Well, after surviving my initial exposure to this corner of FF.net, two things happened- my ego grew (poor thing was looking all skin and bones), and I got walloped by a muse of inspiration. Or a large case of canned fruit at work. Either way, the head trauma knocked loose an Idea™ (Warning: Do not give to humans), resulting in this latest endevour. I do hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Legal Deflectors: I don't own Trigun or any characters related to Trigun. This work is not to be duplicated or sold for profit. All applicable taxes must be paid under pain of listening to my karoke. You don't want to listen to my karoke.

Legend: Italics denote thought, emphasis.
Rise of the Silver Stars

Prologue: Breakfast of Champions

You could fry an egg on the boardwalk.

Really, you could. It was simply that hot. Well, you would have to use a few mirrors, and why anyone would want to do so was beyond knowing, what with all the dust and dirt that would be blown on, tracked in, and occasionally spat on said boardwalk if one was near the few stores and the town's saloon.

Of course, if one didn't have access to a stove, one tended to take what one could get- As was the one fellow out that day, along with nearly every reflective surface he could find.

"C'mon, just a little hotter..."

He grinned as the eggs finally started to bubble, drooling ever so slightly as they inched closer to a nice fried state. They weren't doughnuts, but they'd quell the snarling beast that had at some point snuck in and kicked out his stomach. He rubbed his hands gleefully, fork and knife at the ready to dig into the dubious feast, until his stove was turned off by a large black cloud. Well, it really wasn't a cloud, it was more like a major stormfront.... that happened to be named Meryl.

"And just what are you doing with my compact?" asked the stormfront, with a tone that suggested rough weather if the answer wasn't a really good one.

"Well, I was frying some eggs..."

"I can see that." "Uh oh, wind's picking up."

"I needed to heat them up some way, and since you won't let me in the kitchen I had to improvise!"

"So you 'improvised' your way through my bag, Milly's bag, and the entire rest of the house from the looks of things?" "Got some thunder and lightning now."

"Ehhh... Well, kinda. I didn't have enough mirrors on my own, so I had to borrow a few."

"They have a word for borrowing things without asking. That word is stealing. Not to mention that you shouldn't be looking through a person's personal possessions!" "Warning! Warning! Take cover!"

Luckily, impending doom was averted when a no-pressure area emerged from the house, just woken from a nice afternoon nap.

"Ooh, what's that you have there, Mr. Vash?" "Showtime!"

Slipping into Triple-O mode (Overbearing, Overblown, Overdone), he stood up ramrod straight and encompassed the precariously balanced egg fryer with a grandoise sweep of his hand. "This, my fine lady, is the Vash Super-Deluxe Solar Stove! Capable of frying an egg or any other item placed just right, provided you have plenty of sun and the hunger to eat off anything!" He finished up with a dramatic flourish towards the twin suns, put on his biggest grin, and awaited the forecast.

The forecast changed from 'hurricane' to 'sunny' just like that. "Well, after a pitiful display like that, I suppose I can let you off the hook, though I'll be taking my compact. Oh, and if you do it again, expect more than seven years worth of bad luck." Clear blue skies were seen as the stormfront gathered up her things and turned to head back in.

"Oh Mr. Vash, you're so silly sometimes! I'd have been happy to fry some eggs for you if you just asked."

"Yeah, well, I didn't want to wake you just for that. Besides, I wasn't sure if I could!"

"No worries, Mr. Vash! I seem to wake up a lot more easily these days..." She trailed off, her gaze wandering up to the second story window with the closed drapes. Where he was sleeping.

"She don't know anything, at least nothing I've said, but she knows he's dangerous. Wish I had that sort of preception..." "Anyway, I'm just glad I didn't get hit over it! For someone with so much pink stuff, Meryl sure doesn't show much of a soft side."

In the next second, he found his prespective on the world suddenly shifted about 90 degrees, giving him an excellent extremely close up view of his eggs. Well, 'shifted' wasn't exactly the word. More like 'slammed'. The cause of this shift was at the door to the house, arm outstretched, clutching a frying pan, and turning about as pink as her- OW!

"And that one's for what you were about to think! Really, some people! And then there's you, who's their king! Breath another word about that, and I'll be forced to give Your Majesty another crowning!"

With that, Meryl hoisted the frying pan over her shoulder, turned her front to the door, her nose to the sky, and stormed off to hail on the interior of the house.

"Wow Mr. Vash, she really does like you! Calling you a king and all!"

"Yeah, I'm honored..." "Note to self: Make sure storm is really past, and you're not just in the eye. Hmm... These eggs really aren't that bad at all ."
Well, that's a start, with a wonderful view of the everyday life of our favorite broomhead. Next time: Meditation over Mr. Cooking Utensils' bed, and the plot begins to squirm, though I can assure you that it has nothing to do with a certain priest.

'Cuz he's busy, being dead and stuff. No miracle resurrections this time. Sorry folks, them's the breaks.