Well, sorry for the big break between chapters. I was feeling less writer-ish and more web-designer-ish and AMV-maker-ish, so I had to get that out of my system for a while. I'm already working on the next chapter, so it may be up later today or tomorrow.
Thanks to all y'all people who reviewed.
(Getting lazier, now? Definitely)
!@#$%^&*!@#$%^&*!@#$%^&*!@#$%^&*!@#$%^&*!@#$%^&*!@#$%^&(not obscenities, just getting tired of dashes)
Traveling with Wosh was a world of difference compared to just traveling with Knives.
His cheerfulness was contagious and more than once I caught even Knives smiling at one of his often cheesy and ridiculous stories before quickly stifling the expression. Only rarely did I see the darker side that I had witnessed when he had told us his life story, though I had a feeling that it was constantly lurking below that happy mask that he showed us.
So many empty smiles.
The vibes of extreme deja vou I'd been getting when I was around him were becoming so frequent that I barely paid them any mind any more.
It only took me an hour or so after we'd left that tiny village to realize what direction we were going in.
"Hey, we're just heading to December, aren't we?" I asked, slightly indignant that he had acted as if the girls had wandered off in some obscure direction, instead of just heading toward the city where the Bernardelli office was located.
"Mm hm," he responded, busily fiddling with a braided piece of black leather he was attempting to remove from his hat.
"Oh," I responded.
"Then are you going to leave us alone and let us find them by ourselves?" Knives asked bitterly.
"No," he responded, glancing up to shoot a crooked grin at me.
Knives sighed. "I thought as much…"
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It was good to be back home.
And, if you thought of it in another way, it was bad.
Personally, I'd never really liked staying in the quiet, small, one-horse towns that Vash tended to travel between. I was much more suited to the life in the big city, and the familiar bustle made me feel comfortable and happy. I'd been born and raised here in December, where I had learned how to defend my self in the dog-eat-dog world of the big city. It was where I'd picked up the habit of carrying around derringers, and of being offensive in most situations.
I suppose by nature I wasn't a particularly violent person, but being not only the shortest and smallest but also the most studious kid on the block had forced me to learn how to fight back when people picked on me.
But despite my fond memories of beating up large boys in my youth, I had to remind myself that Vash was not here. He was not, and probably would never be, here. I felt almost sick as I reminded myself of those torturous two years after Augusta. I wondered what it would be like to feel that lonely for the rest of my life. I couldn't imagine returning to the normal adult dating world after what I felt for Vash. I had never really gotten very involved with anyone seriously, most of my previous relationships only lasting for a few months at most.
Many guys went out with me only until they either realized that I was a hopeless workaholic or that they fell desperately in love with some other woman who they met at the gym or, in once instance, that they were married.
How I could I abandon the completely pure and helpless love I felt for Vash to return to that world of infidelity and sorrow? How could any man possibly match not only his physical appearance, but his compassion, his peacefulness, his hopeless, idealistic, sentimentalism?
I sighed and rested my head on the kitchen table, my fingers absently stroking the handle of my coffee cup. My apartment was quiet, too quiet for me. I had spent so many months living with Vash and Milly and, for a time, Wolfwood that I wasn't used to being all alone again.
It was far too quiet. We had arrived back in the city late on a Friday afternoon, and now it was Saturday. Another two days, well one and a half, until I could go back to work and forget about Vash, about everything.
But until then, just the silence. Staring at the clock and willing the second hand to move faster.
Milly had immediately gone to visit her family in a small town on the outskirts of the city, and though she offered to let me come along, the overwhelming cheerfulness of the whole Thomson family in one place would've only served to make me more depressed.
I pulled a piece of scrap paper over to me from an old report that had been sitting on the far side of the table since I'd left to find Vash the second time. I stared at it for a few moments before grabbing a pen and sketching a smiling face, topped by a spiky, broomstick-shaped hairdo. I paused for a moment, thoughtfully eyeing my work, and added an earring and a mole below the left eye.
I internally cursed myself for never taking any pictures of him. How was I supposed to dwindle away the years of my life as a sad old maid without a picture of him to obsess over?
I sighed and stared down at the drawing. It beamed back up at me. I'd never been bad in art class, but I wasn't exactly another Michelangelo. Sure, the sketch easily encompassed his cheerful smile and goofy appearance, but how could I ever capture the way his soul cried and mourned behind those eyes so badly that it hurt to watch him smile?
I shook my head and pulled another sheet of paper over to me. This picture was larger, his expression more melancholy, and drew his hair down in the way it had been when we had cared for him after he had faced Legato for effect. Still, I wasn't satisfied. His eyes! I couldn't capture the way his eyes looked!
I let out a growl and crumpled the piece of paper, throwing it at the wall. I would do this! Meryl Stryfe never failed.
By Sunday evening, I had advanced to oil paints and an easel and canvass. A whole corner of my living room was filled with failed attempts, and the portrayals of my favorite gunman had spanned from him simply staring back at the viewer to eating doughnuts to lying comatose in bed like those weeks following the Legato incident. In my mind's eye, I could envision every scar, every sleek muscle, and every stray lock of golden hair.
Yet in every picture, there was a flaw. In most of them, I couldn't put my finger on it, but it was most definitely there, screaming at me. The was something missing from all of them, but for the life of me, I had no idea what it was.
I painted like a woman possessed, each obviously flawed portrait angering me so much that I started a new one. I painted throughout the night, until I collapsed from exhaustion.
The light woke me up, streaming through the window and forcing my eyes open, looking up blearily from where I had fallen asleep resting against the easel. I reached up and absently realized that I must have fallen asleep with my cheek pressed into wet paint, my fingers uselessly brushing against where it had crusted on the side of my face and hair.
Work…said a voice in my head.
What? I wondered, still half asleep.
Work.
I have been working. I was painting all through last night.
Work.
I hadn't worked in ages. Being with Vash wasn't working, it was my own personal heaven.
Work.
I hadn't worked at Berna—
"Oh SHIT!"
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"Vash! Up and at 'em! We're less than a day's walk from December!" Wosh's voice cut through my happily unconscious state.
"Mnnggmmmmfff," I grunted, my equivalent of informing the overly exuberant and morning-loving man that I had no intention of being either "up" or "at 'em" for another hour or so. I could tell that the sun wasn't up even if I hadn't learned about Wosh's early-morning tendencies early on or journey. My internal clock always woke me up soon after dawn, and a quick thought discerned that my internal clock had definitely not woken me up yet.
"Vaaaaaaaash!" he whined, utilizing a voice that reminded me scarily of the tone I often used when attempting to obtain doughnuts.
"Gmfm," I said, rolling over and away from him.
I thought for a moment that he'd given up and was going to let me return to sleep when I felt his presence not far from my ear and heard him breathe in a soft, deep voice. "Today's the day when you and Meryl can have your joyous reunion. Maybe she'll do something to thank you for braving this horribly long trip to be with her."
I suddenly felt all want or need for sleep slip away and my mind begin to buzz with possibilities.
"Alright, Knives! Up and at 'em!" I said cheerfully, a scare few moments later.
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Fun, fun, fun! Is this story which only a chapter ago had the possibility of an actual plot now degrading into what will eventually become pointless fluff?? Possibly!
Regretfully, but fluff-filled,
Your beloved author.