Chapter Two: Stampede vs Stryfe
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---the previous evening---
The celebration had already been well underway when Vash, Meryl and Milly arrived at the hotel, the only one in Bowe's Flats, looking for that night's lodging. It had been a long, grueling trek across the desert for the past few days just to reach this small town, one of the more remote and isolated settlements in that region – though remote and isolated were hardly the words one would use to describe it at that moment.
It figures we would arrive in the middle of their annual festival, Meryl thought as she observed the throng of people milling about the streets. All she really wanted was dinner, a bath, and a nice, soft bed to collapse into and sleep off all her accumulated travel sores. On second thought, forget the dinner, Meryl thought as she was checking into a room for Milly and herself. Just a nice, long bath will do... if Vash doesn't do anything reckless tonight, she amended.
Smiling in anticipation with these thoughts, she walked back to her partner, who was waiting patiently with their baggage in the lobby. As she approached, Meryl saw that the tall girl was in a good mood, humming merrily along to a catchy tune that was wafting out from the inn's adjacent saloon. A sign reading "Private Party" hung over the saloon's entrance.
"Here's your room key," Meryl said, handing it off to Milly as she stooped to pick up her own luggage. She was already heading up the stairwell when she paused. Something was not quite right. She turned to look back around, and felt a small knot forming in her stomach.
"Milly, where's Vash?"
"Oh, he went to check out the party right after he got his room."
"He... he what?!?"
Dropping her bags, Meryl charged back across the hall and threw open the saloon's swing doors, obliviously ripping through the "Private Party" sign in the process.
No... I can't believe... no, he wouldn't! He must not have seen, or else he'd realize –
Then again, since when did not being intimately acquainted with the members of the party ever stop Vash before?
Sure enough, the gunman was standing just within, apparently in the middle of scoping out the room for a likely seat. Meryl almost ran into him.
"Vash? What are you –"
"Oh, hiya, Meryl!" Vash turned his head to grin down at her, an excited twinkle already gleaming in his eyes. Meryl felt a tremor run down her spine. "Come to join in the fun?"
"Join in the –?" Meryl frowned. Sometimes she couldn't believe the audacity of the man. She grabbed hold of his arm. "We can't, Vash. We don't know anyone here! It would be impolite! You can't just barge –"
"C'mon, c'mon Meryl, it'll be okay!" Vash smiled sheepishly, waving his hand at her. "These people are just having a good time. They won't mind. Besides," he added, putting on his best conciliatory smile, "They're probably so drunk by now that they wouldn't even notice!"
"Vash…" Meryl groaned.
"I think it sounds great!" Milly seconded, coming up behind them.
"Oh, Milly, not you too..."
"See? Even Milly agrees with me! Look, Meryl," Vash looked at her with hopeful eyes, "We need to eat something as it is, and the inn's dining room will be closed by now, so this is really the only place we can come to, anyway. So… why not make the most of it? Unless of course you wanted to go out somewhere else to find –"
Meryl smacked her forehead. "Oh, all right... just for a little while," she conceded, too tired to argue anymore.
And so, a "little" while and a full meal later (consisting largely of salmon sandwiches and assorted hors d'oeuvres), Vash seemed no more ready to leave than he had when they'd first sat down. If anything, Meryl noted darkly, he looked to just be getting started. But it wasn't until she saw him deftly lift a bottle of wine off a passing partygoer that she decided to finally put her foot down.
"Vash," she began in what she hoped was a cajoling tone, "It's really late. And you've been on the road for days now. Don't you think you should be retiring for the evening?"
"Nope, didn't even cross my mind." Vash worried the cork off the bottle, grinning self-satisfactorily when it finally shot off with a loud pop. He looked up at the two women. "Can you believe how lucky we are to hit this place during their festival? People out everywhere, lots to eat, lots to drink, everybody having a good time…," he laughed, pouring himself a full glass. "Hey, who knew?"
Indeed, Meryl thought. She wasn't ready to give up, though.
"Yes, Vash, I'm sure that the people here who have worked so hard and paid for all this deserve a good time - but I'm not sure how far that goes in our case."
Vash cocked an eyebrow as he swirled his glass, watching her.
"You know, Meryl, you would probably enjoy life more if you weren't always so uptight about things."
"Uptight?!?"
"When an opportunity for amusement presents itself, you should take advantage it! It's only natural. So why not let your hair down and enjoy the festivities?" He lifted his glass at her. "And I can guarantee there's plenty more where this came from!"
"My idea of fun doesn't involve getting so plastered I can't see straight!" Meryl huffed indignantly.
"No one said anything about getting plastered. I just suggested we join in with the rest of these fine people and have a little drink or two ourselves. No harm in that."
"But a 'drink or two' always ends up becoming four or more with you!"
"So who's counting?" Vash picked up the bottle and sloshed it around. "Well, what do you say? Anyone up for a little round?"
"I'll drink to that!" Milly cried.
"No, you won't," Meryl countered. "Don't you get it?"
Internally, she groaned; all she really wanted was to do her job, preferably with as little painlessness as possible. If people would only act more responsibly, wouldn't that make everything more pleasant? Life would be so much easier. She hated having to always play the heavy. But if she didn't...
"Look, Milly, you know as well as I that the ability to perform one's job is hindered by consuming alcohol. Even if Vash here," – she pointed rudely at the bemused gunman's face – "wants to get sloshed that's his business, but you and I have a duty to make sure our job gets done, and that means at least one of us stays coherent at all times, and I –"
She was about to end with, "and I want to go to sleep!" when Vash interrupted her.
"Well, all right then... you drink with me, Meryl."
"What?!?" Meryl looked at Vash in open shock. "Are you serious?"
"I agree." Milly smiled encouragingly at her partner's incredulous face. "I think it would be a nice treat to let Meryl cut back and enjoy herself for once instead of us hogging all the fun."
"Have you even been listening to a word I've said, Milly?"
"Actually, I think she's hit the nail on the head."
The short woman turned to angrily confront Vash, but was stopped by something she saw in his eyes. She furrowed her brow in puzzlement, trying to discern the difference.
"Face it, Meryl. You can argue all you want, but it's not really Milly's or my drinking that bothers you."
He was smiling as usual, and a stranger wouldn't note anything odd about the humorous grin on his face, but there was an uncharacteristic pointedness in the gaze that Meryl found disturbing. Then she felt her chest tighten as she suddenly understood the meaning of that look.
You can't hide from me.
Vash's eyes were fairly dancing now, while across the table Meryl felt her heart begin to race. In her mind, she suddenly had a vision, a familiar one that she wasn't particularly thrilled to recall at that moment: Vash, cocksure grin in place, fingers likewise hitched back in gun fashion, drawing a bead on her heart...
"It's the thought of your getting drunk that bugs the heck out of you."
...That disarming smile playing across his features, gee-golly don't-mean-nuthin'-by-it charm gone into overdrive, all while his eyes were telling her quite plainly Cheshire-cat style, I know what you're really thinking...
"You're just afraid of losing control of yourself in front of people."
...and I never miss my target.
"Especially in front of Milly…"
Bang!
"…and me."
It infuriated her.
"Aren't you?"
She was on her feet before she even knew it.
"VASH THE STAMPEDE!!! On behalf of the Bernardelli Insurance Society, I, Meryl Stryfe, CHALLENGE YOU!!!"
Not surprisingly, even in the din of the party, all conversation ground to a halt. Scattered murmurs of "did that lil' lady just say Vash the Stampede?" passed among the assembled crowd as everyone stopped their merriment to turn and watch as a petite young lady stood glaring across a table at a lanky blond man.
"Oh, my." Milly blinked up at her friend in genuine surprise and concern. "A formal challenge."
Vash was taken aback. It was true, he had been deliberately baiting her, but he hadn't really expected this kind of reaction. He quickly stopped smiling as he realized that he'd pushed her too far. But for Meryl to say something like this? Blinking across the table at her in complete bewilderment, Vash tried to assess if she was joking or not. But he could see it in her eyes: she was dead serious, or at least, seriously angry enough to believe herself so. He knew she would not forgive him if he dared to make light of the situation now. But to take her challenge threat seriously? Vash also knew that she was speaking more out of momentary anger than rational thought… if he could just get her to calm down….
That's right. Maybe the best he could do for now was to go along with it, and hopefully gently bluff her out of this. Straightening up in his chair, Vash calmly composed himself, putting on his best poker face. He wished he had his glasses on – it was so much more effective that way – and looked her straight in the eyes. "All right. And what's the challenge?" he said evenly.
What the hell am I doing? Meryl's mind raced. She could hardly believe it herself, that she'd let her anger get hold of her long enough to take complete leave of her senses and actually challenge Vash – Vash the Stampede – and in front of a crowd of strangers, no less! And while she stood there mentally berating herself for acting like an idiot, there he sat, with that serious-as-death look on his face, acting for all the world as if he really meant to duel with her. What, is he planning on humiliating me now?
"I, er... I challenge you to, uh..."
Meryl couldn't think. And just what the heck am I supposed to beat him at, anyway? It only annoyed her further that she couldn't think of a face-saving way out of this ridiculous situation.
"I challenge you to –"
"You challenge me to…?" Vash prompted in his most conciliatory voice. It only aggravated her further.
C'mon, Stryfe, think! Anything!
"Meryl!" Milly gasped.
"To a… to an..."
What the hell were we even talking about before this started?
The whole bar waited.
"I ch-challenge you to..."
"Yessss...?"
Why you – That does it!
"I challenge you to a drinking match!!!"
There was an almost reverent hush throughout the bar as Meryl's declaration hung in the air... up until the moment Vash's eyes bugged out. And in spite of himself, he burst out laughing like a hyena. She stared in shock as the blond man doubled over, holding his sides as he gasped for air.
"A... a DRINKING match? You? 'Sobriety' Stryfe? Against me?" Tears were pouring out of his eyes as he slapped the table. "Oh, that's a great one, Meryl! And here I was afraid you were actually being seri-..."
Vash looked up to see that Meryl's face had gone beet red. He gulped.
"Y-you mean you... were being serious?" he asked weakly.
Meryl couldn't answer. She felt her eyes stinging and her teeth grind, as she clenched her fists so hard that her nails dug into the flesh. Her mouth opened as if to say something to Vash's stunned face, but instead she jerked angrily away and yelled over her shoulder.
"Bartender!"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Did you hear all that?"
"Uh... well, everyone did, ma'am."
She felt her face would have colored even more were it possible but she determinedly stiffened her back. "Then what are you waiting for? Twenty whiskey shots - line 'em up! Now!"
"What?!?" Vash yelled.
"Will you settle for the house special?" the bartender asked.
"YOU HEARD ME!" Meryl was fairly screaming now. "This... person and I are going to have ourselves a little drinking contest! So you just start pouring!!!"
"The house special it is then," the bartender murmured as he hurriedly began to set out the glasses.
Vash saw that this had now gone completely out of hand. He regretted his mistake, and realized that he had to act fast before it got any worse. Coming up beside Meryl, he grabbed hold of her arm and whispered in her ear: "Come on, Meryl, please. I'm sorry. Let's just forget abou-"
Meryl angrily pulled her wrist free. She coolly regarded the surprised man, and said with more bravado than she actually felt, "What's the matter, Vash? Not afraid of a little challenge, are you?"
"You'll lose," Vash said in a warning tone.
"Oh, you think so? Well, Mr. Vash the Stampede," Meryl countered in her iciest voice, "We'll just have to see about that!" Then turning her back on him, she stomped over to the bar and sat down.
Vash stood looking at Meryl's back, all traces of his earlier joviality gone. He regarded her quietly, growing more than a little annoyed with the recent turn of events. Okay, if you want to be stubborn about this...
"ALL RIGHTY!!!" Vash hollered in his most obnoxious showman's voice – the one Wolfwood once told him would put the fear of God into a convention of atheists – "Ladies and gentlemen, we have an amazing opportunity presented before you this evening. If there's a betting man among you, I'm sure you'll see this as a once-in-a-lifetime money-making venture so STUPENDOUSLY risk-free, it would be almost criminal to pass up! In one corner, we have the defender," – he gestured to himself while striking a bodybuilder's pose – "A healthy, handsome, strapping young man in the prime of his life, meeting the challenge of this," – he waved dismissively at Meryl – "puny little specimen of a girl." Sauntering over to the bar, Vash threw himself onto the stool next to his fuming opponent. Wagging his eyebrows roguishly at her, he called out an overly high, sing-song voice, "Anyone willing to place a bet on the outcome of this little game?"
"I'll bet on the blond!"
"Me too!"
"Count me in!"
As all the bets were being placed, Vash smirked at Meryl, who glowered darkly at him.
"Well, Ms. Stryfe, are you still sure about this?"
"Shut up! I'm NOT speaking to you!"
"Promises, promises," he taunted mildly, while jauntily toasting her with one of the shot glasses already set out. Get ready to kiss the floor, Meryl!
"This won't be much of a bet if no one backs the lady," the bartender said.
"I'll bet on Meryl," Milly offered.
"It's your funeral," Vash quipped.
Vash the Stampede, Meryl vowed silently as she reached out for the first shot, I absolutely won't lose to you without a fight!
---the present---
"Oh, yeah... You meant that little bet..." Vash wondered if Milly was buying his bluff. "Well, you know... it was so long ago."
"It was only last night."
"I meant figuratively. So many things can happen in a night! Er…."
Meryl flinched. Vash began to sweat. Milly nodded sagely.
"That's true. But you know, it was sort of all your fault to begin with, Mr. Vash."
"Like I needed to be reminded of that," Vash muttered.
"Well, as they say, all's well that ends well," the cheery woman assured him, then much to both of her companions' discomfort, added with a strangely coy smile, "And it did end up pretty well, didn't it, Mr. Vash?"
The gunman was left speechless. "Can we please talk about something else?" Meryl pleaded.
"All right." Milly still had that thoughtful look on her face. "So what did you guys dream about last night?"
They began to choke.
"You know," Milly observed, "Are you guys really sure you're okay? We could always go to see the local doctor."
"No, no, it's nothing," Vash mumbled, and seeing that Milly looked unconvinced, hastily added, "This is just a regular hangover! C'mon, you know me – I get these all the time. I drink like a fish to the point I never know what I'll end up doing…."
He stopped himself as he felt an icy chill racing down his spine, sensing rather than seeing the piercing look Meryl was shooting at him. He made a mental note to punch himself in the mouth later that night - if Meryl didn't beat him to it, that is.
Milly giggled, pointing across his shoulder. "I think you're the only one in here who could joke like that, Mr. Vash."
Vash turned and looked around the café, noticing for the first time the pallid faces on many of the other diners, some of whom he vaguely recognized from the party. "Huh. I guess everybody had a little too much fun last night."
"Fun, he says," moaned Meryl, who had sunk her head against the table.
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