Fanfiction - Trigun - Baker's Dozen - G
Jul. 31st, 2006 09:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
urbanamazonTitle: Baker's Dozen
Fandom: Trigun (manga or anime)
Characters: Vash, Wolfwood, Meryl, and Milly
Rated: G
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1007
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, and this venture is made purely for entertainment, not profit. I don't even own the donut, either.
Written for the 'What's Your Filling?' Jelly Donut fanfic challenge.
It was a standoff. Wolfwood hid a rueful frown behind the hand holding his slowly dying cigarette and tried to ignore just how many times his association with this lot had brought about such situations. They all seemed to blur together, really... a settlement here, an actual city there, middle of nowhere in the morning, smack in the core of a caravan in the evening, blended by the constant was that same splash of dusty, bullet-tattered red in the corner of his vision.
Not to mention the smell of gunmetal on everyone in the crowd around them, and the itch of the neverending sand.
Guns hadn't been drawn yet, but that wasn't saying much. Careful to make no sudden moves, the priest considered his resources and his foes.
He had Vash to his right, as usual, and the legendary gunslinger looked like he was about to burst into tears from stress. He gazed beseechingly from face to face, and Wolfwood could hear the echoes of the usual 'love, peace, sharing, and understanding' speech brewing in those tormented eyes. He had his hands raised nonthreateningly, empty of weapons, but Wolfwood had seen those hands clear that heavy pistol from Vash's holster faster than an eye could normally follow, so he knew better than to discount Vash of anything, even shooting first if it came to that.
And then there was that knife in his shoe, too. Everyone tended to forget that one. Perhaps he would end up trying to take out the table as a distraction...
There was the little insurance girl to his left, Meryl, who was keeping one of the most admirable poker-faces Wolfwood had yet seen her create. He knew better than to underestimate her, too... or her accuracy with those derringers she kept hidden under her overcoat. Her arms were crossed, and for all Wolfwood knew, there could be a pair of those tiny guns hidden in her hands already. She did look distracted, though, with that nerve in her cheek starting to twitch at Vash's pre-blubbering.
That had been happening a lot more often as of late, Wolfwood noticed with an offhand amusement. Not a bad thing, since the usual role-and-duty speech had started to dwindle off, and Meryl no longer proclaimed her one-hundred-percent professional association with Vash the Stampede to all who witnessed the localized disaster.
Again, not a bad thing, but Wolfwood knew the bias wasn't going to help solve anything this time around.
That left Milly directly opposite Wolfwood, the only reason he hadn't tried making the first move. The girl might have been completely three-sheets-drunk before the even standoff began, but her own stungun had a rather... encompassing firing radius. So to speak. If he was a hair too slow, he'd be regretting it as soon as he woke up from the concussion, picking broken fragments of his sunglasses from his forehead.
And maybe he was a little biased, too. No, not just a little biased. He didn't want to see Milly come out of this hurt.
It was the worst possible moment to be ambushed. They'd been drinking, naturally, mid-celebration in the aftermath of another small disaster. Vash had saved the caravan chief's daughter from a Thomas driven insane through heat exhaustion, even though he'd ridden the manic beast through no less than four tents and a truck in the process. Vash had survived with no less than a cut on his head from when the Thomas had stood on him, to which he'd wailed like an infant, then stalwartly shrugged it off when the rescued young lady bandaged it with her own scarf.
Immediately, the beer and moonshine were demanded out, and ballads about how the legendary gunman had tamed the raving animal were spontaneously composed.
The Thomas, Wolfwood supposed, was not so much tamed as it was more likely concussed, and he'd seen it being led off to its pen with its eyes rolling in little swirling motions.
The meal was a small, meagre feast, less a banquet than just good wholesome sustenance instead of food bars. The beer was decent, too, well-brewed without a hint of sand or grit. Wolfwood had been enjoying the night all along with the others, for once, laughing and feeling the weariness of his journey ease, especially when the caravan offered them a humble dessert.
And now this. They were unprepared, most of them were drunk, his cross was over by the tent's doorflap, and the caravan itself was already low on supplies due to the previous mild disaster. No help from that front, no way to appease everyone and end this with a compromise. There was no backup, no plan... tears were starting to spout from Vash's eyes as he opened his mouth, tongue already curled for the L on 'love and peace', Meryl's twitch looked about ready to burst into an aneurisym, and Milly was scribbling furiously at something on her napkin.
He had a chance, an opening, he'd reach for the gun he kept as backup at the back of his jacket, cover himself and dart in-
Milly beat him to it, slamming both palms onto the table with a thundering smack, jostling the lone remaining jelly donut left on the plate and making everyone else at the table yelp and retreat with their napkins in hand, Wolfwood included. She glared, levelling her bleary eyes at all of them in turn like a judge in a pulpit. "Fin'lly gottit!"
Vash wibbled. Meryl looked startled at her partner's outburst. Wolfwood didn't even think about reaching for his gun.
Milly held up her napkin for all to see, and Wolfwood cautiously pulled his sunglasses down on his nose. It was scribbled almost to the point of illegibility with numbers, math signs, and what looked like the beginning of a letter to a half-dozen brothers and sisters of varying relative denominations. She then slapped it proundly on the table with inebriated authority and pride.
"Thirteen ish idevisibible by four!"
Fandom: Trigun (manga or anime)
Characters: Vash, Wolfwood, Meryl, and Milly
Rated: G
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1007
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, and this venture is made purely for entertainment, not profit. I don't even own the donut, either.
Written for the 'What's Your Filling?' Jelly Donut fanfic challenge.
It was a standoff. Wolfwood hid a rueful frown behind the hand holding his slowly dying cigarette and tried to ignore just how many times his association with this lot had brought about such situations. They all seemed to blur together, really... a settlement here, an actual city there, middle of nowhere in the morning, smack in the core of a caravan in the evening, blended by the constant was that same splash of dusty, bullet-tattered red in the corner of his vision.
Not to mention the smell of gunmetal on everyone in the crowd around them, and the itch of the neverending sand.
Guns hadn't been drawn yet, but that wasn't saying much. Careful to make no sudden moves, the priest considered his resources and his foes.
He had Vash to his right, as usual, and the legendary gunslinger looked like he was about to burst into tears from stress. He gazed beseechingly from face to face, and Wolfwood could hear the echoes of the usual 'love, peace, sharing, and understanding' speech brewing in those tormented eyes. He had his hands raised nonthreateningly, empty of weapons, but Wolfwood had seen those hands clear that heavy pistol from Vash's holster faster than an eye could normally follow, so he knew better than to discount Vash of anything, even shooting first if it came to that.
And then there was that knife in his shoe, too. Everyone tended to forget that one. Perhaps he would end up trying to take out the table as a distraction...
There was the little insurance girl to his left, Meryl, who was keeping one of the most admirable poker-faces Wolfwood had yet seen her create. He knew better than to underestimate her, too... or her accuracy with those derringers she kept hidden under her overcoat. Her arms were crossed, and for all Wolfwood knew, there could be a pair of those tiny guns hidden in her hands already. She did look distracted, though, with that nerve in her cheek starting to twitch at Vash's pre-blubbering.
That had been happening a lot more often as of late, Wolfwood noticed with an offhand amusement. Not a bad thing, since the usual role-and-duty speech had started to dwindle off, and Meryl no longer proclaimed her one-hundred-percent professional association with Vash the Stampede to all who witnessed the localized disaster.
Again, not a bad thing, but Wolfwood knew the bias wasn't going to help solve anything this time around.
That left Milly directly opposite Wolfwood, the only reason he hadn't tried making the first move. The girl might have been completely three-sheets-drunk before the even standoff began, but her own stungun had a rather... encompassing firing radius. So to speak. If he was a hair too slow, he'd be regretting it as soon as he woke up from the concussion, picking broken fragments of his sunglasses from his forehead.
And maybe he was a little biased, too. No, not just a little biased. He didn't want to see Milly come out of this hurt.
It was the worst possible moment to be ambushed. They'd been drinking, naturally, mid-celebration in the aftermath of another small disaster. Vash had saved the caravan chief's daughter from a Thomas driven insane through heat exhaustion, even though he'd ridden the manic beast through no less than four tents and a truck in the process. Vash had survived with no less than a cut on his head from when the Thomas had stood on him, to which he'd wailed like an infant, then stalwartly shrugged it off when the rescued young lady bandaged it with her own scarf.
Immediately, the beer and moonshine were demanded out, and ballads about how the legendary gunman had tamed the raving animal were spontaneously composed.
The Thomas, Wolfwood supposed, was not so much tamed as it was more likely concussed, and he'd seen it being led off to its pen with its eyes rolling in little swirling motions.
The meal was a small, meagre feast, less a banquet than just good wholesome sustenance instead of food bars. The beer was decent, too, well-brewed without a hint of sand or grit. Wolfwood had been enjoying the night all along with the others, for once, laughing and feeling the weariness of his journey ease, especially when the caravan offered them a humble dessert.
And now this. They were unprepared, most of them were drunk, his cross was over by the tent's doorflap, and the caravan itself was already low on supplies due to the previous mild disaster. No help from that front, no way to appease everyone and end this with a compromise. There was no backup, no plan... tears were starting to spout from Vash's eyes as he opened his mouth, tongue already curled for the L on 'love and peace', Meryl's twitch looked about ready to burst into an aneurisym, and Milly was scribbling furiously at something on her napkin.
He had a chance, an opening, he'd reach for the gun he kept as backup at the back of his jacket, cover himself and dart in-
Milly beat him to it, slamming both palms onto the table with a thundering smack, jostling the lone remaining jelly donut left on the plate and making everyone else at the table yelp and retreat with their napkins in hand, Wolfwood included. She glared, levelling her bleary eyes at all of them in turn like a judge in a pulpit. "Fin'lly gottit!"
Vash wibbled. Meryl looked startled at her partner's outburst. Wolfwood didn't even think about reaching for his gun.
Milly held up her napkin for all to see, and Wolfwood cautiously pulled his sunglasses down on his nose. It was scribbled almost to the point of illegibility with numbers, math signs, and what looked like the beginning of a letter to a half-dozen brothers and sisters of varying relative denominations. She then slapped it proundly on the table with inebriated authority and pride.
"Thirteen ish idevisibible by four!"
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-31 04:38 pm (UTC)"Thirteen ish idevisibible by four!"
*bursts out laughing*
God, this is brilliant. I love the tension. Even knowing that the twist has to be a jelly doughnut, it's still taut, powerfully characterized, and kept me wondering just how the doughnuts would come into it. And then, and then, the absolutely perfect closer.
Truly lovely. Thank you so much!
(I confess the somewhat dismissive twist on Vash's wibbliness tickles me.)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-31 07:16 pm (UTC)Vash/Meryl smut purdy, purdy, please? If you write it, I'll draw a picture to accompany it!