DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is not on hiatus. But life likes to get in the way, allowing for maybe a paragraph at a time. That's ok, because come hell or high water, I finish what I start.
While the town of Kirk had rooms in the saloon, there was a hotel. Nothing to brag about, but it was a clean place of attentive hospitality.
Or had been. The hotel had been the first acquisition of Mercy O'Brien in this town. Ostensibly, it was doing more consistent business under her ownership than at any point prior since the town was built; that was only because it served as her headquarters for her people. Every O'Brien man in town lived in the hotel.
Her presence in town had been welcomed at first, as she and her people paid cash for everything. Even the purchase of the hotel was not out of sorts; its owner was ready to look for a life elsewhere as the water level dropped.
The acquisitions after the hotel were the ones that made townspeople leery of her outfit. They required…persuasion.
James had not helped matters any, jumping the gun with that murder. That had required some quick action, and even then the truth was largely suspected. Lack of evidence and her wall of armed men spared her from a lynching attempt, but she would never again be able to sweet-talk anyone into selling to her.
No matter. People would sell to her. Mercy O'Brien would accept no other outcome. She would win; the town would eventually be hers. Then she would proceed with the rest of her plans.
First things were first, however. A sure way to lose was to look to the end of the fight before you were there. She continued to plan how to approach Mr. Dodd for the acquisition of his thomas coops.
A knock sounded on the heavy door of the top-floor suite she had converted into her office. "Yes?" she called, her soprano voice making the word sound surprisingly pleasant.
Door opened. "Kurtz is here, ma'am. He brought someone with him."
The only person James would have brought here was the person she had expressed a desire to speak with. "Allow them in, John."
John Silver ushered in James and the blond man with him, closing the door. She allowed several beats to pass, studying the blond man. Aside from his odd hairstyle, there seemed to be nothing extraordinary about him; however, he did have the relaxed-yet-tense posture common to gunmen, and she could see his eyes sweep the room. It was interesting that he wore no gun.
As O'Brien studied him, Vash did his own studying. The man who led them in here had bumped Kurtz's hand, and he hadn't missed the sharp grunt from Kurtz. It sounded suspiciously like someone biting down on a rush of pain.
The room itself was big and dark, the light coming from the large single window, large enough to take up most of the wall it resided in. The woman O'Brien was seated against the light, making her a silhouette he could tell little about. Her hair looked so blond it was almost white, but that could just be the sunlight. She looked to be almost as tall as Milly, but her shape blended with her chair in shadow, making it hard to judge whether her physique was as big-boned.
There was a man who stood at her right, presumably a bodyguard.
"Sit down, please." There was a quality to her soprano that made the request sound almost lyrical.
Kurtz gave him a push from behind. A flash of temper coursed through Vash, but he clamped down on it. He was here for a way out, not to lose the control he was trying hard to keep. Walked to a well-made chair in front of O'Brien's desk and sat as requested.
"Please wait in the hall, James," O'Brien said.
"Ma'am." Kurtz left.
"James?"
O'Brien directed her gaze back to the blond man. "I prefer to address my people by first name. His real first name is known only to him and he seems to prefer it that way. So I simply call him James."
"Interesting. He seems to have something wrong with his off hand." Vash still couldn't pick up any details about her person, which was probably the point of framing herself against the only window and keeping the lights out. Forcing someone to view you with a background of bright light offered a slight advantage in the perceived balance of power. Part of him wondered if her chair was also higher than his.
"Yes, he does," she agreed. "I cut off part of a finger; the pain probably bothers him some."
It took some effort to maintain his composure, but Vash managed not to visibly react. "One of your fingers, or one of his?"
"His, of course." Her voice was so calm she could have been discussing what to have for lunch. "I have a business enterprise in this town, and as someone not from here, there is some tension. James has proven his worth as an employee, but every so often he oversteps his bounds. His actions of last night nearly brought about an undesirable event; as such, he needed to be reminded that actions have consequences.
"Which brings me to the first part of why I requested your presence. I am given to understand your own actions last night countered James's. Thank you, Mr. –"
"You want to know my name?"
The silhouette inclined its head. "If you please."
"All right, but I don't expect you to have heard of me. I come from a land far away, having journeyed far and wide in my quest for the Grail. My name is Perceval."
"Cute," the soprano intoned. "But please, let's not engage in rhetoric. Your real name, please."
"Fine. If you wish to know who I am…I'm just simple archer, a merry man, from a place called Locksley. My name is Robin."
"It's less amusing the second time. Admit your name so we can proceed."
"Would you believe me if I said I'm Scheherazade?"
"Enough!" commanded O'Brien. "I want to know who you really are!"
"Who I am doesn't matter," Vash snapped back. "It's what I'm here for that you're really concerned with. So if you need something to call me by, just call me Passing Through."
"Passing Through?" she echoed, just a touch of bemusement in her voice.
"Damn right."
Her bodyguard stepped forward aggressively. "Watch your mouth around Ms. O'Brien!" Having been partly in his boss's silhouette, the bodyguard was now fully in the light, showing Asian features – of Chinese origin, was Vash's guess – and Vash could see the hand that gripped the hilt of a vicious knife known as a kukri, ready to draw it from its sheath strapped to his thigh. It was equally useful as a tool, and as a weapon.
"Rob!" O'Brien's voice was sharp. "We will forgive our guest his lack of etiquette. Stand down, please."
The hand that gripped the kukri clenched for a second, then relaxed and drifted away. "Ma'am," the bodyguard said as he stepped back to her side.
"Rob?" Vash queried. "I was expecting maybe Wu, Rob is a surprise."
"My name is Pierre," the bodyguard said through gritted teeth. He clearly did not like Vash; given his choice of employer – and the fact Vash saw no gun on him, only the kukri, meaning he liked to do his fighting up close, mean and bloody and probably from ambush – the sentiment was very much mutual.
Vash cocked his head. "Pierre? Bon jour, m'seur."
"Pierre is my surname! My full given name is Jian-Wa Pierre. Bastard son of a bandit and a whore, I serve Ms. O'Brien and will tolerate no disrespect to her!" He made the proclamation of being illegitimate so proudly, it was pretty clear to Vash he was one of those people who took people's disdain of him and threw it back in their faces.
"Ah. Nimen hao, Jian-Wa."
"It's ni hao when addressing one person, you ignorant vagrant!" The man O'Brien called Rob Pierre turned partly to her. "May I please kill him before he butchers another language?"
"Patience, Rob. The time may yet come – although you may have to get in line behind James. It seems you're becoming quite popular with my employees, Mr…Through."
Vash allowed just a hint of smirk. "It's true, I am a people person. Why Rob?"
"He doesn't care for Jian-Wa, and Rob Pierre has a certain ring to it. It brings to mind Robespierre."
"So you have your own personal Reign of Terror. How nice."
"Indeed. Now, if you're through with your curiosity over my people's names, shall we address why I asked to have you brought here? Or would you prefer to dance around some more?"
"Do you know the jitterbug?"
"I do not, and so we will commence with business. May I presume your chosen name indicates your intentions with regard to Kirk?"
"You may. I'm not here to stick my nose into anyone else's business. I intend to get supplies enough to make it to another town and be on my way."
"I see. And may I ask why you're so intent on being on your way?"
"You may not."
"I see," she said again. "May I ask if you could be persuaded to extend your stay?"
Vash kept his voice neutral. He didn't like these people and was here only to ensure his escape from this lose-lose situation, but what could it hurt to try to gain some intelligence on the enemy? Perhaps he could learn something that could help the townspeople, which would mean he hadn't completely abandoned them to whatever this woman had in store. "Anything's possible. What would be the reason for this extension?"
"As I stated, I have a business enterprise in this town. Last night's…incident demonstrated you have at least some of the qualities I look for in employees."
"A job offer?" Vash asked.
"Possibly."
"And what does working in your 'business enterprise' entail?"
"The same thing business always entails, Mr. Through – doing whatever it takes to accomplish the goal at hand. In this case, the goal is acquisition of property. While it is advantageous to both sides to accomplish this peacefully, there are occasions when a flexible approach is required."
"And what will your enterprise do with the acquired property? If I were to work for you, what would be the end goal?"
The soprano rang with steel. "The end goal is always the same, Mr. Through. In this enterprise, in business in general, in all of life – the goal is to win."
"Win?"
"Win."
"And these 'flexible approaches' that are sometimes required – how flexible are we talking?"
"Before I answer, allow me to show you something. Lean forward, please."
How far was he prepared to let himself go with this? Frowning, Vash leaned forward in his seat, watching the bodyguard Pierre in his peripheral vision.
The silhouette unbuttoned cuffs and rolled a sleeve up its arm, leaning forward as well to extend the arm to Vash. O'Brien was still mostly in shadow, but a corner of her head was exposed to the sunlight. Vash caught a glimpse of a face that, if he filled the rest in in his head, was angled and sharp. The skin was smooth, and he pictured her as having what might be described as a severe beauty. The one eye he saw had a very nasty scar right beside it, as if someone had gone for it with a blade and missed. He couldn't see the eye's color, but he didn't need to to feel the ice focus in it. She was also missing the top half of her ear.
Like the skin on what was visible of her head, the arm was pale. Slim. He guessed she most likely did not have Milly's structure. Tall, yes, but probably thin. Very thin, going from the arm. She presented it with her hand balled into a fist, making the burn scar on it stand in glaring contrast to its pallor. The scar was in the crude shape of a death's head.
"This is the brand of the man who owned me," O'Brien said. Anyone else might have had tension in their voice saying such a thing, but to Vash she sounded smooth. If she was making an effort to control herself, he couldn't pick up on it.
"I don't know who my parents were. He said my mother was a whore who sold me for the cost of a bottle. He fed me. Clothed me. Sheltered me. Allowed me to live. For as long as I won, I was allowed to see another day. It never mattered who the opponent was – other children, adults, animals. If I wanted to live, I had to win. And so I won. I won against all my opponents, Mr. Through. Including my owner, when he tried to stop me from leaving.
"This is life, a struggle for survival. In war, in business, in politics – all things are echoes of life itself, a struggle, a fight. And in a fight, all that matters is to win."
She rolled the sleeve down and returned to her full shadow.
"We win however we must. If killing is required, then we kill and accept that we are killers. All that matters is to win."
The words formed themselves of their own will and left Vash's mouth before he could stop them. "I'm not a killer!"
Damn. It was out there, and now he was exposed; any chance of leaving this town without force was gone, and he was faced with the immediate problem of leaving this building alive.
Forget the bodyguard, he would go straight for O'Brien. If he could get hold of her, he was sure not a man in her employ would risk her.
Unless she ordered them to. Every man under her he had so far seen jumped at her command. They wouldn't hesitate to shoot through her if she said to, and Vash had no doubt in his mind she would if it meant his death. Whatever he thought of Meryl, this woman was a true product of Gunsmoke.
"…dissonance?"
He was so focused on being ready to move that he hadn't heard. "Say again?'
"I asked, are you familiar with the concept of cognitive dissonance?" O'Brien repeated.
His head cocked slightly, expecting this was a ploy to lull him.
"Cognitive dissonance is a concept first explored on ancient Earth," she explained. "People often like to make it more complex than it needs to be. At its core, cognitive dissonance is lying to yourself in order to pretend to be something you're not. You hate what you do for a living, so you lie and say you love it rather than accept your true nature, desperately hoping that if you say it enough times, the lie will become true. You hate your family, but society says you're supposed to love your family, so you lie to yourself and pretend you do love them. You are untrue to yourself.
"You, Mr. Through, are guilty of the sin of cognitive dissonance. You have within you a darkness – do not protest, you have already given proof by protesting too much – but you do not want this darkness. You don't want to be true to your nature. You have a killer inside you, but rather than accept its presence, you deny it exists. Yet it does exist, and the more you fight against it, the more it will assert itself.
"You deny your own self, and so are a man out of balance. I have no place in my organization for people such as yourself."
"This means what for me?" Vash asked, still on guard for a possible attack.
"It means your chance to not make an enemy of me," O'Brien responded coolly. "Rob here will see to it you are taken back to where James found you. And Rob, please collect James on the way out so he can finish his original business.
"If you wish me to believe you really are 'passing through', as you say, then I give you until tomorrow night to prove it. You have until then to collect your supplies and be gone. If you are not gone by first dark tomorrow, then you will have me for an enemy."
She was silent, and Vash didn't need Pierre's advance toward him to know he had been dismissed.
He could hardly believe it. Not only had violence been avoided, but he had his way out. He could leave without having to use his gun. Without the possibility of taking a life. He could keep his promise to Rem.
Why did it feel like she would be disappointed in him for leaving?