Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun, nor do I own Meryl or Vash.
Marie Ward, ibogal, SBcowgirljunkie, EmpressGalaxia, Aine of Knockaine, Leviathon's son, Pailay, and Ashari: Thanks for your support.
Pailay: Milly makes her appearance at the end. I'm a little wary of writing Milly, because I haven't even gotten the hang of Vash or Meryl. Sorry if characters seem OOC: I feel like a chimpanzee with a revolver right now.
Meryl leaned over a pile of tinder and dry brush, striking flint against stone. She was struggling, unsuccessfully, to light a fire; as warm and dry as the night was outside, it was dank and chilly inside the little cavern. But the few sparks from the flint and steel refused to catch on the fire bedding she had made, and each dull brattle of stone striking stone only served to feed her frustration until she was ready to throw the whole experiment away.
She had been lucky to find the cave–if you could call it that. It was more like a small fissure in the rock. But it kept out the winds, which were stronger now than ever, and with luck it would get her safely through the storm.
Meryl's problem was bigger than just finding shelter, however. The Desperados were after her. Not right now–for now they had returned to October to wait out the storm. But they would redouble their efforts in less than a week and they would find her. The gun she had picked up at Baker was not very comforting: she had secretly vowed never to use a gun to seriously injure someone again. Besides, she would be dead before she managed to get off more than one or two rounds. Her only chance was to escape to another town. Of course, that was impossible. It would have been impossible even without the storm. Meryl only had the few liters of water and some canned rations that she'd carried out of Baker. Hardly enough to support a harrowing dash to the nearest city.
Meryl stood, stretched, and dusted herself off. The thomas was standing lazily near the mouth of the crevasse. Thomas', with their amazing ability to retain water and incredible endurance, were perfect desert mounts. Mr. Harris' thomas would be able to last for another week and a half, at least.
She joined the animal by the cavern's entrance, her eyes moving over the wasteland of the desert. She allowed her gaze to wander toward the cities. First Fest, then October, then Baker. Suddenly she stiffened. Haloed in the glow of the city lights, a lone figure was making its way toward her.
She couldn't see well in the half-light of twilight, but he seemed tall and athletic. He was moving awkwardly, and she could see the bulge of a haversack slung over his shoulder. Could the Desperados still be out here? She wondered. The thought made her stomach flutter with anxiety, yet she found herself intrigued as the figure drew nearer.
Despite the headwinds he was making good progress. She could see his dark hat, tugged low over his face, and a zany pair of goggle-like sunglasses. He was struggling now, having a difficult time finding footholds going uphill in the shifting sands. He didn't look anything like a Desperado, and Meryl wondered what he was doing so far out at this late hour.
With sudden decision, Meryl mounted the thomas and checked her holster. She still had her sidearm if he tried to pull a fast one–but somehow she didn't think he would. She urged the thomas forward, out into the night.
Vash realized what a mistake his "escape" into the desert had been. He had been trekking for two hours and there was still no sign of shelter. He knew that he would need to turn around soon and head back. And the citizens of Baker would be waiting for him. They had whipped themselves into a frenzy; yelling, shooting, trashing the entire city. Going back to Baker would mean certain death. With luck, he could get to Fest and disguise himself. But Fest was so far away and the sands made it difficult to find traction. Vash sat, partially sheltered from the wind by the dunes in front of him. His feet had gone numb, and the haversack was heavy on his shoulder. He slipped it off and rested in the valley.
He was just about to get back up and try for Fest when he heard the scraunchof footsteps in sand. He scrambled to his feet and looked around wildly. There was no way–no way–anyone had followed him from Baker.
He opened his mouth to ask who was there and choked on the sand being whipped up by the wind instead. He could make out a figure looming to the right and tried to find an escape route. But in the vale with mounds of sand surrounding him, he didn't stand a chance.
Meryl approached the man guardedly. He cut a ridiculous figure: his white dress shirt was now an appalling shade of tan. His glasses were already scratched, and his face was almost invisible beneath the sand. Still, she felt she had seen this man before somewhere...
Vash squinted. He was almost positive he knew the woman on the thomas. The defiant tilt to her chin, the short black hair. She was the lady from the gunsmith's. He straightened, picked up his bag.
The woman leaned down and offered a hand, which Vash eagerly accepted. Without a word, she turned the thomas back toward the wasteland and pressed the animal forward.
A few minutes later, the thomas slowed, and the woman dismounted, gesturing for him to do the same. She led him into a fissure in the rock formation that he hadn't noticed earlier.
Vash's stomach groaned, and he gave a sheepish grin. "Uh...you wouldn't happen to have any doughnuts, would you?"
The lady handed him a liter of water and some nasty-looking meat. Still food was food, and Vash chewed happily, sipping only now and then to conserve the water.
His rescuer broke the silence first, asking: "What were you doing twelve iles from the nearest city, alone, without any rations?"
The question was tricky: Vash was reluctant to tell her his identity for fear she might be a bounty hunter.
"I don't think Baker's residents liked me very much,"he answered evasively.
The dark-haired sylph seemed to accept his response. She didn't speak for a few beats, until the quiet was like a third presence. Then she cocked her head and gave him a curious look. "What's your name?"
"Vash," he said, hoping she didn't read the "Ten Most Wanted" list.
Apparently she did. "Vash the Stampede?" she asked, a faint note of disbelief in her tone.
"What's your name?" He asked meekly, not liking the direction this was taking.
The woman hesitated for a moment. Then her eyes flashed and she said. "My name is Derringer Meryl."