Disclaimer: No owning of the Trigun.
A/N: Well, this is it. My first venture into Trigun fanfiction. Uh-oh…wish me luck Whiz!
Oh yeah, it is post-series animeverse.
After a certain amount of time, it all becomes routine.
Sunlight pours through rips and tears on the window curtains (bargain price, no wonder they're no good) until the room gets too bright, and Meryl has to get out of bed then, otherwise she'd be blinded, right there, snuggled between thin covers and hard mattress. It's a sleepy stumble towards the bathroom, and she stares at her weary reflection in the mirror (hair that sticks out and dry, chapped lips) before taking a shower.
And everything is so quiet as she's doing the buttons on her shirt (so many of them).
She then has her toast (crispy, almost burnt) and bids farewell to Milly only to remember that Milly is already at the well. Her job at the Dimitri Café is mediocre, as is everything else that passes through the town, and Meryl doesn't forget to say hello and goodbye to potential, paying clients (mere faces that run together).
She smiles to strangers as she's going home (her boots dusty and worn from walking) with tired muscles and slumped shoulders because at least her measly paycheck doesn't depend on that. And there's her house, her lovely, small house sitting all by itself; there's a brief fumble of keys, and Meryl comes in and kicks off her shoes and heads to her bedroom while Milly's in the kitchen (the kettle whistles and she turns around at the sound of a door being slammed shut), the whole time cooking and humming a song under her breath (something slow and cadenced).
There's a clink of silverware and plates being set on the table (one of its legs is wobbly so there's a thick piece of cardboard wedged under it) right as Meryl comes out, freshly laundered and ready to eat even though she's not that hungry anyway. Milly eats, Meryl picks at her chicken, and there's only one sun left, reared against the arid sky.
"How was today Meryl?"
Tips the glass to her lips"Oh, same old, same old."
And that's how it goes everyday, seven days.
Scrape of a chair and she gets up, clearing the table without asking. The water from the faucet comes out in a steady stream, and pretty soon Meryl's hands smell clean and citrusy and so do the dishes that sit primly on the towel to her leftShe carefully dries her hands and wipes the sink until it gleams. Tells Milly she's going back to her room and soft, padded footsteps are all Milly hears as the door closes shut.
Meryl likes things in order, you see, and going to bed is a ritual as she quickly changes into cottony things (more buttons to do), turns off the light, and opens the door again so there is only a sliver of illumination coming from the hall (only after her light is turned off). Climbs into bed that faces the window and then her face is right in the pillow.
It takes a long time for her to fall asleep.
All of this she does without being truly aware, and Milly does the same; they recite their script, and it's a never-ending encore (occasional, forgotten lines and bumbling improvisation). In fact, the only time they get a break is when Meryl takes a day off (just once in a while, when it's all too much), and that's the only time ever Milly wakes up to find Meryl awake first, eyes red and lined, peering at her over the rim of a coffee cup (dark, with the tiniest drop of cream) in the morning, too early in the morning.
"You're up early again, Sempai," Milly notes.
Takes a sip and exhales. "I don't do this all the time."
The brunette looks thoughtful for a moment. "Oh yeah, only on the days you're off, right?"
Before Meryl can respond, the big insurance girl walks out the door ("Bye, it's my turn to buy the groceries today."). Her eyes bore a hole on the door before she raises the mug and takes an extra long sip.
There's too much time, you see, when her friend is out so she fills up the day with reports to Bernadelli (lengthy, superfluous letters that have everything to do with nothing), cleaning the house until her fingers are raw, and trying to cook even though she knows that it's a lost cause.
And coffee. Always the coffee.
Of course, sometimes it's not enough, and she goes out shopping (jaunty footsteps and sunglasses glinting in her dark hair) at the local market where there's odds and ends she doesn't need but wants to buy anyway because they all look so interesting (interesting and there). It's fun to run her hands over fabrics and dresses and jeans (would I look good in that? what would I need this for?) because she knows she won't purchase the clothes (who would I want to look nice for?).
She only stays among the crowds (stifling, lethargic beasts) for a short while, and then she's walking back home again, more people passing by her towards the stores and shops because there seems to be no end of today. A figure bumps into her; Meryl murmurs, "Excuse me", and more humans collide with even more humans until she's quite sure that she never wants to go shopping again unless she absolutely has to.
There's a pastry shop to her left, andhungry by now, she looks in, a row of bagels and donuts smelling beautifully on their own. She thinks about buying a bagel, but donuts are out of the question because they're too sweet and fattening and addictive and just bad. A few minutes later, she continues her walk home, bagel in her hand.
Milly's home now, and bags of groceries are on the counter.
"Hello, what did you do today?"
Nothing, really," Meryl replies, unpacking the produce. "Just window-browsed."
"Well that's fun," Milly chirps, "more fun than staying at home. Did you already eat?"
A strand of hair falls in her eyes, and she carelessly tucks it behind an ear. "Only a bagel. I don't really feel hungry today, though."
A light chat with Milly, and then she goes to her room (always) and writes a letter to her parents (awkward, short, and loving). To bed again, and her day off is over.
Sometimes, the days go by slowly, as if her work shift could drag on forever, and other times, it's no more than a simple brush of time, and suddenly, two weeks have passed. She either notices or doesn't, but most of the time, she chooses not to.
On strange days, when she wakes up right at the crack of dawn, she goes outside on the veranda and watches streaks of vivid red fluctuate as both suns start to rise. She doesn't muse about too many things when she's out in the cool air, only mundane flicks of yesterday and tomorrow that no one bothers with. Still, there's a terrible lot of red, and the color stays with her for the entire day.
Red apples at the market (bruised, brown things). A red ribbon tied round a child's hair (the edges are frayed and worn). Red in the lipstick a woman wears (the color does not suit her). It's making her bump into people and see red in their clothes, their faces (she pauses, eyes immediately drawn). That's the first thing she notices, the first thing she wants to reach out and touch. Meryl's at her workstation, watching people eat and talk and breathe, watching swatches of red flash in her line of vision.
"Meryl? You still here?"
She blinks, surprised. "Uh-what? Oh, sorry."
Manager looks at her, amused. "Try to stay with us here."
She nods sheepishly and carries on.
There are some reds she likes, some she doesn't.
That brick red on the buildings (loud, blatant, annoying). Purple-red hues that stretch themselves far and wide during sunsets (wishy-washy, romantic, overdone). Orange-red that flares to life in a fire (eyes that have seen that color too many times to appreciate it anymore). Blood red that clouds her mind (dragging footsteps, hands everywhere, grabbinghurtingtouching, knees pushed onto the ground metallic sheen of a gun no you idiot just get away don't shoot him don't shoot him!).
Meryl is very picky about the shade of red she likes.
She sees red geraniums at the florist's and notices that not as many people are buying them compared to other flowers.
"Would you like to buy some?"
Again, she is startled. "Oh-me?"
The shopkeeper smiles. "They're such pretty flowers, perfect for a lady like you."
(they're perfect and small and simple. and red.)
When she comes home, the flowerpot is placed in the middle of the table, and Milly returns from the well a few hours later. They eat dinner (some kind of broth), Meryl eyes her friend, and Milly doesn't say anything, only comments that she is glad Meryl has bought some decoration for this otherwise dull house (dull and boring and empty.
And the both of them wonder why they don't just move out, away from this musty town, but only Milly knows the answer.
There are all sorts of people at the café, and most of the time they aren't worth remembering. She wipes a glass (the rag steadily becomes dirtier) absent-mindedly, and humans come and go, displaying a type of humanity she hasn't been exposed to in a while. When she and Milly traveled, there was only the despicable man and the troubled protagonist. It wasn't much to ponder on; it was all about doing your job and doing it well (memories float by, blur after blur).
Meryl and Milly performed their jobs very well.
When Meryl thinks of traveling, there's sand, typing out reports, and the running. So much running (feet pounding on hard ground, head turning wildly, and that feeling of dread. I've lost again). There was noise. There were sleepless nights spent on buses and less-than-satisfactory diner food. And there was red. A lot of red.
Stops thinking and goes back to the task at hand. Takes a plate, begins wiping it. A mother comes in (the child screams and whines for an ice cream, a migraine starting to form). Rub the fingerprints off of the smooth glass. Two men walk right up to the counter, order a beer, and ask for her number (hair slicked back, shirts not tucked). Wipe, wipe, wipe. Raucous teenagers at a booth, making a mess of the salt and peppershakers, are telling penis jokes loudly (her hands shake as she gives a woman her change). While she cleans the register, a shirtless man waltzes in, his arms and torso covered in scars and stitches (barely healed, old ones, some newly formed).
Meryl stops herself from staring and resumes cleaning.
It was a busy day, so her shoes hit the wall with an extra loud thunk (doorknob slightly rattles as the wood slams). Milly gets a soft look on her face, but doesn't knock because she knows that it will only make things worse. She falls back on her bed, hand to her forehead (I'm so tired; I'm so tired). Takes off her blouse (those damn buttons again) and stockings so she's stripped down to her undershirt and bare legs.
(how long have I been doing this? is there even a point? What the hell am I doing here someoneanyone tell me before it's too late—)
It is dinnertime, and Meryl eats with gusto. Milly flashes her a smile.
"I'm glad that you're eating normally again. You've been blue lately, haven't you?"
A dainty bite. "I don't know what you're talking about, Milly. I'm perfectly fine."
Big sip of water. "Whatever you say, Sempai."
Meryl doesn't dream often, but when it happens the dream is always the same: someone standing outside the house, her house. She watches the person from a window, watching for something to happen. That's it though; the person doesn't do anything, and she wakes up to burning suns and a queer ache (sore and burning, like she has forgotten something). But that sort of phenomenon doesn't occur very frequently, you know, so she completely forgets about it after taking a step outside.
Meryl abhors sunsets, but sunrises are a different matter altogether.
She finds something rising in her chest as one, two suns come up because that's the only time of the day that's peaceful, that's hers. It's always been that way. She's sure of herself and her abilities, and there's no doubt, no doubt in her mind at all that she can endure another day (stifling heat and routine carved into her mind). She forces herself to get out of bed early and makes that cup of coffee, leans on that porch railing, and pushes everything out. That part's easy enough.
And sometimes Milly watches them with her. It's nice.
Sunrises don't happen very quickly, and the brunette becomes sleepy again, those few hours lost coming back with a vengeance. She steals a glance at her friend, whose elbows are still propped up on the old wood, mug in both hands (having long been drained), and her mouth slightly parted.
It's strange to the both of them because it's been a long time (Weeks? Months?) since there wasn't anything to run away from.
They stay like that until both suns have risen, and Milly realizes that she really needs sleep so she places a hand on her friend's shoulder.
"I'm going back to bed now," she says, another yawn creeping up on her. "You come too?"
"I think I'll just stand here a little longer," the dark-haired woman replies. The sky begins its transformation from rosy pink to listless blue. There's an odd look in her eyes (nostalgic wanting, a suppressed expectation) that seems so familiar.
"Well, okay then. Try to grab some hours too; you looks so exhausted these days." Opens the door, pauses. "Sempai?"
"Hmm?" Again, that unusual flicker that Milly spies from the corner of her eye.
She cocks her head to the side. "You've been waiting for a long while, haven't you?"
The look's gone, and Meryl turns around to face her. "Go to bed, Milly."
And to bed she goes.
The door gently closes, and she stares at the desert in front of her and sighs loudly, loudly enough for no one to hear.
Back in a room, Milly's under the covers, trying to listen to the sounds of someone coming in the house, but eventually she falls asleep, leaving Meryl to her thoughts (cluttered, confused, and the art of pretending).
There's a letter lying innocently on the table one afternoon, next to the geraniums. It's addressed to Meryl Stryfe in solid black ink, the kind that doesn't run (the black stands out nicely against the stark white of the envelope). Meryl pokes a finger through one of the ends and slits it open in one smooth motion. Carefully unfolds the official looking notice and reads.
Milly is folding clothes in her room when there's a polite knock. Bewildered, she answers. "Come in?"
Meryl is in her doorway, in her hand a letter. "Milly."
The brunette notices the dazed expression her friend has on. "What is it?"
"I…" she starts. Looks at the paper, then back at her. "I…we…we have to go back."
"Back? Where?" Folds a pair of overalls neatly, places it on top of a growing pile of jean wear.
"It's Bernadelli; they calling us back in. We leave in about two weeks."
Apparently, they had been stationed in Dimitri for nearly seven months. Milly exclaims how time simply flies by, and Meryl thinks No it doesn't time is slow and drags on and on and on until you forget why you were staying here in the first place. She quits her job within a week of receiving the letter and begins packing rapidly (clothes, dishware, random objects propelling through the air, landing on her too-small suitcase).
At first, Milly cries a bit, saying how she'll miss all the friends she's made, but also happy that she is able to meet up with her old ones again. Meryl nods and states that she, too, will have people to say goodbye, had she, of course, even established any sort of relationship with anyone to begin with, besides her boss. There is a quiet party, one that lasts only as long as Meryl holds off her headache, but she gives in and goes to bed whilst Milly's in the living room trying her damnednest to have a good time.
The next morning, she doesn't bother watching that first sunset and moves her things outside. She goes back in, seeing if she's forgotten anything and spies the lonely flowerpot on their wobbly table. There's silence as she stares at it, but the decision is made when she and Milly pile up their luggage on the thomases and ride off (no second glance, no pretending this time).
There were things to bring along and things that were expendable.
Not much to say as they reach the middle of town, not much to comment on as they pay their bus fare and get on, not much to discuss as the tires groan, and suddenly their destination seems closer than it actually is. For now, it's all sand and stretching scenery. For now, everything is blank. Nightfall comes, and Milly's fast asleep (hands in her lap) while our short insurance girl looks out the window, seeing nothing.
So it's true then.
She can never revert to that chaotic state of being again. It was a one time only chance, and she took it, regardless of the consequences; now it is gone for good, and she will stop pretending, as soon as they reach Bernadelli, as soon as everything around her ceases to remind her of why she was even in Dimitri in the first place.
But for now, Meryl Stryfe will keep on waiting for the past to catch up with her even though she will never admit that -not even that- to herself.
Whew, done people! Make sure to review and don't be shy; ask questions!