A Dark Vash Story
By MillyT & Dwellin
Welcome to Milly Thompson's (aka Ricki) and Dwellin's (aka Sunsilver) brand new AU! Yay!
Okay, everyone knows what an AU is, right? If you don't like them, ya don't have to read this – but "we'd like it if you did…" If you don't like Dark Vash (a non-anime, non-manga version Vash – originated from a toy but well, could be part of the manga in the future I suppose – MillyT) Well, just what hole have you been living in? Dark Vash is cool! But don't come running after us with a cross punisher or other sharp pointy object if you don't like Vash this way, we'd love you to read it, but not at the sake of your own sanity… Hmmm… insanity good!
This is our humble take on how Dark Vash came into being. More heavily manga-based, but also pulls from the anime. Test your knowledge, amaze your friends, impress your relatives, thrills, chills, romance, action-packed action, … and okay, that's a lot of BS, but hey, it's a good read, even if I do say so myself.
MillyT pokes Dwellin, "Get to the point!"
Dwellin: "There's a point?" MillyT, unsnaps her stungun.
Dwellin hurriedly says: "Okay folks, take your seats please, lights, curtain…. deep sonorous voice of narrator… hmmmm, maybe Leonard Nimoy, I always did like his voice… (Oh oh or Jeff! Sweet! - MillyT)
There's a metallic click...
Dwellin quickly nods to narrator "Take it away Mr. Nimoy…"
"The story starts in the rubble of July and… ah heck, I'm not getting paid enough for this!" Jeff walks off stage and MillyT starts to cry…
"Hang it all! That's the third voice actor this week!"
Milly T swings loaded stung gun in Dwellin's direction, "Dang blast-it he sounded like Wolfwood… If I'd known we'd lose him I'd have gotten Johnny Bosch to do it this weekend for us!"
"So folks, if you are interested, scroll down and start reading!"
"Oh and uh, we don't even pretend to own Trigun… or sob Vash or anyone even remotely connected to Trigun, (this is killing me!) the brainchild of one Nightow-sama… I can't take this… roll the film someone!" Sniffling, Dwellin uses MillyT's cap to wipe her eyes.
The twin suns rose slowly that morning, cutting through the hazy fog. The little moisture that still swam in the air collected around the ruins of the city, the steal girders, broken bits of cement, wooden window sills, and sat heavy on a single body that lay half naked on the ground. The figure shifted, one leg pinned underneath what was left of the building he had stood in six hours before. Blood dyed the remaining fabric that covered his lower extremities black, his chest was coated in reddish brown stains, but the scars on his flesh no longer bled. Bruises still darkened his shoulders and the small of his belly; they were purple and yellow testimonies on his face to something striking him a few hours past.
He moaned, moving to push the heavy beam off his leg, flexing his toes and opening his eyes to look around him. Where am I? He thought to himself, not quite sure if his voice would work, unwilling to give it a try. The silence was a vacuum.
With a shiver, the morning mist cool on his bare skin, he wrapped his arms around himself as he look around for something to cover up with. The suns would no doubt be hot today; the air was already steadily growing warmer. It would be best if he could find something not only to take the chill off, but also to protect from the damaging solar rays. There had to be something. He had to find some article of clothing, a tarp, anything…
Then he heard a familiar sound, something flapping slowly off to his right and a little behind him. Turning, he crawled, gaining his feet shakily, and managed to walk over to where a shredded red cloth hung from what was left of a busted windowpane. Grabbing it in his right hand, he shook it out, recognizing it as a coat… An unusually familiar coat… Someone that looked like me - or maybe it was me - wore this once. I know it…
Wrapping what was left of the red coat over his shoulders, he found the sleeves still intact, pushed his hands through them, and except for the long tear up the back, it covered what he needed. The fabric was smooth to the touch, like water, it blocked both the warmth of the sun and the cool of the morning air. He wondered idly where it had come from, who had made it, and other puzzles to keep from thinking too deeply about the shattered remains that surrounded him.
But…Where am I? Frowning, he tried to remember, looking down at his hands, grimy and soot covered. Was there an explosion? Were there others around somewhere as well? His eyes scanned the desolate grounds, finding no other movement but for shadows that circled lazily on the ground, cast by lizard-tailed vultures that eyed him disappointedly.
Shifting the debris with a bare toe, the man stood for a long time, arms wrapped over his chest, trying to recall why he was there. Nothing came to him, and the deeper he thought, the more the realization struck him that he could not even remember his own name. "Who am I?" His voice worked apparently, but it was strange to him. His words hung in the silent air and dissipated like the mist.
A vulture flapped down nearby, cocked its ugly naked head at him, and gave a grumpy sound as if to say, 'You're not dead!' And then it flapped away again, the group flying toward the rising suns on a hunt for new rotting meat.
The man felt alone, although he couldn't remember if he'd been alone like this before his memory loss or not. He started to follow after the vultures, hoping that if they knew where something lived or at least had died; then perhaps maybe he would find others like him. Maybe there was a town or a village, someone nearby who could explain why he was there, what had happened… Someone who knew him when he didn't know himself.
It was slow going, this trip away from ground zero. His bare feet found every sharp object and shard of glass until they were hurting and then bleeding as he walked through a field of nails, and other things that didn't bear mentioning. He tried for a time to watch where he put his feet, but found it too excruciatingly slow… After a time he stopped looking down, allowing his feet to go where they would, ignoring them, eager to go faster, away from the damaged dolls and broken plates. Eventually the pain ceased to bother him and he considered that his brain was shutting off the pain synapses in his feet.
His progress suddenly halted as his foot came down on a large glass shard. He screamed in agony, falling to the ground, to stare in horror at the slice of mirror that penetrated the arch of his foot and out through the top. Tears in his eyes, he managed to pull it from the soft flesh where blood oozed and ran down onto the dirty ground. He made to toss it away angrily, the blood trickling down its shiny side, but then he stopped, the pain was already waning in his foot, which he ignored as his attention lay solely on the mirror.
Who am I? He caught his reflection in the glass.
Even darkened with dirt, his cream colored skin seemed to glow, his aqua eyes uneven, one side of his face was swollen and bruised from a fall perhaps, pushing his eye into a squint. His white golden hair lay against his head, some of it still sticking up, as if from styling. He put his fingers to it; the strands were hard, most likely from a gel or hairspray. He put his fingers to his face tentatively, looking at the one birthmark below his eye… I remember this… The blood dried on the mirror as he studied his reflection, trying to remember who he was, what people called him as they looked at his face, but all were faded shadows. When he finally put the shard back on the ground, his eyes carried over to his foot.
It didn't hurt anymore! Lifting it, putting weight on it, pressing his fingers to it, he discovered it not only ceased to hurt, but did not look wounded at all, but for the blood drying on the surface! His eyes went wide… "I'm not human… Am I?" He swallowed, looking around again. "What if I did this… What if I caused this?" His heart started to hurt and he continued to walk again. I don't want to be here any longer…
In the distance, another man, this one hunkered down under what was left of an old tarp, watched the poor lost man picking his way through the wreckage. He frowned. His aqua eyes were clear as he watched the man, a mirror image of himself, even from hundreds of yards away, there was no doubt, his brother was still alive. The events of mere hours before had not destroyed them even though it had rid the planet of countless others. But they were trifles whereas these men were not.
Wrapping the tarp around him tightly, he stepped up onto a rocky outcropping, his eyes glancing up at a vulture that circled around one last time just in case… He hated this place, it was an eyesore and a distraction, and he wanted out of it nearly as much as his brother seemed to. He also hated these loathsome vultures… A large black gun lifted from beneath the tarp, and the gunshot echoed through Lost July. The vulture fell to the ground at his feet, bleeding. Good, it still works, he thought appreciatively of the gun.
Hard eyes lifted back to look at the man wearing the red coat, he was running now, stumbling, but making ground, scared by the gunfire. The other smiled coldly to himself. He's scared is he? Good, he should be. I'm going to come after you very soon…I have a debt to settle with you!
His stomach growled, and he grimaced, staring down at the dead vulture. With a frown, he went to retrieve it from the ground. It would probably taste like chicken, he told himself.