#(meryl.)

“C’mon, Meryl. It’s Know-vember! The scholarly city! The finest minds in all of No Man’s Land, gathered here for the noble pursuit of academia.” 

They talk while they walk. Vash spreads his arms wide and wiggles his fingers for dramatic emphasis on the word ‘academia.’ 

The last time he was here with Brad, the salvaged data cluster from the SEEDS ship that had crashed here served as the fledgling university's foundation for understanding lost tech. An ever present reminder now encased into the ceiling of the central apse of the fallen observation deck that had been converted into the main library. The mass of circuitry and silicon had been preserved in plastisteel once all the data was spooled out, carefully transcribed and organized into analog copies in the event of Plant failure. 

Look up to remember that humanity came from the stars, and that they could yet achieve those heights once more. Nothing from the spacefaring age was magical. Technology could be understood, reverse-engineered, and learned from. The founding faculty believed in that mission.

November has grown since then. 

Try as he might, Meryl never once loses his trail. The sands have grown ever more perilous without the boons granted by Plants. In truth, he probably isn't trying hard enough. He does not regret the company, only that the circumstances made Meryl feel it was necessary. It would be safer to stay in one place, to go where the other refugees were going. The mass exodus to Octovern continues to pass them by, and with each group that they encounter, he wonders if he's making another mistake letting her stay. 

"Still determined to help me find him, huh?" His lighter clicks shut, a flash of silver caught in the tumble of a well-practiced sleight of hand before it disappears into the depths of his pants pocket. The scent of worm spice takes its place.

Meryl has grown increasingly reticent as they followed in the Ark’s wake. Wolfwood, in turn, has found himself scraping the bottom of an already empty barrel for scraps of conversation. Utter silence isn’t like her, but confronting the problem directly would imply that something is wrong.

So many things are already, and there is so little he can do about it that the mere thought infuriates him.

Wolfwood reclines against the partially unfurled bedroll in the alcove they have made camp. Angelina is parked facing outwards. Her panniers are unfastened, left peeped from the camp supplies they lifted out previously. If need be, they can make a quick exit by stuffing their supplies in haphazard. They’ve encountered the need at least once already.

The grip of Vash’s gun pokes out from beneath her coat. He hasn’t seen her go a night without it within arm’s reach. Vash’ll need it, after all.

He can't stand the silent treatment anymore.

“You are good, Meryl.” Because she tries to be, even when she feels like she isn’t. Even if she has blood on her hands. Vash can effortlessly draw lines when comparing himself to others. To buoy even when he is drowning. Though these past few days have been the longest stretch of time he has spent not alone, and for that reason alone maybe he can say he is treading water instead.

“Here, hold this up for me. Gotta get all the sand out before I start fully taking it apart.” Vash offers her a smile, sheepish with wrinkles as he runs a soft brush along the seams and between cracks and delicate joints. The firelight is more than enough for him to see by as he brushes the fine grains caught in his prosthetic’s finer mechanisms. “I mean, I shouldn’t be letting sand get in there in the first place, but…” It didn’t feel all that important to maintain his arm after a while. Rushing its doom wouldn’t have made a difference, or so he thought. 

“Guess we’ll both have to do our best. Wouldn’t want to disappoint all our new old friends, huh?” Vash tickles the bottom of Meryl’s chin with his brush, then stows it away in the unrolled toolkit that he set on the ground. “I’ve got a lot of regrets, but I don’t think meeting you or any of the others could ever be one of them. Don’t try to go it alone. That was my biggest mistake.”  

Various items from newspaper clippings to lost buttons have found their way onto its surface. There’s always that thought where the clutter will be sorted and these items will find their respective homes or tossed out, but it’s never gotten that far.

Today, among the mess, are Vash’s glasses.

It’s the light of the suns filtering in through the almost threadbare curtains that make her notice them. The glint off those yellow lenses and the metal frame would have gone unnoticed otherwise.

Meryl picks them up, inspecting them for a second before putting them on. They’re too big and immediately slide off the bridge of her nose, so she holds them in place behind her ears. Turning around, she looks at her reflection in the full length mirror behind her and giggles at the sight.

They don’t particularly suit her face, probably because she’s so used to seeing Vash wear them, but it gives her an idea that she can’t get out of her head.

Tilting her head back so as to make sure the glasses don’t continuously fall off, Meryl poses in front of the mirror, mimicking Vash’s stance.

“Love and peace,” she chants at her reflection, trying to make the sign with her fingers but always having to readjust the glasses.

“Love and peace! Love and peace! This world is made up of love and pea—Oups!”

She did the sign, thrusting her arm out before her, but wasn’t quick enough to catch the glasses as they fell. “Oh no,” she whispers, bending down to pick them up and immediately inspects them to make sure they’re not damaged.

Briefly, she glances to the mirror and can see Vash standing there in the doorway—which prompts a small shriek from her and fumbling with his glasses again, but she manages to keep hold of them, although barely.

Meryl tends to work quietly when left to her own devices. 

Unlike himself, she has no tendency to wander directly into the heart of danger, stoke fires in the hearts of men who would sooner truss her up and turn her in for profit, or– well, she probably would help a little old lady across town, but being a good samaritan doesn’t typically lead to a full on shootout in broad daylight.

Curious then, when Vash returns with an armful of sandwiches, fruit, and a pair soft drinks, that he finds her there posing and generally having a good time in front of the mirror with his glasses…looking like she wants to start a bit of trouble using love and peace. 

His brows lift when Meryl finally notices him standing there in the open doorway to their hotel room through the vanity. Well. He’s glad she didn’t drop the glasses when he startled her. Their lunch provisions rustle in the brown bag carried in the crook of his arm as he elbows the door click shut behind him. 

“Meryl.” Vash’s voice is warm and amused. “What are you doing?” 

Vash drops off the food on the nearby round table, then joins Meryl by the mirror to adjust the glasses back onto her face with a grin.

43. a bloody kiss

There hadn’t been time. Between the series of disasters that beset Jeneora Rock, crashing (literally) into Wolfwood at the waystation, and cutting their way through the belly of a Grand Worm, then cramming themselves into a tiny news van for a journey through the seemingly endless sea of dunes and rocky plateaus, there hasn’t been opportunity for conversation. 

Roberto has refrained from making any commentary for once. Nicholas could likely sense it too, but he hadn't been there. 

On the surface, Meryl seems fine. Ever ready to snap at her passengers in the rear seat whenever their bickering got too heated or rowdy. Vash recognizes that newfound sadness all too well. He can see it when she looks away from the sand sea stretched out before them, when her eyes linger in the rearview for a touch too long. The kind of sadness a person hides like a bird with a broken wing. She's dealing with it in her own way. 

He resolves to talk to her when they reach the next town. It’ll be a chance for them to restock on supplies. Food, water, ammo. Roberto and Nicholas go off down some other avenue in search of less dire necessities (namely more cigarettes and alcohol), but still necessities, according to them.

“Here, let me carry some of those,” Vash offers, extending a hand to take several of the grocery bags hanging off Meryl’s arms. Not all of them– she is perfectly capable of carrying her own burdens too. “You and Roberto have helped me out a lot.” 

More than they should have, more than he has any right to deserve. That’s not his focus right now, but the least he can do is share some of the weight.

“Back in Jeneora…” The bags hanging from his fingertips rustle as he twists one way and then the next in search of the right words. He can see Meryl’s head snap back towards him with a protest burgeoning in her eyes. “Hold on, now! I’ve got a lot of experience dealing with this sort of thing.”

With despair. With failure. With wishing the past could play out differently. He smiles his sad smile as they walk, two pairs of feet kicking up dust down the path. 

“Turn it into something else. Something that gives you the strength to keep moving.” To do better, he does not need to add, because Meryl does not need to be told what she already knows.

Meryl chews on her bottom lip with a frown. "But Tonis…"

"Is still alive," he finishes. "Sometimes that just has to be enough."

Delnashville is a bigger town than most. They have their own bank, their own radio tower, a fully-staffed hospital, several neighborhoods and the retailers and grocers needed to support them. It lies on the cusp of becoming a proper city, somewhere between urban and rural. 

More people means they run the risk of a higher chance that someone will recognize the Humanoid Typhoon. Vash has been scanning for the spark of recognition ever since they stepped foot into town. Maybe they had been overly optimistic. Certainly they were dealing with an issue that constantly saddled it's only a matter of time. 

Vash surveys the open windows of multi-story buildings, linens on their lines, down to cross-armed men standing in the shadows of awnings with menacing stares. Greed is as potent as any drug. He can feel their hunger trained on him. Sixty million could change the trajectory of an entire town. For a smaller crew, it meant they would never want for anything again.

"Y'know, I think we should go this way," he announces suddenly, hip-nudging Meryl in the direction of a narrow back street with plenty of cover. 

"Hey! That's Vash the Stampede! Don't let him get away!"

"Hahaha…right now," Vash laughs nervously, lifting both hands to hurriedly usher Meryl forward as his pursuers tromp in their direction. Just in time for the first desperado to level their revolver at him while they attempt to flee.

"Ahh! Wait, don't shoot, don't shoot!" Vash yells, disappearing behind a cloud of splintered crates and exploding vegetable matter. 

“Vash!”

He can feel Meryl grappling with the shoulders of his coat as she attempts to drag him behind a cluster of crates and barrels.

“Oh no…No, no no, you’re covered in blood.”

“That’s right…I’m sorry, Meryl. This…might be it…Please…” Vash groans, fisting into the front of her shirt.

“Wh…What can I do? What should I do?!” 

“Just. Come here. Closer. I just want to give you one last thing…”

Her face is pinched with trepidation, but Meryl nevertheless leans in close. She mouths the words ‘anything,’ and ‘not like this’ under the same breath. Vash pulls her down the rest of the way into a kiss.

And then she starts pounding the sides of his face and torso with a flurry of angry punches.

"OH, I'm so glad you're here! I need you to fix my bike."

For that thing we talked about

"Young Master," the serpent began, not certain if his chosen honourific was entirely appropriate, considering his own fresh status as a Sinner and the literal pharaoh in front of him. But looking at the young mongoose, it was hard not to see him as anything but just a lad. With a too-eager foot for the open road, as evident by the remains of the vehicle by his side.

The penny-farthing presented by Meryl was not only beyond wrecked, but about a decade behind its time as well. Pentious blinked at the poor contraption. He would be able to fix it, but he wondered if that would be really worth it. Not a wise thought for someone trying to earn their living... or after-living, rather, he knew, but still.