Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ What If ❯ Wardrobe ( Chapter 4 )

Even with Meryl's conservative driving and after a trip by sand steamer, it took nearly three weeks to get back to SEEDS City. The entire trip grated on Meryl's nerves; with Vash so happy and enthusiastic about everything and Millie temporarily forgetting about Wolfwood enough to match his attitude she felt like she was babysitting. That feeling persisted when, immediately upon arriving in the city, she had to quickly usher Vash into the apartment she had there.

"Sit down!" she ordered him, pushing him toward a couch.

"But why?" he pouted, his red coat flapping behind him as he moved. "I want to go shopping, and I'm starving! There's gotta be someplace nearby that sells salmon sandwiches or donuts! I can hear them calling to me."

"They're going to be calling you unconscious in a moment," the petite woman growled as she stomped towards him. "Think for a moment, you irresponsible man! If people out there start seeing a tall blonde man wearing a red coat, carrying two large handguns, and with earrings, who are they going to think he is?"

"Vash the Stampede!" he hollered, striking a pose. "The Humanoid Typhoon! Ace gunman, gorgeous man, and friend to all!"

Meryl shook her head and turned around. "Stupid idiot. Stupid man," she snarled, staring at the white wall of her sometime living space.

"But you're still worth sixty billion double dollars, aren't you?" Millie asked, setting the Cross Punisher against the wall with a thump.

Vash opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. "Oh, yeah, I am kinda valuable, aren't I?" he admitted, rubbing the back of his head and sitting down.

The shorter insurance woman took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself, then turned back around to speak. "You need to stay here. Millie can go get you some food, and I'll go buy you some new clothes," she told him in a softer tone.

"Do you need some money?" Vash asked, digging in a pocket. He pulled out a wad of bills and started leafing through them. He handed forty double dollars to Millie, and about a thousand to Meryl. "Split the money between donuts and salmon," he told the tall girl. "And the rest is for my clothes. I want-"

Meryl snatched the wad of cash from his hand, and almost laughed at the shocked look on his face. "I'll pick out what I think is best," she interrupted. "You would probably choose something that would make you just as identifiable as that red coat. No arguing," she held up her index finger. "I'll be back in about two hours. Millie, let's go."

Millie was back less than half an hour later with two dozen donuts and four salmon sandwiches. She barely made it to the apartment's kitchen before he had his hands in the donut boxes, poking his fingers through the donut holes and eating them in two or three bites each. The tall girl sat across from him with a smile, watching him eat as though he would never see food again.

Vash was licking the last bits of salmon from his fingers when she finally spoke. "Mr. Vash, I have to ask. Where did you bury Nicholas?"

The gunman froze with his tongue against one of his fingers. He picked up a napkin to wipe his hands off with and leaned back in his chair with a serious expression on his face. "I never told you?" he asked. When she shook her head, he went on. "I dug a hole in the floor of the church, right in front of the altar where I found him. I even carved an inscription on the marble altar itself."

"What-" Millie interrupted herself with a sniff as her eyes filled with tears. "What did it say, Mr. Vash?"

The blonde gunman looked up at the ceiling. If he looked at her tears much longer, he was going to cry himself. "It said," he answered slowly, "Here lies Nicholas D. Wolfwood, killed protecting life. May you go with God's protection."

Millie knocked the table away and tackled him. "Hey!" he shrieked. "Please! Don't hurt me!"

It took a moment before he realized that she was sobbing. "Thank you, Mr. Vash," she sobbed into his chest. "I know it means a lot to him because it means a lot to me."

Lying flat on the floor on his chair, Vash patted her on the back. "It's okay, Millie. You're both very welcome."

When Meryl came back, Millie was still crying and Vash, unfortunately, was still lying on the uncomfortable chair. Meryl dropped the bags of clothing and, without a second thought, tried to comfort her friend.

"I'm okay, Meryl," she said, wiping her face and standing up. She offered Vash her hand to help him up. "So, what did you buy him?" she quickly asked to keep Meryl from asking about her tears.

Before Meryl could answer, Vash was up and digging through the bags. "Yeah, what did you get me? I hope my money was well spent, but, well, now it's looking like my hopes were too-"

The dark haired woman snatched the bags away from him. "First things first," she said. "Where did you get so much money?"

Vash gave her a look that said he was offended. "I'm almost a hundred and forty years old," he answered in a hurt tone. "I made some investments."

"Like what?"

He gave her a wicked grin. "There was one in particular that really paid off. About ninety years ago, after I spent years working hard, I put all of my hard earned money into a little insurance company."

Meryl froze in shock. "No . . ."

He puffed his chest up and put his hands on his hips. "You are looking at one of the founders of the Bernardelli Insurance Agency."

"Oh, no," she moaned. "Which one of the six were you?"

He put a finger to his nose. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

She growled and dug around in the bags for a moment, then started piling clothes in Vash's arms. "Here," she ordered, "go put these on."

Twenty minutes later, Vash stared ruefully at the mirror. A quick check of all the clothes Meryl had bought showed that they were all in keeping with the style he now wore. Instead of his red coat and body armor, he now wore a black Thomas-leather trench coat, a red shirt, black slacks, and a pair of black boots.

"Oh, no," he said to himself. He looked out the window and up at the sky. "Oh, Rem. Listen. I've done a very bad thing. I let your grandaughter choose my wardrobe.

"What will I do now?"