drab·ble (drab´'l) n. : a
story exactly 100 words long, excluding title
somewhat important thing to know: #48
is a sequel to Cashmere (#12)
Rem locked gentle eyes onto her young
scholar, carefully considering how to answer his question, "It's
something all creatures possess. The soul is beyond us and the very essence of
us at the same time. Although everything flows, and life does fade from our
bodies, the soul remains.
"The end of life does not end it's
meaning. The truth of a person's life is carried on in the soul, which is
immortal and pure."
"So death creates the soul?"
She bit her lip, "In a way. An end
is only another beginning."
Knives' eyes gleamed, "What if
you don't die?"
Knives' many quirks were, if not
blatantly worshiped or accepted, largely ignored by the Gung-Ho Guns. Any other
reaction had long ago been culled from their minds by Legato and his fierce
But there was one that raised eyebrows.
In a way, it made sense for one of Knives' kind. But Midvalley couldn't help
wondering if his boss had a bit of a Lolita complex. Or a Shota complex. Like he
could tell if they were different sexes.
And so it was, that no one was in the
least surprised when Knives died.
Electrocuted "screwing in" a
It still hurt. A year, and it still
hurt. Vash still awoke everyone morning expecting to see Rem, to see Knives -
sane and well. A year.
No, it had been longer than that.
Sometimes he forgot, it was so blurred, but they were older and they were
Vash gazed out the port of Sky City,
wondering if Rem was really dead. If he'd failed her. Tried to remember her
words, that twisted in his heart like something unfulfilled
A little girl stared at him, and he
jerked when she spoke, "Hey, mister! Smile!"
He closed his eyes, "I'm
Legato stared at his Master. He was so
beautiful. The blue-haired man again doubted the reality of the golden man
standing before him. How could such a being of grace sully Himself with Legato's
But how could his pathetic human mind
even mimic Him?
No. It was no dream.
Knives turned slightly, glancing in the
mirror and frowning, "Are you sure of this, Legato?"
Legato repressed the urge to drool.
Knives looked marvelous, smooth and shimmering cruelty masked by softness, lace,
and chiffon. The dress suited him well.
Yes, his Master was superior to dirty
humans in every way.
That single word. It defined everything
he knew about humanity. All that he hated. Pathetic and needy and submissive. No
meaning of it's own. Mutable simplicity that pretended so much more.
It was sacred on his lips. Divinity
cool and sweet to taste because he knew what it meant. Shared it with one other
He didn't see. But he would. He'd
know and whisper and scream that word hoarse with hatred. Label every human with
Smile on elegant lips, Knives thought
he might love that woman for her name. The word to name his enemy.
Wolfwood sprawled onto the bed, eyeing
her woolen vest suspiciously.
Milly attempted to reach him once
again, "But she said she had reason, Mr. Priest."
He huffed, punching an innocent pillow,
"Yeah, that damned author always has a 'reason'." He narrowed his
gaze at her, "But she didn't actually tell you what it was, did
Large blue eyes filled with
uncertainty, "She just said that it was 'fitting'."
"Ah. I get it." He pulled the
brunette to him, "Wolves are always trying . . ."
She stared as he plucked at the
buttons, murmuring around a kiss, "To get into sheep's clothing."
notes: Pop Quiz! Do you remember the Latin
lesson from Syntax (way back in the first set)? If you do, yay!
If you don't, I'm going to point and laugh at you and make insinuations about
your hygiene. And remind you, of course. Rem is a Latin word, the
accusative singular form of res; literally thing. In this particular
form it can only function as a direct object. It also had a bazillion
other means, like all Latin words. So in #47 Knives is calling all of
humanity a weak, indefinite, passive, thing. Isn't he a sweetheart?
Other than that, this edition kinda (really!)
sucked. Sorry, guys. Sorry, Knives-sama. You deserved
better. If anyone actually read this, that is.
Trigun is copyright (c) Yasuhiro Nightow and Young King Ours.