Disclaimer: No own Trigun, simple logic, huh?
Authors Notes: I've written this kind of in a slump. No big deal, kind of a lot of thoughts really. Note for the sake of an easier write I switch perspectives.
Walking On Sand
Steps, black steps from a man in a red coat, a man who defied all taboo: Vash the Stampede. This creature, this man who had been alone for so long in his life, his only true family his only true enemy.
"My name is Vash, everyone else added 'The Stampede'." He was an anomaly, man kind first humanoid disaster, first centralized disaster zone. Alive for what seemed like an eternity, surpassing many generations of normal men.
This desert, on this planet, embraced by that sun was his home more than anywhere else. Well, maybe the supposed 'Eden' of his brother could have been his home, but the price of admittance was too high. Besides, The Stampede enjoyed the desert. The ocean of the sky was made to seem even more beautiful by the rough natural beauty of the ocean sand. The heat in itself felt as if it was a penance, a penance for a man who had committed no crime, rather, the crime was committed by one who bared his blood but nothing more.
He stared out into the vastness of the desert, the only variety of the plane is that sometimes the sand would change to hard stone or in that one rarity, change to green grass. Grass is beautiful, along with blue skies, purity and peace. Vash the Stampede would know no peace in his lifetime, according to all others anyway.
Footprints marked his travels, long ago making a vow to use cars and Thomas's only sparingly. How else can one march?
Vash the Stampede looked up towards the sky, towards that infinite blue. From behind orange lenses, looking with memory towards the past and a hopeful future, and that one name that haunted him.
"Rem…" she had played such a pivotal role in his life even if she was only now in for less than a tenth of it. He had loved her, how had he loved her? Hard to say for sure but there was something there, something deep, something meaningful. Bonds like that were hard to find, if at all on this planet in this time with these people.
He had faith though faith that people would still do the right thing, reach to shake hands first rather than reach for their six shooters. Was it wrong or dumb to hope that way? Even if it was, Vash the Stampede has his convictions and for now in his hundred plus years of life that would be enough.
He had made a promise to her, to Rem, a long time ago. He wasn't sure if he had actually said it or not, but he vowed it, whether in dream or in real thought it didn't really matter. He made that promise, that vow to keep going, to keep moving no matter what. He had been impeded many times since then, though the most difficult and preferable impediment would have to be the women.
"…hmm." Vash thought to himself of the many women he had encountered in his travels over the planet. Many beauties most were at first put off by his forward measures that was for damn sure. But…there was a reason. He liked women, wanted to be close to one if any of them. But they in the end would have to be pushed back, pushed as far back as the distance of the planet. Life and misfortune followed the Stampede, that's just the way it is. Well…that's not the only thing that follows him…
"Meryl the insurance girl…" Vash muttered with a smile. He had been doing that more and more lately when he thought of her. This pained him; he couldn't let himself, let her get near him. It was for her safety but that damn girl was so persistent, always about her job and her duty. "They must pay her well if she's so willing…" Vash thought to himself, considering himself blissfully unaware.
It was noon now, high noon as it was called. He had to keep going, had the power and the capacities to do so, so he did. He was a plant, hesitant to call himself a flower but some kind of flora anyway. Vash the Stampede, now always and forever.
He had finally come upon some water, though some weakened Thomas's were right behind him he did what he knew was right, and he did it with a smile. He was thirsty, he wouldn't lie to you like that, but the Thomas's were near death, his pain and pleasure could wait as it always did as he always forced them. Watching the animals drink for a bit, Vash considered if only for a moment if his life of self sacrifice was truly worth it, even with all the steps he took to help others, their respective lots in life never truly seemed to change.
"No, that's nonsense needle noggin." Vash chastised himself using an insult a special friend had used on him. "That damn priest." He thought with a smile reserved for an older brother. This of course brought a frown, his brother; his only family was a murderer. Not only that, he was a happy murderer, one who took the death and suffering of all humans as a blessing. How could two creatures born from the same "womb" be so drastically different from one another?
Still he prayed though, prayed for his brother and to a lesser extent himself. For his brother, the reason he prayed was obvious. He wanted to save him or at least be saved; he wanted him to see the light as those people put it; he wanted him to realize that not all people are bad and that all life is sacred. However, when he prayed for himself it was little simpler…actually much simpler. All he prayed for was the power to keep his finger of the trigger. The gun, that silver gun clasped to his side was the be all and end all of his problems. One squeeze and every last one of his problems could and will be inevitably be solved.
"Keep going, love and peace." That was his motto, his credo, the words he more or less lived by. Love for himself but more important for all living creatures. Lofty goals? Most certainly. Impossible? Possibly. Would he ever stop hoping and working towards that future? Not even if there was a bullet in his skull. He would keep going from here on forever. Despite his brother, despite all those who favor bullets above all else. Not for them and not to spite them, he had his life and he was living it as best he could. Despite everything, all the hardship, the death he tried to avoid, the men and women who wanted him dead, his brother who wanted him dead: he was happy.
"Under the sky so blue…" Vash mumbled, shifting the weight on his back, making his way through the ocean of sand. He was Vash the Stampede; he was a geranium, determined. He would live, he would go on, he must, he vowed, he loved, he lived and will live. Suddenly a sound, akin to a monster grumbling:
"Heh, maybe after some doughnuts that is."