Chapter 1
*clang bash bang CRASH* "Damn this stupid piece of junk!!"
With a sigh, Spike Spiegel extracted himself from the bowls of his ship, the Swordfish. He looked around at the pieces of metal, gears, and tubes that were strewn about the dusty ground. He had crashed here a little over three hours ago when his "faithful" ship's engines had suddenly cut out. He'd drifted for days in empty space, so far out that the planet he had crashed on was uncharted. And no wonder, he thought. The whole place was nothing but sand. The double suns were glaring down on him and he had been in a very bad mood ever since he had run out of cigarettes.
He grabbed his blue over-shirt, slung it over his shoulder, and started walking. He figured that there had to be something, anything better to do on this god-forsaken planet than keep whacking at his ship.
Spike was surprised, to say the least, when he came over a particular dune to see a small town. He wondered what kind of creatures he would find there. However, as he got closer he realized they were humans. The town kinda reminded him of those old western films, saloons and little shops. He didn't have any idea how the hell these people got out here, but he didn't care as long as they had cigarettes and alcohol.
The first place he went was the saloon, taking a seat at the bar. He put his blue over-shirt back on.
"Hey, barkeep, gimme a drink." He said.
"Anything in particular?" asked the barkeep.
"Anything."
Spike looked around at the people in the bar. They were all just normal people, except for the fact that they looked like they were out of a Clint Eastwood film. Except for one. This one fellow was sitting in the corner, looking back at Spike. He looked like he was some kind of deranged priest, with unkempt stringy black hair and small crosses at his cuffs. Leaning against the back of his chair was a HUGE cross, covered in cloth and wrapped with numerous straps and buckles. Spike wasn't immediately interested in any of that, though. All Spike saw was the cigarette that was sitting between the priest's lips.
Spike stood and walked over to the priest, who calmly stared back at him.
"Hey, there, priest. Spare a smoke?"
The priest regarded him for a moment, and then produced a cigarette from his pocket, handing it to Spike. As the priest offered a light, he introduced himself.
"My name's Nicholas D. Wolfwood. And you are?"
"Spike Spiegel."
"Well now, Mr. Spiegel, I can't help but compliment you on your stylish clothes."
Spike looked down at himself, and realized that they were both wearing almost the exact same outfit: an unbuttoned collar shirt, blue over- shirt and pants, right down to the yellow boots.
"I'd have to say the same to you." Spike said approvingly. He sat down across the small table just as the barkeep set his drink in front of him. Spike handed the man three woolongs. The barkeep studied the money, a puzzled look on his face.
"What's this?" he asked Spike. "The drink's two double dollars."
"What? Double dollars?" Spike asked, just as confused as the barkeep.
"Don't play dumb, buddy. No money, no drink." The barkeep swiped the glass from Spike's hand. Spike was about to swipe it back, but the priest interjected.
"Here, it's my pleasure." Nicholas said, handing the man a strange type of currency. The man growled, but put the drink back on the table.
"hmm." Nicholas laughed. "I'm not sure if I should even ask. You seem like the type that gets into trouble a lot."
"Well, if I do, at least I can get myself out." Spike said, draining the glass in one gulp.
"Yeah, I know what you mean. I happen to have another acquaintance that's the same way. Actually I'm waiting for him." Nicholas paused and looked past Spike to the door. "Well, speak of the devil."
Spike turned around to see a man in a floor-length red leather coat and spiky blonde hair walking towards their table. The man had a goofy grin on his face.
"Hey there, church man!" the guy said cheerily. He plopped himself down at their table. He turned and regarded Spike with eyes blue as ice. "Hey, Wolfwood, made a new friend?" Whereupon this strange man threw an arm around Spike's neck. "That's great! Hey barkeep! How 'bout some drinks!" Then the man laughed. Or, at least, Spike thought he was laughing. He could have been shrieking out of pure insanity, or calling demon hounds from the depths of hell. Or scaring them away for that matter.
"Hey, take it easy. You're gonna scare the poor guy." Nicholas said. The weirdo released Spike, grinning idiotically.
"I think I'm already scared." Spike said when he was able to breathe again. "Who the hell are you?"
"Well, I don't like to introduce myself," The man said, striking a noble pose, "but I like to think of myself as the warrior of peace, chasing the elusive mayfly of love."
There was a moment of absolute silence while Spike stared open- mouthed and Nicholas just shook his head.
"Okay, now I'm really scared." Spike said, turning to Nicholas. "Please tell me he didn't just say 'mayfly of love'."
"Yeah. He always says that." Nicholas laughed. "His real name is-" but the man in red quickly clamped a hand over the priest's mouth, shushing him.
"Shut up, Wolfwood!" He hissed. "You're gonna get me into trouble!"
The priest pushed his hand away and shoved him back in the chair.
"Don't worry so much. He'll deal with it." When the man sighed and leaned his head forward onto the table, the priest looked back to Spike. "His real name is. Vash the Stampede."
*clang bash bang CRASH* "Damn this stupid piece of junk!!"
With a sigh, Spike Spiegel extracted himself from the bowls of his ship, the Swordfish. He looked around at the pieces of metal, gears, and tubes that were strewn about the dusty ground. He had crashed here a little over three hours ago when his "faithful" ship's engines had suddenly cut out. He'd drifted for days in empty space, so far out that the planet he had crashed on was uncharted. And no wonder, he thought. The whole place was nothing but sand. The double suns were glaring down on him and he had been in a very bad mood ever since he had run out of cigarettes.
He grabbed his blue over-shirt, slung it over his shoulder, and started walking. He figured that there had to be something, anything better to do on this god-forsaken planet than keep whacking at his ship.
Spike was surprised, to say the least, when he came over a particular dune to see a small town. He wondered what kind of creatures he would find there. However, as he got closer he realized they were humans. The town kinda reminded him of those old western films, saloons and little shops. He didn't have any idea how the hell these people got out here, but he didn't care as long as they had cigarettes and alcohol.
The first place he went was the saloon, taking a seat at the bar. He put his blue over-shirt back on.
"Hey, barkeep, gimme a drink." He said.
"Anything in particular?" asked the barkeep.
"Anything."
Spike looked around at the people in the bar. They were all just normal people, except for the fact that they looked like they were out of a Clint Eastwood film. Except for one. This one fellow was sitting in the corner, looking back at Spike. He looked like he was some kind of deranged priest, with unkempt stringy black hair and small crosses at his cuffs. Leaning against the back of his chair was a HUGE cross, covered in cloth and wrapped with numerous straps and buckles. Spike wasn't immediately interested in any of that, though. All Spike saw was the cigarette that was sitting between the priest's lips.
Spike stood and walked over to the priest, who calmly stared back at him.
"Hey, there, priest. Spare a smoke?"
The priest regarded him for a moment, and then produced a cigarette from his pocket, handing it to Spike. As the priest offered a light, he introduced himself.
"My name's Nicholas D. Wolfwood. And you are?"
"Spike Spiegel."
"Well now, Mr. Spiegel, I can't help but compliment you on your stylish clothes."
Spike looked down at himself, and realized that they were both wearing almost the exact same outfit: an unbuttoned collar shirt, blue over- shirt and pants, right down to the yellow boots.
"I'd have to say the same to you." Spike said approvingly. He sat down across the small table just as the barkeep set his drink in front of him. Spike handed the man three woolongs. The barkeep studied the money, a puzzled look on his face.
"What's this?" he asked Spike. "The drink's two double dollars."
"What? Double dollars?" Spike asked, just as confused as the barkeep.
"Don't play dumb, buddy. No money, no drink." The barkeep swiped the glass from Spike's hand. Spike was about to swipe it back, but the priest interjected.
"Here, it's my pleasure." Nicholas said, handing the man a strange type of currency. The man growled, but put the drink back on the table.
"hmm." Nicholas laughed. "I'm not sure if I should even ask. You seem like the type that gets into trouble a lot."
"Well, if I do, at least I can get myself out." Spike said, draining the glass in one gulp.
"Yeah, I know what you mean. I happen to have another acquaintance that's the same way. Actually I'm waiting for him." Nicholas paused and looked past Spike to the door. "Well, speak of the devil."
Spike turned around to see a man in a floor-length red leather coat and spiky blonde hair walking towards their table. The man had a goofy grin on his face.
"Hey there, church man!" the guy said cheerily. He plopped himself down at their table. He turned and regarded Spike with eyes blue as ice. "Hey, Wolfwood, made a new friend?" Whereupon this strange man threw an arm around Spike's neck. "That's great! Hey barkeep! How 'bout some drinks!" Then the man laughed. Or, at least, Spike thought he was laughing. He could have been shrieking out of pure insanity, or calling demon hounds from the depths of hell. Or scaring them away for that matter.
"Hey, take it easy. You're gonna scare the poor guy." Nicholas said. The weirdo released Spike, grinning idiotically.
"I think I'm already scared." Spike said when he was able to breathe again. "Who the hell are you?"
"Well, I don't like to introduce myself," The man said, striking a noble pose, "but I like to think of myself as the warrior of peace, chasing the elusive mayfly of love."
There was a moment of absolute silence while Spike stared open- mouthed and Nicholas just shook his head.
"Okay, now I'm really scared." Spike said, turning to Nicholas. "Please tell me he didn't just say 'mayfly of love'."
"Yeah. He always says that." Nicholas laughed. "His real name is-" but the man in red quickly clamped a hand over the priest's mouth, shushing him.
"Shut up, Wolfwood!" He hissed. "You're gonna get me into trouble!"
The priest pushed his hand away and shoved him back in the chair.
"Don't worry so much. He'll deal with it." When the man sighed and leaned his head forward onto the table, the priest looked back to Spike. "His real name is. Vash the Stampede."