Disclaimer: Insert annoying and utterly pointless disclaimer here. I don't own Trigun, its wonderfully created characters, Planet Gunsmoke, any of the Seven Cities, geraniums, "Sound Life", Gung-ho-Guns (though, they have pretty cool names), .45 Colt revolvers, Angel Arms, random weapons, dead people, or pretty much anything else in this little fic of mine! However, Amaranta is a fictional character of my creation. Interpret that as you will.
Author's Note: Sorry it's taken me longer to update this story. I've had a slight writer's block, and been busy with my art, but I decided I'd force myself to finish a chapter for at least one of my stories this week. So this is the product of a sugar-high authoress, battling the evils of writer's block, and praying for my muse to wake up from her catatonic state.
And sorry, this isn't much about Millie or Meryl right now. I apologize that they've been kind of fleeting in their appearances, but don't fear, I haven't done away with the two. Towards the end of the story, though, I'm sure they'll have much larger roles in the plot.
Thanks to my lovely and supportive reviewers, as always. I really like hearing what you think, and usually, it gives me motivation to write more for you all. On to the next chapter of "Golden Recluse"!
Chapter VIII: Lealta
Hearts, long since frozen from the passage of love grow rigid over time. In the places where scars lie, hardening takes place, turning the target of Cupid's arrow to stone. Does love still linger in the hearts of the pained, the abused, and the emotionally numb?
Torturato sia il mio cuore per una volta amare...
... Insensato sia per amare ancora.
- - -
Already the heat was rising as the suns peeked above the jagged horizon, sending the animals of the night fleeing into the safety of the shadows. A streak of vibrant pink was smeared across the early morning sky, a handful of gray clouds set against it, as though flung from the brush of a distraught artist. A faint breeze blew through the barren tract, sand shifting ever so slightly, causing shallow, winding trenches to appear in the ground. The grandeur of the sight was almost breathtaking...
Vash did not observe this beauty, of course. How can one see through closed eyes, stitched shut with unwavering exhaustion? But then, how can one shut out the beauty of the overlooked with the loathsome state in the likeness of death?
La morte capisco...
It's the destiny of every creature to die, she had once been told. It was completely logical; everything had an origin, a beginning, so it was reasonable to assume everything had to have an end. Things could not go on living forever after all, lest masses overwhelm the planet, and bring forth chaos of indescribable magnitude.
Logica capisco...
Death and all its complicated logistics were nothing new; the sobbing, the lamenting and the grave-strewn sites were just old hat in this business. Not that she didn't ever question her choices, mind you. Numerous times she wondered why she ever started down the path of sins and cynicism, but it had accomplished little more than providing many restless nights of wondering...
Why had it been that bar she'd walked into, in place of any other run-down saloon in New Oregon? Had it been some other dumpy pub, she never would've met the man with the cold smile. And had she never met him, and never agreed to the terms, she wouldn't have ever been in this predicament.
Ma questo...
Had she not been so naive, so easily swayed by empty promises of paradise, and of 'Eden', all of this would never have happened.
Questa sensibilità...
Had she not been a Gung-ho-Gun underneath it all...
Non capisco...
Not royally announced herself as a fool of fate's cruel humour...
Non desidero causare altro dolore...
If only she hadn't fallen in love with the wanted man.
- - -
It was too late for allegations of the heart, far too late to stop it. The heart wants what it wants, and nothing can dissuade the stubborn decision of the creation. And her heart was set on him.
"Good morning," came the yawn of a greeting from the blonde man. "Sleep well?"
Something was different about his face, Amaranta noticed almost immediately. The dark circles beneath his eyes were lighter than before, and the frown lines in his cheeks had gone completely. His brow wasn't furrowed in fretting, and his skin didn't appear quite so sallow.
"Pretty well, I suppose. How about you?"
"Best sleep I've had in a long while," he admitted, lightly rubbing the back of his neck with a smile. "Don't feel quite so sore, actually. I thought that crick would never go away."
"I'm glad to hear that," the raven haired girl muttered, closing her eyes and resting her head gently on his shoulder.
"My only complaint is the sand itches," Vash stated, a small laugh escaping his lips. He fluffed the blanket pulled over both of them in a feeble attempt to rid them of the pesky granules. "It's everywhere!"
A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I know."
Rightly, or wrongly, she gave little thought to the gnawing sensation in the back of her mind. She ignored the fact that she was going against everything she'd become a part of. But the one thing she couldn't ignore, was the feeling that Knives was watching their every move, scowling.
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Chapter Note: I finished! Time for a victory dance, no? Perhaps the cliffy dance?
Yes, you read right – she's a Gung-ho-Gun. And she loves him. The perfect remedy for disaster, heartbreak, and more of the wonderful Trigun-style angst we've all come to love!
I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter. I'll do my part to write some more to the story soon, if you do your part in reviewing.
Trigun © Yasuhiro Nightow
"Golden Recluse" © Kawaii Youko