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Vash the Stampede

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Cold... [20 Aug 2003|09:00pm]
I get cold when he’s not around me. I feel so alone. I noticed several times, that when his body is not next to mine, I seem to freeze and my bones become chilled. It reminds me of first waking up from cold sleep on the ship…

The empty feeling inside.

The daze in front of me.

The pain engulfing my body as I try to move, try to live on…

Wolfwood…where are you? Where could you be? Why have you shunned yourself away? Do I scare you? Do I remind you of your master? Does the simple thought of my presence haunt your dreams at night to the extent of rejecting my companionship?

It took my entire heart to let you in, Wolfwood. I could have left you to cry alone in the desert that night so long ago. But I came back. Why the hell did I come back? I knew I would only hurt you.

I’m so weak. I can’t even push you away. I need your friendship, Nicholas D. Wolfwood, and I only hope that you need mine. I need you besides me, to teach me to be human. I don’t care. I don’t care about your past. I don’t care that you think you’re not human. I don’t want to mess up. Don’t let me mess up.


I want you to come back.

You’re hurting me.

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Stealing... [21 Jul 2003|02:06pm]
I remember that ruined city. I remember the endless piles of rubble and debris. I remember the blurred thoughts swimming inside my head. I remember the pain in my left arm. And I remember the pain in my heart.

It’s been so long. Too long. And yet, with the length of time that has floated in between the past and the present, the burning confusion and delirium that I had experienced that day still lingers.

And I know it was me.

The memory of that horrible light scorching my body, and my mind, engulfing me in its sinful radiance still dances around in my jumbled soul. With every waking moment, the all-consuming reminiscence of that day, 23 years ago, continues to taunt me, to fill my emotions with torment and undeniable darkness. I can’t turn my back on it, like I try so hard with the other tribulations that tug at my heels. I am reminded of that day every time I look up. I see not the Fifth Moon above, but that dreadful light that devours me each time I come in contact with him.


How dare you. How dare you taunt me the way you do. Do you take me for a fool? Do you seriously think that I cannot take care of myself? That I can’t live on my own without you or Rem besides me, watching over me?

Why must you press to prove yourself to me? You need not try and impress me with your evil and sick mannerism, brother. I can already sense the immorality dwelling deep within your mind, each time I look at myself.

You see, brother, as long as our blood runs the same, you are me, and I am you. As much as I abhor your ways of life, your ways of thinking, I cannot deny our bond that we share as plants, as brothers, as twins. With each person you hate, I feel that I have hated. With each person you kill, I feel that I have killed. In each action you take towards the human race, I am to blame. I am the reason why you scrounge this horrible planet with henchmen, with brainwashed humans, which you so vehemently despise. I am the reason why you are in such pain. I am the reason why you feel so alone.

I know what you are feeling, brother. For you are me, and I am you.

And I wonder if you can feel my pain? Can you feel the years of anguish bestowed upon my weary shoulders? Can you feel the burning sorrow inside my heart? Can you feel the mayhem that is my thoughts inside my head? Then why can’t you stop? Why can’t you stop the hatred? Stop your inane vow to steal what little happiness I have left, brother! Why? Because it’s already been stolen. And you can’t steal what you’ve already taken, Knives.

As soon as that ship exploded in the dark void that is space, my happiness, my life drifted off along with her soul. Everything that I had ever known followed her, to never return. I am forgetting everything she had taught me, and you are to blame. I will never forget the thief that you became that day, however. You stole everything about me. You stole her.

You stole her!

And every time your image burns into my mind, I begin to lose what little coherent thought I had left inside my head. Even as I write this, I veer off topic. I begin to ramble about nothing, but about everything.

But it’s funny, as I forget what I am about to write, I can’t seem to forget that day.

July 21st, 0108, 2:06 p.m. It is a blur to me, yet strangely, quite clear. I can still feel the pain in my left arm, and I can still feel the foreign sensation crawling across my right arm. I felt my mind slowly crossing over to the impiety that yours is already teeming with, and I watched in horror as I lost control of myself. I don’t know what you did then, brother, but God forbid you do it again. The next I recall is staggering through what once was a bustling city, brimming with hope and bliss that the planet is so cheated out of these days. And I stop, the wind whipping the tattered brown blanket I clutched to my worn body about, sending it across what probably was a very blank and vacant face I held that day. And I couldn’t see. I couldn’t see the little girl that stood before me.

But I sensed the emotions that she had at that moment, and could only recognize them as pain. I leaned down, drawing the child into my arm (I would like to pluralize that, but the reason why I didn’t is obvious) and held her. I just held her.

And now I wonder…who was comforting who? I had drawn her in because I knew she was crying. She was crying tears of lost memories once that city was destroyed. But why had she come to me? Why had she stepped into my welcoming embrace, the embrace of a total stranger?

She couldn’t see. She couldn’t see the man that stood before her. But she must have sensed the emotions that the man held at that moment, and could only recognize them as pain.

July 21st…you and I were born then, weren’t we, brother? And on that day, 23 years ago, I was hoping to find my only piece of Rem I had left.

And you did it again. You managed to steal her away from me indirectly this time. You stole his life. You stole what little hope I had left.

Happy birthday to you too, brother.

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Following Me Forever... [14 May 2003|01:05am]
I always think what it would be like if my friends were lost. If I could no longer see or hear them, if I could no longer hold them in my arms. When I was young, I couldn’t even fathom the thought of death, as the horrible reality that is life was being obscured behind Rem’s strong love and protection. I was blind, completely ignorant of the ways of life and death, and was only told gentle words of it like “he’s in the land of the angels” and not the truth that a person was lying six feet under being eaten by worms.

But who am I to say that there is no such thing as heaven?

I can only safely say that I’ve seen death, and have come close to it. And yet, I feel like I am dead at times. My senses are numb, and even though I shed tears and choke over the sight of casualties of a life, inside, I feel as if I have seen it all. Yet another dormant body lying at my feet covered in that all too familiar red substance. But don’t get me wrong. I respect all forms of life, and when someone, especially an innocent loses their life, I morn. And especially if I am to blame.

Deep down I know it’s my fault. It’s my fault people, my loved ones die. Even though my hands aren’t dirty, it’s still because of me. It’s because of my existence, because of that damn bounty on my head that people are involved with me, and that they lose their lives.

But then there are people like the insurance girls. The only reason why they came in contact with me in the first place was because of their obligation to their job. But I know better. That short haired one is not stupid. She is well aware of the dangers of being around me, and she has seen the horror that surrounds my life, and yet, she continues, she presses on to be by my side, and I know that it’s more than her duty of her job to stay with me. She has had many chances to back down, to resign from the assignment given to her, to follow me. And yet, she ignores the risks, and continues to follow me, and vows that she will always pursue me until the ends of the planet. The planet is round with no ends, short haired one…so I guess that means you’ll be following me forever.

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Enough to Fool Me... [25 Apr 2003|05:16pm]
He’s starting to make me worry. His one liner answers, his constant screaming silence. It hurts my ears, as we sit next to each other alone in the quiet desert. Only the sound of the wind howling on the horizon is heard, and only the sound of our light breathing plays in the air. I open my mouth to say something, possibly to break the tension between us, but it only comes out in a soft squeak, as my shoulders slump down and I retreat from speaking. I can feel his gray eyes glancing over to me as I stare down into the fire before us, the soft light dancing on our bodies, my hands gripping my kneepads and tugging on them nervously, as I tend to do in a silent situation. It’s unnerving.

And he speaks then, something irrelevant and nonchalant, forcing himself to appear normal, but I know better. And it’s surprising me, because it’s usually the other way around. I’m the silent one who’s hurting, and he’s the one who’s accusing me of a feign smile. I can only imagine what is eating away at him, what is bothering him to the point of silence. It’s really worrying me, because he’s the type to hold everything in, and when things are upsetting him, he always musters up what little acting skills he has, and makes it seem like he hasn’t a care in the world.

But it’s enough acting skills to fool me.

And then I remember, that I could read his mind, if I really wanted to. I could hear the pain, I could feel his thoughts. I am able to know everything in his mind, and yet, I refrain. Am I afraid of what he is afraid of? Do I really want to know what is troubling my friend, Nicholas D. Wolfwood? Do I dare probe his hushed psyche in search of what is causing his stilled dilemma? Do I want to know the truth…?

He assures me he is fine. But it’s not enough to fool me.

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The Stench of Death... [23 Apr 2003|11:06am]
Days have gone, time has past, and through all these years of searching and struggling, I still seem to be at square one. I am no closer into resolving my differences with my brother than I was about a hundred years ago. Things only seemed to get worse. Friends have died because of him…because of me, cities are destroyed because of him…and because of me; it seems wherever I go there is blood on my hands, and to simply wash it away is futile because I know the next day will just bring more. The smell of death follows me; it is soaked into my clothes, into my skin and into my soul. I can’t seem to make it disappear. It homes in on me and tags along for my rough journeys, always tapping me on the shoulder and reminding me of all the pain I have caused others. It won’t let me forget the friends I have lost, and with each day I grow more fearful of their lives, and I shun myself away in worry of their untimely harm. Is that what you’re doing…?

Wolfwood…where are you? Where the hell did you go? Maybe you’re wondering the same thing about me. Wolfwood, I’ve lost you, and yet you’re standing right next to me silently, like we are perfect strangers. I don’t know where my friend Nicholas has gone, and I miss him. Nick used to laugh with me and joke around. He used to be innocent, yet full of dark remorse. He was easy to read, yet he was hard to understand. He was warm and caring, but sometimes a little hostile, and well, just plain blunt. But now, all the laughing and banter has disappeared, and only sorrow and shame has seemed to slip into its place. I feel like I don’t know you, and it makes me wonder.

Are you afraid of me, Wolfwood? Are you afraid of what my brother might do to you if he were to learn of our friendship? Or are you afraid of the stench of death that surrounds us (or maybe just me) and scared that one of us might get harmed. I told you, of the consequences of our being friends, and yet that didn’t seem to bother you. But are you now getting a glimpse into the future, and seeing what dangers lay ahead? Is that why you are so damn distant and aloof?

Is that why I’m not doing anything to help us…?

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To Fall Asleep... [26 Mar 2003|01:58am]
I lie here in the sand underneath the stars in the desert, alone. I began to fall asleep, lulled by the steady chirp of the sand crickets that live in the desert, but thoughts and worries of certain things probed into my mind and snapped my senses back to reality. I had a few drinks, and after, I looked down at the empty glass and just felt…guilty. I never really liked to drink alone. Am I that desperate for escape?

And now I’m lying on my stomach in my sleeping bag, writing this. It’s really cold, and I wonder how a hot desert during the day could be so bitter at night. My small fire burnt out hours ago, and I’m too lazy to build another one since I’ll be asleep here in no time…hopefully. And I try to think of things that will help bring me to the slumber land that I so long for right now. Counting Thomases? I stopped trying that when I found that reaching eight hundred and seventy six Thomases didn’t make me fall asleep any time soon.

I tried daydreaming, but that seemed to only make things worse. It just makes me muse of the things I have lost in the past, and will probably lose in the future. It makes me think of how events will take place, and how they will end. And they make me think of Rem, and Knives. It’s just as bad as dreaming for real.

And then I’ve tried clearing my mind of all complete thought. I would lie there, assuming my mind was blank, but then I would catch myself thinking “Alright! It’s working! Aw…dammit!” and would just screw up my mind-clearing-to-fall-asleep plan. I really don’t believe it is possible to clear one’s mind of all complete thought. I’ve tried so hard, in meditating diligently every morning (I quit after three seconds…), but I just find myself thinking ever so quietly in the back of my mind. It’s really frustrating. I think the only way I could ever clear my mind is if I cracked my head against a wall and lie unconscious for several hours barely breathing which will restrict air flow to my brain and heart and cause my body and mind to slow down in all feelings and thoughts. Is it pathetic to say that I’ve tried? This bruise on my forehead ain’t from playin’ soccer with twelve year olds you know…

Then there is the all powerful bourbon. I find that it helps sometimes, depending on the environment I’m in. If I’m with others at a bar or party, then I find that I feel more alert and awake. But if I’m alone or with someone like Wolfwood (not saying he’s boring or anything) I just tend to quickly nod off. I guess whiskey can make me a bit sleepy once my body begins to relax and the alcohol begins to intoxicate my body and senses. But then there are always the dreaded side effects of drinking. Hang overs. Can’t stand ‘em. And they almost make drinking not worth it. Besides, I find that I have to pee more frequently during the night than any other method of trying to fall asleep so basically it’s not worth it.

When I was younger and had trouble falling asleep, the presence of another would be helpful. Even if they’re just there on the other side of the room, just knowing that another being was in the room with me was enough. Rem used to hold me and sing to me while I fell asleep, and sometimes she would even sleep next to me all night. Her tender touch and warmth instantly knocked me out, and I just melted into her loving arms…

And thinking of this brings me to another method. Crying myself to sleep. It works, but I hate waking up on a soggy pillow each morning, and I wonder if it’s from tears, from the shower I had the night before, or from…drool. And my eyes sting the next day, and I start to look my real age. It also brings about some eerie dreams. The short haired insurance girl once said to me “You’re the easily deceived type who sleeps on a tear-soaked pillow.” Geez, am I that easy to read?

Then the last is…praying. I tried to pray once, but it felt kind of awkward. I found myself pleading to the Lord and just basically begging for things that could not be possible. But I tried to limit my pleading and focused on the blessings of others, and eventually I just prayed myself to sleep. But I don’t feel too comfortable doing that, since I’m unsure of my standing with religion. But at least it worked, and I wonder if God put me to sleep because He was tired of hearing my meek beseeching. I wouldn’t have been all that surprised.

maybe the more I write, Ill get bored and fall asleep. Im starting to feel a little groggy already and I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open and having trouble writing properly. it makes me think of this little girl I saw on a bench in a city. she was sitting up on the bench and kept on nodding off and she would start to fall to the side and would catch herself and would quickly sit back up again. it was cute and i cant think of anything more to write im tired

i think this is a good way to fall asle

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Right or Wrong... [24 Mar 2003|07:52pm]
She told me that people have many different ways of thinking. That everyone has their own thoughts and their own out look on everything. She told me that one man’s opinion cannot justify or triumph over another’s, and that everyone deserves to speak their mind securely, without having another accuse them of immorality. But, when one thinks about it, it’s just a big contradiction.

What defines what is right or what is wrong? It’s all what one perceives these things to be in their own mind. There is no border between the two, because what one may find wrong, the other may find right. And if every man’s opinion is valid, then there really is no such thing as right or wrong. If some one does something against another man’s opinion on what is right, and the man states that he is wrong, then he is not respecting the other man’s views on his own righteousness.

A man kills another. Is he right? Is he wrong? What if he strongly believes in his heart that what he did was correct? Then he, theoretically speaking, is right. No one man can change another’s opinion so easily.

“I’m not wrong about this” is what Knives used to tell me. He used to press that into my mind with his as he went against my beliefs and killed the people I loved. Am I in any position to indict him of decadence? Can I really say to him that he was wrong when he with all his heart believes the opposite? I feel so helpless when it comes to something like this. I don’t know where the border between the two is, and am afraid that the things I’m doing are wrong, without the knowledge of it. And it seems that, in this time of our planet, that killing is right. People do it so damn casually, that it seems that it’s just a part of everyday activity. Do the citizens of this planet truly believe that murdering another human being is right? Do they believe that there is no injustice of taking another’s life? I hear of it, I see it so often that it seems that way. And it makes me think that my effort of trying to save every flame of life is futile.

Someone used to say that “right and wrong are just words. When you do things right…people won’t be sure you’ve done anything at all.” And I wonder if Rem can see the right that I’m trying to do.

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Cute in an Apron... [19 Mar 2003|08:49pm]
I took up a part time job severing customers in a café in the town of April to earn some extra double dollars. I was returning an old favor for my friend Max in New Oregon who had once bailed me out of some trouble I managed to get myself into. His relatives own the café and were in a bit of a fix lately, since one of their sons, who was a waiter there, was thrown in jail over a skirmish with one of the local punks. It was the café’s gannual coffee drinking contest, or, as one of the daughters so bluntly put it, “sip-‘till-ya-piss” contest, so they needed some extra help. And I live for helping those who are in need.

But I know nothing about coffee, or being a waiter.

I think I ended up spilling more coffees, lattés and mochas than people drank today. And it was odd, one of the daughters kept giggling at me and smiling at me, it was almost uncomfortable. And it makes me stop and think…

How come when I try so hard to get a girl, they end up literally slapping me in the face, yet when I don’t even try, they are like magnets and just home in on my clumsiness and goofiness? It’s as if me being a big, clueless goofball is a complete turn on for some women! And yet, when I try and be all suave and romantic, I get slapped.

Women are weird!

I was always told that the ladies love to be swooned, that they love a gentleman, and that they love to be sweet talked to. But when I try these things, their hand meets my face and the next thing I know I’m watching them walk away with a giant burning, red handprint on my cheek.

Now there’s no doubt that women don’t like a gentleman to kiss their hand and bring them flowers once in a while, but could it be that more ladies enjoy the purity and innocence of young boys that burn in our adult hearts more than anything? I’m not talking about stuffing worms in someone’s hair or melting army men with a magnifying glass. Could it be that natural playfulness and a little lightheartedness secretly draws people into another? Could simplicity and maybe a little ignorance lure a woman into one’s life?

Maybe I’m over analyzing this. Maybe her smiles and giggles were just her subtle way of saying “Stop screwing up, you jerk!”

But she did say I looked cute in an apron.

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One Coat, One Friend... [18 Mar 2003|02:16am]
Can’t sleep again, even though I’m dead tired. Once my head hits the pillow, I’m out, sure. But it only takes several minutes for that damn dream to kick in. I don’t know what’s wrong. And I find that during the day, I’ll be wide awake, and all the sudden I’m watching it. Like I fell asleep. It’s like a trance. My mind will just slip into a light slumber almost, and I’ll be watching myself running through the trees and gawking at my decaying friends during the middle of the day. Then a certain noise or a tap on the shoulder will wake me up and I’ll be back to reality once again. It happened several times with the Insurance girls. One minute I’m taking a verbal beating from the short haired one, the next I’m watching Rem smiling at me. I then feel someone shake my shoulder and I blink and am staring at the two Insurance girls’ bewildered faces. It’s really quite annoying.

I met up with Wolfwood tonight. He was sitting on a bench in this weird town where everyone seems to be up at night and sleep during the day. I sauntered up to him and he stood up in a daze. He looked so lost, so confused. And he claimed that he had no idea how he got there, when he got there or where he was. The next thing I knew we were kicking dirt at each other and we were fighting over each other’s clothes to not get them dirty. He claimed that it was his “good suit”, and when I claimed that it was my “good coat” he pointed out that I only had one.

I only have one because I only need one.

He then, so stupidly, yelled at me by my name and the townsfolk turned to look at me. The next thing we know those burly men from the bar a while back are surrounding us with guns aimed at us! How the heck did they manage to track us down!? We ended up running for our lives once again. I could hardly keep up, though because I’ve been so tired, and Wolfwood grabbed me by the arm and was practically dragging me along. But then we began to bicker with each other about his jacket that he accidentally left behind after he wounded so many people to get us away from them. I’m not sure what happened then. I felt myself starting to head back to the bench that we were at, and he was protesting against it, saying that I was crazy and that the bounty hunters would get me. He even fired his guns off at me to try and stop me. It was just a jacket, I know, but there was something more to it than that. I felt that I needed to retrieve it for him to show him that I would do anything for him. I would risk being killed by bounty hunters just to get his “good jacket” if it would mean his happiness. And he continued in trying to stop be from heading back, by firing bullets at me. He told me that he “could kill me” because I wasn’t listening. And I, so stupidly replied, “I know you could! Isn’t that what you were hired for anyway!?” He fired off another bullet that just barely whizzed by my face, and called me a “fucking bastard”. I don’t know what hurt more. The words he called me, or my own that I said to him. I then told him that it was true. And that the only reason why he ever followed me and befriended me in the first place was to follow out with Knives’ orders.

He agreed, and walked away.

He…walked away…from the truth.

I try to forget it. I try to dumb it down inside my mind, to hide it away with so many other memories that haunt me, but it never fails to surface at times. It is true, that the only reason why I became friends with Nicholas D. Wolfwood in the first place was because he was ordered by my brother to follow me. To befriend me. To bring me back to him, or kill me. It wasn’t just fate that brought us together, it was my brother. My brother used Wolfwood to his own advantage. He ordered him to be my friend. It wasn’t his choice to meet me and make friends with me at all. It wasn’t his soul choice. It was against his will.

But it wasn’t against his will to continue to be my friend.

He came back, as I lie on the bench, holding his jacket against my face. I couldn’t help but cry, the words that I said to him echoing in my head. And I sat up when he approached me once more and offered his tear-soaked jacket back to him. He told me to keep it, because he had others.


He had other jackets to keep him warm, I said to him. He had other jackets to make him feel safe, I said. There will be others, he told me. There will be others, and he could just replace them.

I only have one coat. I hold it dear to my heart. It means the world to me. It means everything that I live for, everything that I hope for. I wouldn’t be able to replace it with any other, nor would I want to.

He then told me that it was just a jacket, and that he could replace it. But “friends are treasures that you have to protect with your life... because you can't replace theirs...”

I only have one friend. I hold him dear to my heart. He means the world to me. He means everything that I live for, everything that I hope for. I wouldn’t be able to replace him with any other, nor would I want to.

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Those Insurance Girls... [13 Mar 2003|03:37pm]
I thought that maybe for the time being, I was free. I was unbound from their prying eyes, their probing questions…But no, it never fails…

Those darn insurance girls found me again!

It bothers me that they automatically accuse me of things that happen, even if I was a thousand iles away from them! Do all fingers instinctively point to me when something bad occurs? If a bank is robbed, I’m to blame. If a woman is murdered, I’m to blame. If a child loses its pacifier, I’m to blame! What would I do with a pacifier!?

I hate being the scapegoat of this planet.

I wish that I could just have a world-wide radio transmission and just confess and spill my entire life to the people of this world. I wish I could just explain that it’s all Knives’ fault, that I am not the one to blame. I want to tell everyone who I really am. That I’m not human, that I was the very first person to set foot on this planet. I want to tell them all about Earth, and their ancestors that I watched over in the Project Seeds ship while they slept in suspended animation up in space. But maybe just changing my name and appearance would be easier.

Those girls…they’re so pesky. At first, I tried to be as annoyingly rude and offensive as I could possibly muster up in hopes of discouraging them that I was the real Vash the Stampede and in hopes that I would draw them away. But the short haired one is so stubborn, and the big one is so seemingly blissfully unaware of her surroundings, that it had the opposite effect on them both. Eventually they found out that I truly was Vash the Stampede (which actually seemed to crush the short haired one. I’m not sure why) and so they were forced to follow me twenty four hours a day…Do you know how hard it is to pee with two women standing outside the door waiting for you??

But I can’t help but enjoy their presence, however. I now find entertainment in pissing the short haired one off. I can’t help but enjoy her exasperated facial expressions and her endless sighs towards my behavior. And I can see through her, and I can tell that my bantering attitude and character no longer truly bothers her. We play off each other, as I tease and aggravate her, and as she berates and scolds me back. There is a twinge of amusement held in her eyes, and I know this is true because she continues to follow me. If I, in fact, infuriated her like how she reacts, then her sense of duty for her job would only go so far. She would eventually find it pointless in conversing and interacting with me, and would keep a safe distance away and only be there when I screw things up to cur the damages. At first it was like that, but I find now that we travel together and eat together and do things that friends would. If I truly annoyed her, she wouldn’t take the time of day to try to befriend me, like she and the big one have.

And the big one. She is too ditzy and endearing and ignorant to even slightly be triumphant in frustrating her like I can with her partner. She’s a joy, and I take pleasure in talking with her and being around her as well. She’s so good. Maybe I can learn a few things from her purity and clarity. But she isn’t as dumb as I first thought her to be. In fact, she’s even wittier and sharper than her Sempai. She doesn’t let much past her, although it seems like everything just flies over her head, and she calls things as she sees it. She’s both devious and frank.

So today as I was wandering the streets of a town, minding my own business, as it always seems to start off as, I hear the big one exclaim in her high pitched, charming voice “Oh! Vash-san!” And before I knew it she was hitting me up to buy her something “yummy” to eat. Every time I’m around those two, my wallet always seems to go bare! If I wouldn’t know any better, I’d say I spoil them.

I ended up buying them both lunch at a small restaurant despite the short haired girl’s modest and reserved refusal to allow me to do so. I don’t really mind. Money isn’t a big issue with me, so I guess I ended up spoiling them once again. It was nice. And it helped me get my mind of some things.

And as witty and sharp as she is, the big insurance girl pointed out, that I looked very tired and wouldn’t listen to me when I tried to deny it.

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