking far more frightened than before.
"Sir.... You're really sick," Little Vash stuttered. "You need to see a.... a healer. My... my sister can help if you'll come with me. Sir?"
"Sister?" Knives murmured, calming down at last. "We have a sister? Why didn't you ever tell me Vash?"
"My name's not Vash, sir," the boy said with a little more courage. "It's Isaiah, sir."
Isaiah waited for the shoe to drop in the poor, delusional man's mind. The fever had him seeing and hearing people that weren't there and it was obvious he was more than a little twitchy. Isaiah started to worry; he had no clue what he had gotten himself into and the only way out of the cave was around this guy. Stupid Isaiah, he told himself, trying to play the hero and saving the life of a dangerous man.
At last Knives just laughed in almost a kind manner.
"Oh Vash, playing a trick on me, aren't you? You were never this playful around me before, but I'm glad. Yes," he smiled and wink conspiratorially, "I'll come and see your 'sister,' 'Isaiah.'"
Knives tried to get to his feet but he ended up flat on his back, panting.
"I'll go get Edy, sir. You're in no shape to travel. Give me half a day and I'll be back with her, right quick," the boy exclaimed, scrambling frantically out of the cave before the man changed his mind. Knives heard a motor bike start up and drive away, its loud hum fading in the distance.
"But.... Vash can't drive," Knives gasped, exhausted from all the effort he had just put forth.
"That's because he's not Vash," Rem replied, back once more. Knives hadn't even realized she'd left.
"A hu.... human," spat Knives.
"Not that either."
"Rem, you're not making any sense!"
"And you're delirious. Let them help you Knives. You'll find Vash again through them, and hopefully some rest."
"And how do you know anything, you stupid woman," he cried, almost like a petulant child.
"Because, deep down inside, you know it too."
* * * * *
Myshkin: He he he, for once Knives is the one with visions of Rem. ^_^ Let the parade of original characters begin (if two can make a parade)!
Myshkin: Sorry about the whole Vash in pain in the last chapter. It hurt me to write it, if you must know, but I'm just trying to write what I see fit. You'd be pretty depressed too if you had to go through what Vash does. Anyways, onward.
P.S. from Myshkin: Oh yeah, just because I didn't want to get into trouble I raised the rating to R for the violence in this chapter. To me, personally, I don't think it's R material, but I wanted to be on the safe side. It's kinda bloody. Don't worry, it'll all be okay. Our trusty heroes (and not so trusty villain) have gotten through worse scrapes than this.
Tying up Loose Ends
Chapter 4
Meetings and Musings
Wolfwood got the news an hour after sunset. Vash the Stampede had been sighted 40 iles west of the watering hole he now stood in. Wolfwood, again the master of timing, happened to hear the bandits' first version of "Them vs. Vash the Stampede" as they stumbled into the saloon, shaken but not quite quaking. These were tough men, when the need called for it; granted, they acted like chicken-shit when they first discovered the identity of their "pigeon," but who wouldn't in the face of certain death. Wolfwood listen as the story unfolded and smiled, able to read between the lines of fact and fiction. He knew Vash was alive, if not perfectly well. He also knew Tongari was headed south, towards February, but couldn't gleam anything more helpful from the ragged bunch.
"Reverend, you planning on trying for a reward? I hears no one's paying anymore, on account of him being too dangerous. There's stories about some insurance company sending two little women after him and theys were never seen again," an older man whispered conspiratorially to the priest. They were sitting along the outer edge of the room, both focused on the group of braggarts in the center of the room. Wolfwood grinned for a moment and muttered around his cigarette.
"One wasn't so little and both most certainly held their own against the Human Typhoon."
The old man looked quizzically at the dark-haired man.
"At least," Wolfwood added, "so I've heard."
The old man nodded and took another swig of his scotch. Wolfwood got up and headed towards the door when the old man posed the question again, wanting an answer that would add to the gossip.
"You planning on trying for a reward?"
This time the whole saloon heard the question, turning all their attention towards the priest. Wolfwood stopped and turned to face the "victors," their audience, and all their probing yet fearful eyes. Even the bartender's attention was riveted on the man in black.
"Why, whatever gave you that impression?" he asked innocently. "All I see before me is a soul in need of saving." More like his pathetic ass than his soul, he added to himself.
If possible, the whole saloon went even more quiet than before, except for the slight rustle of hats being draw off of heads and placed over hearts. No one muttered a word of encouragement because they all agreed he was a damned fool.
Little did they know, Vash the Stampede was the one at serious risk of a thrashing when the two men would finally meet. All this run-around, dodging friends crap had to end. Vash was a moron for not letting any of them help, although Wolfwood agreed in keeping the women out of it. Wolfwood also knew that the insurance girls really didn't care what the two gentlemen thought and would have gone to the ends of the earth for Vash. For all Wolfwood knew, they already had.
He felt a slight weight in the inside breast pocket of his jacket, although the item there didn't gain any in the last moment; as he walked out of the room his hand strayed there, about to take out the last letter he had received from Milly about four months ago. Wolfwood was damned if he knew how her letter found him, but it did, and he hadn't let it out of his reach once. Wolfwood sighed and walked out into the cool night. The room breathed in collectively and resumed its normal buzzing drone.
He stood just outside the semi-circle of light pooled around the saloon door, wanting to take out the letter and read it again, but he resisted the urge. He practically knew it by heart and there was no new information he could gleam from those few lines. It surprised him how short the letter was considering its author, a fact that still worried him even now. He could only hope Milly and Meryl were okay and have faith in their abilities. Wolfwood had enough to worry about on this wild plant chase.
Wolfwood straddled Angelina II and rode off into the night, headed for February. Her head light illuminated the sand before him, making it glitter like the stars above. It was so dark that he felt surrounded by the deep vacuum of space. No moon rode across the sky to light his way as he rode deeper into the maw of the wilderness. Several animals let out a cry in the distance, bringing him back down to Gunsmoke. He didn't know what it meant but the primeval part of him that still existed in his gut jumped to ready stance. Wolfwood urged his motorcycle on a little faster.
Time passed but it didn't feel like it to the priest. He was anxious and not being able to see any scenery pass, any sign of progress, made him all the more worried. What his headlight fell on never changed. Curse the moonless night! The howling of the beasts kept him going until at last he realized he actually had drawn nearer to the source. Vague figures struggled in the distance and then the loud report of a gun cut through the unpleasant grunts and snarls. A mighty yelp went up, followed by an apology obviously stated through gritted teeth and without much breath.
Wolfwood had no doubt in his mind: he had found Tongari. Angelina II protested as he urged her over another dune, sending them flying over the fray. There was a sickening, meaty thump as the bike made contact with one of the animals, tangling it up with Angelina II's front wheel. It had the appearance of a frightening cross between a hyena and a pole cat; the whole thing emitted a foul stench of decay and displayed ferocious tenacity.
Wolfwood had heard stories about such scavengers, vicious and eager to eat anything, including humans. Each area had its own name for the monsters, and he remembered stories at the orphanage about the Ravagers, as they were called there. Terrible things that would actually steal into smaller villages and prey on anything from chickens to stray dogs to children. A real, living creature straight from a child's nightmare, they were, and very protective of their catches. Right then they saw Wolfwood as another scavenger, bent on stealing what they rightfully found.
The one lodged on the front of the motorcycle slashed and bit madly before Wolfwood managed to land and spin around, throwing the beast and illuminating a very torn up Vash valiantly trying to fight off a pack of Ravagers without killing a single one. Wolfwood jumped from the motorcycle, letting her fall on her side, motor still running, and ripped off the Punisher's cloth, standing his ground against the beasts.
He panted heavily, blood already dripping from his shoulder as the animals turned their attention on him. Wolfwood let off a round at the mass of fur, claws, and teeth that had begun to circle him, chasing off all but one without hurting a soul.
He really wanted to be able to avoid the whole "You didn't have to kill them, Wolfwood" scene that would have ensued once he and Tongari were able to sit down and have a chat. He was also really lucky that as a whole Ravagers are cowardly beasts when faced down. Who knows what was wrong with the one that couldn't be shaken from the priest, because a lone Ravager didn't scatter at the sound of the gun. Maybe it was sick, or stupid, or whatever, but instead of running, it leapt.
The Ravager's jaws clamped down around Wolfwood's throat, the weight of its body shoving the man to the ground. Blood and breath began to escape Wolfwood as he tried to beat the foul creature; another sickening whump and immense pain in his jugular signaled to Wolfwood that the issue was now heading towards under control. He heard the squeal and snarling when another bullet was fired. At last all Wolfwood could hear was the creature's hasty retreat and its plaintive call to its kindred. Finally the priest summed up enough energy to look around.
To his right stood death warmed over in the form of Vash the Stampede. The poor guy was covered in blood, his white shirt and brown slacks no longer their original hue. He was clutching at his side with his real hand as the gun arm smoked gently at his side. Vash's body was a riddled countryside marred by old battles and now, once again, it suffered new furrows and trenches cut by man and beast. Of course he still had the capacity to grin at his friend who looked as if he was trying to catch up scar-wise all in one fight. Both breathed heavily, staring at each other with unspoken sentiments and slander flying through the air between them. At last Vash spoke.
"Just the man I needed to see," Vash murmured before collapsing, unconscious. Wolfwood sighed and heaved himself up, wincing at the action. Ignoring his wounds to the best of his abilities, Wolfwood managed to heave Vash's limp but still breathing body over the front of Angelina II's seat, straddling the motorcycle behind him. He wrapped one arm around Vash's waist and sped off into the night, hoping that someone was up at this hour in February.
* * * * *
The fever had taken complete hold of Knives; two days without medication and care, lying low in a stinking cave, it all didn't make for the best healing environment. He was delirious and seeing things.
Little Vash from years gone by was sitting by his side, wiping his brow and trying to spoon some hot soup past his unwilling lips. The boy talked in low soothing tones, although his voice was edged with question. Knives rolled over, trying to embrace his brother, but Little Vash jumped back away from the plant's grasping hands, almost spilling the broth. Fat tears began to roll down Knives' cheeks, mingling with his sweat. He begged Vash never to leave him and never hurt him like he had so many times before. All the boy could do was stare.
A gentle laugh, like silver upon crystal, tinkled sweetly at his feet. He turned his attention from Little Vash to see HER, that cursed woman who had ruined everything so many years ago.
"You think Vash has hurt you more than you've hurt him, Knives?" Rem asked.
"You," he growled and gasped, barely able to sit up, let alone lunge at her. She was gone before he could even try again, and then back once more at the entry way to the cave, surrounded by the day's bright, new light.
"You've wounded him so deeply that he's lost his way. He's tired and hurting and only wants the best for you."
"What he expects is the best for me is ridiculous! Love those who fear and hate us?! Take care of those who destroy our kindred?!" he burbled and coughed and spat. Knives wheeled around to Little Vash who was still there, looking far more frightened than before.
"Sir.... You're really sick," Little Vash stuttered. "You need to see a.... a healer. My... my sister can help if you'll come with me. Sir?"
"Sister?" Knives murmured, calming down at last. "We have a sister? Why didn't you ever tell me Vash?"
"My name's not Vash, sir," the boy said with a little more courage. "It's Isaiah, sir."
Isaiah waited for the shoe to drop in the poor, delusional man's mind. The fever had him seeing and hearing people that weren't there and it was obvious he was more than a little twitchy. Isaiah started to worry; he had no clue what he had gotten himself into and the only way out of the cave was around this guy. Stupid Isaiah, he told himself, trying to play the hero and saving the life of a dangerous man.
At last Knives just laughed in almost a kind manner.
"Oh Vash, playing a trick on me, aren't you? You were never this playful around me before, but I'm glad. Yes," he smiled and wink conspiratorially, "I'll come and see your 'sister,' 'Isaiah.'"
Knives tried to get to his feet but he ended up flat on his back, panting.
"I'll go get Edy, sir. You're in no shape to travel. Give me half a day and I'll be back with her, right quick," the boy exclaimed, scrambling frantically out of the cave before the man changed his mind. Knives heard a motor bike start up and drive away, its loud hum fading in the distance.
"But.... Vash can't drive," Knives gasped, exhausted from all the effort he had just put forth.
"That's because he's not Vash," Rem replied, back once more. Knives hadn't even realized she'd left.
"A hu.... human," spat Knives.
"Not that either."
"Rem, you're not making any sense!"
"And you're delirious. Let them help you Knives. You'll find Vash again through them, and hopefully some rest."
"And how do you know anything, you stupid woman," he cried, almost like a petulant child.
"Because, deep down inside, you know it too."
* * * * *
Myshkin: He he he, for once Knives is the one with visions of Rem. ^_^ Let the parade of original characters begin (if two can make a parade)!