I'm baaack...
Disclaimer: 50% chance of Thunderstorms means we actually have no blinkin' idea what the weather will be.
Rise of the Silver Stars
Chapter 2: An Idea Given Form
He had actually made surprisingly good progress. There was a nice stack of neatly-typed sheets sitting by the typewriter. Of course, the massive mountain of crumpled up paper that hid a trashcan somewhere beneath it was the more noticeable testament to his skill with wordsmithing. The penetrating smell of correction fluid also lent its own presence, telling anyone nearby that his spelling was nothing short of atrocious. He sighed again as he consulted with his new best friend, Mr. Dictionary. Why was actually writing out stuff so much harder than talking?
So intent in his study of just how the heck one spelled- of all the words to get stuck on -'typhoon', that he completely missed hearing the bearer of the magical elixir of life come in. The 'chink' of the coffee cup against the table next to his elbow nearly made him leap out of his shoes.
"On second thought, maybe you've had enough for the time being."
His own hand shot out to intercept hers. "To take back a gift once given is just too cruel."
"You know, no matter how many times I hear you say things like that, I still can't believe you manage to keep a straight face."
"Years of practice, milady!"
That was when he heard it. That soft bubbling of laughter from the hallway, though by the time he turned all that might have been there were a few strands of hair moving on down to other business, though they had in all likelihood once again been caught actually touching each other.
"I swear, sometimes I feel like she's stalking us to complete some secret collection of embarrassing moments."
"Funny that it takes her to make us notice."
"Not one more word, Mr. Vash the Stampede," came the retort, accompanied with a threatening finger wag.
He just smiled at her. One of his real smiles. They used to be so few and far between, he could recall times when he had spent years from one to the next. However, there was just something about her that brought them out. This wasn't lost on her either, she had been around him long enough to know the masks he threw up for what they were. Notwithstanding her own experience with masks. They both had that aspect in common, that they never really let people get too close to them. Milly was the exception, able to see right through whatever they tried to disguise themselves with, which was something even he had lost the ability to do. That was why he finally stopped wearing the red coat that was part of the great myth of Vash the Stampede. He didn't need to wear that mask of courage and determination now that he had real courage and real determination in him. Or did he? Knives still lay in the bed at the side of the room, their one hundred thirty year long argument ongoing, merely on hold while he recovered. Milly was walking down the street, pickaxe in hand, off to do more digging, while the truth about Knives still hung over his head.
There was a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, and he looked up into her face, just a hint of a smile upon it. "We'll manage it somehow. We always do."
He gave her another halfsided grin. "Your mask is off, you know."
"My what? Ooh, you make no sense whatsoever!" She bopped him one on the head and stormed out, the hurricane back in place. It hadn't been a very hard hit. It was a silent thanks from the real Meryl buried beneath all that anger and responsibility.
"Courage and determination..." he muttered to nothing in particular.
Then the moment was past, so he leaned over and yelled through the floor "What, no doughnuts?"
Her counterpoint was made by a broom handle that smashed its way through the floor from the kitchen below, narrowly missing skewering his head. It jiggled a bit, then sank back down. Then something else came up through the hole- the mutilated remains of a doughnut being forced through the too-narrow space. He shrugged and snatched it up anyway. "Thans, Muryl!" came out of his mouth as the doughnut went in.
"I'll be back tonight, try not to do any more damage while I'm out!" came the reply, as if she wasn't the one who put the new hole in the building.
He heard the front door slam, and took a sip of the coffee to wash down the doughnut. Nice and sweet, just how he liked it and completely different from the boiled sludge she preferred.
Next morning, the doughnuts came with the coffee.
¤ ¤ ¤
It had been almost three weeks total since he had started making the typewriter do his bidding. The mountain of crumpled paper looked ready to fall over at any time, an avalanche of deadly boulders that could give someone a lot of nasty papercuts. This was compared to the three inch high stack of sheets he had just finished making, neatly ordered, though there was one sheet left to add to it, at a spot just under the first sheet of the pile. This last sheet was stuck in the typewriter, still blank, as he thought about what exactly to put on it. The sky was darkening outside, so that meant the girls would be home soon. He wanted to finish it before then, as the noise as they unwound from work would make it impossible to think of anything but them. Or rather, think of her. She had an effect on him, one that was just getting stronger as time went on... or was it as he made this stack of papers grow? The feeling took him back, far back, to the only other person to even make him feel so... so... damn. He gave Mr. Dictionary a good thump for being so useless when he needed just the right word. Then his thoughts shifted back to the blank piece of paper from the words and girls, and he figured that maybe these separate things weren't so separate after all.
The neat pile of paper was complete when the noise below started up, signaling that the workday was done.
¤ ¤ ¤
She yawned as she made her way up the stairs. Work at the diner had been both long and dull, though the tips had been fairly generous today. The patrons were learning that expressing appreciation for this waitress was best done with double dollars, not pats to the behind. After all, the prior would get them after-dinner mints and extra attention next time, while the latter would get them head injuries and extra chilly stares. In any case, the day was over and with the necessities of hygiene taken care of, she was more than ready to flop into bed. Before she could make it in to the neatly-made bed and the sound slumber it promised, she spotted the spiky hair poking out from the other door further down. It extended out, to reveal the face below it, set in an expression she'd never seen before. She knew how to respond to Goofy Vash, and Brazen Vash, and Weepy Vash, but this was a new one. It didn't look like anything at all, like this was just... Vash. She had only caught moments when he was even remotely like this, usually when he had on his honest smile or was looking up at the stars. It made her curiosity pick up.
"I've finished with your typewriter, thanks for letting me use it. You can take it back anytime."
So, he had finished with whatever it was that he had been cooped up here writing? Her curiosity grew again, and she walked on down and into the boys' room. The lights were out, as the bulb had burned out some time ago, but between the hall light and the moons it was plenty bright to see by given a moment to adjust. She went over to her typewriter, noting that it still seemed to be in good shape. A small part of her snorted internally. "At least he actually didn't damage it." Then she spotted the stack of paper next to it.
"Go ahead. I wouldn't have written it if I meant to keep it private."
He was standing in the doorway, making it impossible to see his expression against the bright hall beyond. She turned back to the paper pile, and started to read. There wasn't much on the top page. "The Life and Times of Vash the Stampede, by himself." Her gaze shot back up to him.
"You already know most of what's in there, it's just got a lot more of the smaller details. Turn the page, I'd like your opinion on it."
Some part of her screamed that this was a very bad idea, but she gave it a mental kick to the shins and turned the page anyway. "Dedicated to the two people who gave me the greatest of gifts- Rem Saverem, who taught me how to find the good in everyone, and to..."
That annoying voice was back, yelling at her not to go a word farther. As if. She turned its own aggressiveness back at it, she had to know and no part of her was going to say otherwise.
"...Meryl Stryfe, who showed me what the good really was, and that even I had some in me."
The silence was blaringly loud. Neither of them moved for a few moments of eternity. If it wasn't for her heartbeat, she would have been sure time had stopped. He clearly wasn't going to do a thing until she acted first. Her eyes watered up. Without turning, she managed to say "It's... perfect. Just perfect."
He came over to her side, moving very softly. She felt his hand cup her chin and gently turn her to look up at him. He was smiling, really smiling, even as tears streaked his face. There was no sorrow in them. She found herself clutching him, not sure exactly when her arms had moved.
"I never knew..."
"Neither did I, until I sat down and wrote it all out. In retrospect, it's been there for quite some time, just waiting to be brought out. I'm sure you knew it too."
Looking back, she had known. "So now what?"
He looked down at her as she looked up. "There was another story I heard, well, it was a lot of stories. But, I think the line is perfect. We'll just... live happily ever after."
The world spun around her, and next thing she knew she was on top of him in his bed. The first kiss was everything she had been hoping for. She always thought one was supposed to close their eyes for a kiss, but she didn't want to even blink. All she could see was his eyes, shimmering like two pools of water, and nothing was going to get in the way of that view. They broke it, and the little part of her that she usually stood behind made one more effort to get back in control. "What about your brother?"
He glanced across the room, to where Knives was laying. He winked, then with a flick of his legs his boots flew off into the mountain of discarded paper. It teetered, then fell over to bury most of Knives under its white mass. "Better?"
"Good enough." She kissed him again as she internally beat the aspect that dared to interfere to within an inch of its ethereal life.
¤ ¤ ¤
A pair of eyes withdrew from the doorway, a big smile beneath them. Milly crept back to the room that she wouldn't be sharing with Meryl tonight, and managed to close the door behind her without making a sound. No need to be a Peeping Thomas via eye or ear.
"Well honey, it looks like Mr. Vash and Meryl finally came to their senses. As my middle big sister says, 'Sometimes love needs a helping hand.' I wish you could have met her."
She squatted down next to the cross in front of the window, looking out at the last traces of light vanishing over the horizon.
"I think they'll have lots of kids, Mr. Vash is really good with them. Just like we would have had..."
She placed one hand on it and smiled, before drifting off to sleep. Sometime during the night, whether from a stray breeze from the window, the sheer weight on the floor, or the rhythmic motions from across the hall, the cross shifted to lean over her, ever so slightly.
'Help! Help! I'm buried under tons of some light springy soft stuff!'
Well, I don't usually do Fluff, though it's important to the story. At this rate, I won't be getting to the good stuff for quite a few chapters. Oh well, the longer the wait the better the result. And should it not be absolutely wonderful, may the moth men get me while I sleep. Assuming they can get past the auditors. Though right now, I think I have more to worry about from Knives- he's going to get me for the paper avalanche, I just know it... ¤envisions Knives' legs curling up after having the mountain fall on him, a la Wicked Witch of the East¤
Reviewer Responses
Valerie Hayashibara & Sorian (delayed from the prologue): Yep, I thought humor was the best way to kick things off, though that entire scene came out of the very first sentence. Strange how it happens, eh?
Chibi Chibi: Having them in character just means I'm doing it right ;) I'll try to keep it going at a fair clip.
Sorian: He really does, doesn't he? Guess that's why he needs all the doughnuts, it must take tremendous energy.
Yma: Woah, now that's high praise! Good characterization is something I strive for, if I can't get into the character's head, then it's nearly impossible to write them well. And thus far, I haven't even gotten to the plot part, this has all been setup. Well, not all all, but you get the idea.
Disclaimer: 50% chance of Thunderstorms means we actually have no blinkin' idea what the weather will be.
Rise of the Silver Stars
Chapter 2: An Idea Given Form
He had actually made surprisingly good progress. There was a nice stack of neatly-typed sheets sitting by the typewriter. Of course, the massive mountain of crumpled up paper that hid a trashcan somewhere beneath it was the more noticeable testament to his skill with wordsmithing. The penetrating smell of correction fluid also lent its own presence, telling anyone nearby that his spelling was nothing short of atrocious. He sighed again as he consulted with his new best friend, Mr. Dictionary. Why was actually writing out stuff so much harder than talking?
So intent in his study of just how the heck one spelled- of all the words to get stuck on -'typhoon', that he completely missed hearing the bearer of the magical elixir of life come in. The 'chink' of the coffee cup against the table next to his elbow nearly made him leap out of his shoes.
"On second thought, maybe you've had enough for the time being."
His own hand shot out to intercept hers. "To take back a gift once given is just too cruel."
"You know, no matter how many times I hear you say things like that, I still can't believe you manage to keep a straight face."
"Years of practice, milady!"
That was when he heard it. That soft bubbling of laughter from the hallway, though by the time he turned all that might have been there were a few strands of hair moving on down to other business, though they had in all likelihood once again been caught actually touching each other.
"I swear, sometimes I feel like she's stalking us to complete some secret collection of embarrassing moments."
"Funny that it takes her to make us notice."
"Not one more word, Mr. Vash the Stampede," came the retort, accompanied with a threatening finger wag.
He just smiled at her. One of his real smiles. They used to be so few and far between, he could recall times when he had spent years from one to the next. However, there was just something about her that brought them out. This wasn't lost on her either, she had been around him long enough to know the masks he threw up for what they were. Notwithstanding her own experience with masks. They both had that aspect in common, that they never really let people get too close to them. Milly was the exception, able to see right through whatever they tried to disguise themselves with, which was something even he had lost the ability to do. That was why he finally stopped wearing the red coat that was part of the great myth of Vash the Stampede. He didn't need to wear that mask of courage and determination now that he had real courage and real determination in him. Or did he? Knives still lay in the bed at the side of the room, their one hundred thirty year long argument ongoing, merely on hold while he recovered. Milly was walking down the street, pickaxe in hand, off to do more digging, while the truth about Knives still hung over his head.
There was a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, and he looked up into her face, just a hint of a smile upon it. "We'll manage it somehow. We always do."
He gave her another halfsided grin. "Your mask is off, you know."
"My what? Ooh, you make no sense whatsoever!" She bopped him one on the head and stormed out, the hurricane back in place. It hadn't been a very hard hit. It was a silent thanks from the real Meryl buried beneath all that anger and responsibility.
"Courage and determination..." he muttered to nothing in particular.
Then the moment was past, so he leaned over and yelled through the floor "What, no doughnuts?"
Her counterpoint was made by a broom handle that smashed its way through the floor from the kitchen below, narrowly missing skewering his head. It jiggled a bit, then sank back down. Then something else came up through the hole- the mutilated remains of a doughnut being forced through the too-narrow space. He shrugged and snatched it up anyway. "Thans, Muryl!" came out of his mouth as the doughnut went in.
"I'll be back tonight, try not to do any more damage while I'm out!" came the reply, as if she wasn't the one who put the new hole in the building.
He heard the front door slam, and took a sip of the coffee to wash down the doughnut. Nice and sweet, just how he liked it and completely different from the boiled sludge she preferred.
Next morning, the doughnuts came with the coffee.
¤ ¤ ¤
It had been almost three weeks total since he had started making the typewriter do his bidding. The mountain of crumpled paper looked ready to fall over at any time, an avalanche of deadly boulders that could give someone a lot of nasty papercuts. This was compared to the three inch high stack of sheets he had just finished making, neatly ordered, though there was one sheet left to add to it, at a spot just under the first sheet of the pile. This last sheet was stuck in the typewriter, still blank, as he thought about what exactly to put on it. The sky was darkening outside, so that meant the girls would be home soon. He wanted to finish it before then, as the noise as they unwound from work would make it impossible to think of anything but them. Or rather, think of her. She had an effect on him, one that was just getting stronger as time went on... or was it as he made this stack of papers grow? The feeling took him back, far back, to the only other person to even make him feel so... so... damn. He gave Mr. Dictionary a good thump for being so useless when he needed just the right word. Then his thoughts shifted back to the blank piece of paper from the words and girls, and he figured that maybe these separate things weren't so separate after all.
The neat pile of paper was complete when the noise below started up, signaling that the workday was done.
¤ ¤ ¤
She yawned as she made her way up the stairs. Work at the diner had been both long and dull, though the tips had been fairly generous today. The patrons were learning that expressing appreciation for this waitress was best done with double dollars, not pats to the behind. After all, the prior would get them after-dinner mints and extra attention next time, while the latter would get them head injuries and extra chilly stares. In any case, the day was over and with the necessities of hygiene taken care of, she was more than ready to flop into bed. Before she could make it in to the neatly-made bed and the sound slumber it promised, she spotted the spiky hair poking out from the other door further down. It extended out, to reveal the face below it, set in an expression she'd never seen before. She knew how to respond to Goofy Vash, and Brazen Vash, and Weepy Vash, but this was a new one. It didn't look like anything at all, like this was just... Vash. She had only caught moments when he was even remotely like this, usually when he had on his honest smile or was looking up at the stars. It made her curiosity pick up.
"I've finished with your typewriter, thanks for letting me use it. You can take it back anytime."
So, he had finished with whatever it was that he had been cooped up here writing? Her curiosity grew again, and she walked on down and into the boys' room. The lights were out, as the bulb had burned out some time ago, but between the hall light and the moons it was plenty bright to see by given a moment to adjust. She went over to her typewriter, noting that it still seemed to be in good shape. A small part of her snorted internally. "At least he actually didn't damage it." Then she spotted the stack of paper next to it.
"Go ahead. I wouldn't have written it if I meant to keep it private."
He was standing in the doorway, making it impossible to see his expression against the bright hall beyond. She turned back to the paper pile, and started to read. There wasn't much on the top page. "The Life and Times of Vash the Stampede, by himself." Her gaze shot back up to him.
"You already know most of what's in there, it's just got a lot more of the smaller details. Turn the page, I'd like your opinion on it."
Some part of her screamed that this was a very bad idea, but she gave it a mental kick to the shins and turned the page anyway. "Dedicated to the two people who gave me the greatest of gifts- Rem Saverem, who taught me how to find the good in everyone, and to..."
That annoying voice was back, yelling at her not to go a word farther. As if. She turned its own aggressiveness back at it, she had to know and no part of her was going to say otherwise.
"...Meryl Stryfe, who showed me what the good really was, and that even I had some in me."
The silence was blaringly loud. Neither of them moved for a few moments of eternity. If it wasn't for her heartbeat, she would have been sure time had stopped. He clearly wasn't going to do a thing until she acted first. Her eyes watered up. Without turning, she managed to say "It's... perfect. Just perfect."
He came over to her side, moving very softly. She felt his hand cup her chin and gently turn her to look up at him. He was smiling, really smiling, even as tears streaked his face. There was no sorrow in them. She found herself clutching him, not sure exactly when her arms had moved.
"I never knew..."
"Neither did I, until I sat down and wrote it all out. In retrospect, it's been there for quite some time, just waiting to be brought out. I'm sure you knew it too."
Looking back, she had known. "So now what?"
He looked down at her as she looked up. "There was another story I heard, well, it was a lot of stories. But, I think the line is perfect. We'll just... live happily ever after."
The world spun around her, and next thing she knew she was on top of him in his bed. The first kiss was everything she had been hoping for. She always thought one was supposed to close their eyes for a kiss, but she didn't want to even blink. All she could see was his eyes, shimmering like two pools of water, and nothing was going to get in the way of that view. They broke it, and the little part of her that she usually stood behind made one more effort to get back in control. "What about your brother?"
He glanced across the room, to where Knives was laying. He winked, then with a flick of his legs his boots flew off into the mountain of discarded paper. It teetered, then fell over to bury most of Knives under its white mass. "Better?"
"Good enough." She kissed him again as she internally beat the aspect that dared to interfere to within an inch of its ethereal life.
¤ ¤ ¤
A pair of eyes withdrew from the doorway, a big smile beneath them. Milly crept back to the room that she wouldn't be sharing with Meryl tonight, and managed to close the door behind her without making a sound. No need to be a Peeping Thomas via eye or ear.
"Well honey, it looks like Mr. Vash and Meryl finally came to their senses. As my middle big sister says, 'Sometimes love needs a helping hand.' I wish you could have met her."
She squatted down next to the cross in front of the window, looking out at the last traces of light vanishing over the horizon.
"I think they'll have lots of kids, Mr. Vash is really good with them. Just like we would have had..."
She placed one hand on it and smiled, before drifting off to sleep. Sometime during the night, whether from a stray breeze from the window, the sheer weight on the floor, or the rhythmic motions from across the hall, the cross shifted to lean over her, ever so slightly.
'Help! Help! I'm buried under tons of some light springy soft stuff!'
Well, I don't usually do Fluff, though it's important to the story. At this rate, I won't be getting to the good stuff for quite a few chapters. Oh well, the longer the wait the better the result. And should it not be absolutely wonderful, may the moth men get me while I sleep. Assuming they can get past the auditors. Though right now, I think I have more to worry about from Knives- he's going to get me for the paper avalanche, I just know it... ¤envisions Knives' legs curling up after having the mountain fall on him, a la Wicked Witch of the East¤
Reviewer Responses
Valerie Hayashibara & Sorian (delayed from the prologue): Yep, I thought humor was the best way to kick things off, though that entire scene came out of the very first sentence. Strange how it happens, eh?
Chibi Chibi: Having them in character just means I'm doing it right ;) I'll try to keep it going at a fair clip.
Sorian: He really does, doesn't he? Guess that's why he needs all the doughnuts, it must take tremendous energy.
Yma: Woah, now that's high praise! Good characterization is something I strive for, if I can't get into the character's head, then it's nearly impossible to write them well. And thus far, I haven't even gotten to the plot part, this has all been setup. Well, not all all, but you get the idea.