The insufferable sweetness of cake

Warnings/notes : Vash/Legato (kind of, in a twisted way), first (Legato) and second (Vash) pov, loosely based on ep. 15.

Disclaimer : I don't own Trigun.

written at 4th november 2003, by Misura

For Leaf Zelindor, my first-ever Trigun ficlet. Hope you like it a little! :)


Shall I compare thee to a cupcake?

Perhaps I should. Perhaps also I should not.

Uncertainty, something that seems to soil all of my thoughts when it comes to you. I hate it and I revel in it, like I also hate you yet cannot help but long for your presence, so that I may drink in the suffering from your own face, hear your anguish with my own ears.

What you have, you can't appreciate at its proper value.

What I have, doesn't have any value at all. Is it any wonder then that I hate you?

But I digress. I was talking about whether or not I could compare you to a cupcake, like the one I'm eating at the moment, while awaiting your arrival. I hate waiting for people, you know.

Well, I suppose you don't really do at that, but anyway, yes I loathe having to put off my actions for the sake of others. My time, unlike yours, on this hateful earth is limited after all and I don't like to waste it.

The funny thing is that I've spent most of my life waiting. In fact, I could say with a certain conviction my entire life has consisted of waiting for the moment when I will face you.

Oh, I am aware of what you look like. But it's not the same, don't you agree? To experience your nearness, to witness what I am doing to you first hand ... I imagine it would taste sweet.

Sweet, like you are, with your cute oath never to kill. Pathetic is the word that first comes to mind actually, but to each his own. And it's not like you kept it very well, is it? Vash the Stampede, in whose wake destruction follows ...

Sweet, like a cupcake. Yes, I think I am rather fond of that comparison. You see, cake is soft too. I could throw it at someone and they wouldn't even get hurt. Only the cake might get a little dented.

Your soul will be a lot worse than 'dented' when I'm done throwing you at people. Because you are soft, you shy away from hurting them, thus ending up hurting yourself instead. Do you think they're your equals, I wonder?

Do you consider *me* to be your equal? I'm not, you know. I haven't puzzled out yet if you are superior to me for the love He offers you, or that I'm superior to you because you reject His teachings. But I'm sure we're not comparable in any way.

Cupcakes are eaten best bit by bit. Only uncivilized people eat them in a few bites. I will chip at your shields, your protections against losing control and losing your heart, until they crumble down to nothing. And see what is behind them. And destroy that too, reducing it to nothing.

Shall I kill you then, I wonder? I want to. Even now, I want to.

You, on your knees before me begging me to kill you to put an ending to your pain.

He doesn't want me to. Which, my fine little cupcake, provides me with something of a dilemma. For I wish to kill you because He does not want me to, yet His wish has always been my command.

An interesting problem to solve, don't you think? I wonder if He already knows what solution I will find for it. I wonder if He'd mind if I died at your hands.

Me, on my knees before you begging you to kill me to put an ending to my pain.

And aren't we in an optimistic mood today? Sugar is supposed to cheer one up, or so I've heard

Yet for some reason it doesn't seem to work that way. Perhaps it's your fault.

Compared to you, I'm sure, this poorly tasting substitute would pale. I can almost taste your pain, the burden you carry with you even now, you know. I feel a connection to you, an attachment that will lead me to you time and time again. Until my death. Or yours.

Who can tell what the future has in store? Who would really want to know? If I'd known I wouldn't finish eating this cupcake, I might not have started eating it in the first place. I hate to leave things unfinished like that.

When we meet, there *will* be an ending. Not to your suffering, to be sure, but to mine ... that might be possible.