There hadnât 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 hasnât been opportunity for conversation.Â
Roberto has refrained from making any commentary for once. Nicholas could likely sense it too, but he hadn't been there.Â
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.Â
He resolves to talk to her when they reach the next town. Itâll 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.
âHere, let me carry some of those,â Vash offers, extending a hand to take several of the grocery bags hanging off Merylâs arms. Not all of themâ she is perfectly capable of carrying her own burdens too. âYou and Roberto have helped me out a lot.âÂ
More than they should have, more than he has any right to deserve. Thatâs not his focus right now, but the least he can do is share some of the weight.
âBack in JeneoraâŚâ 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 Merylâs head snap back towards him with a protest burgeoning in her eyes. âHold on, now! Iâve got a lot of experience dealing with this sort of thing.â
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.Â
âTurn it into something else. Something that gives you the strength to keep moving.â 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 TonisâŚ"
"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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
"Hey! That's Vash the Stampede! Don't let him get away!"
"HahahaâŚright 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.Â
He can feel Meryl grappling with the shoulders of his coat as she attempts to drag him behind a cluster of crates and barrels.
âOh noâŚNo, no no, youâre covered in blood.â
âThatâs rightâŚIâm sorry, Meryl. ThisâŚmight be itâŚPleaseâŚâ Vash groans, fisting into the front of her shirt.
âWhâŚWhat can I do? What should I do?!âÂ
âJust. Come here. Closer. I just want to give you one last thingâŚâ
Her face is pinched with trepidation, but Meryl nevertheless leans in close. She mouths the words âanything,â and ânot like thisâ 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.