drab·ble (drab´'l) n. : a story exactly 100 words long, excluding title

1. Mirror

It's not that I'm afraid of mirrors, I've just never seen much use for them. I had my brother.

His hair is lighter, eyes bluer, and he doesn't have that mole Meryl seems to find endearing, but everything else is identical.

And he's as cold as glass.

Now, anyway.

I should say was identical. One day I wandered away from him and Rem, exploring. I ran into Steve.

I screamed and screamed and sometimes I think the echoes in the silence hurt more than the blows themselves. He wasn't there, but it scarred us both.

We are not identical anymore.

2. Not a Hat

He barely glanced over, "Tongari, that isn't a hat."

"Thanks for the help, Wolfwood," was the partially growled response.

The priest gave the situation another, longer look. He pointedly did not laugh.

Wolfwood gestured vaguely, "How exactly?"

Vash's eyes flashed white. Yes, Wolfwood confirmed to himself, that was definitely a growl this time.

"I don't think you need to know that."

Nodding amicably, the dark haired man stepped onto the table, did not laugh, and tried to get a good grip. A growl of a different sort greeted him.

"Tongari! How did you get a cat stuck onto your head?"

3. Letters

She received a letter today. Her dark eyes lit with some emotion akin to sorrow as she saw it. The pain and love twisted the air around her, visibly hurtful. Because it was from him. Because it was from him, that emotion faded to fragile happiness.

She doesn't talk about him, but she reads, softly mouthing the words to bring him closer, with irritation and affection that transcends words.

It doesn't make any sense, after all this time.

But it doesn't have to. After all, he's always been different. Because he's Vash the Stampede.

And she won't ever forget him.

4. Car Trouble

The strangled screams of the injured car were not a pleasant sound to hear, Meryl noted with growing annoyance. Her expectant glower, burning into the back of the man currently doing his very best to exacerbate the situation, was doing little to make her feel better.

But at least it was inspiring the proper fear in him.

"Really," Vash tried to placate her nervously, "I'm good with machines."

If anything, her glare intensified at his statement. The car's piteous death knell did not abate.

With a shaky laugh, he finished whatever repairs he'd been attempting.

And then the car exploded.

5. Syntax

She found him lying with his back to the port, glittering sparks of stars streaming past endlessly, his eyes focused instead on the books spread before him. The scene was sweet in a way the crew didn't seem to understand, and a fond smile touched her mouth as she studied his silent intensity.

He looked up before she could speak, floppy hair shading aqua eyes that blinked curiously at her presence, "Rem Sa-ver-em. Latin meaning: I should protect this thing."

Kneeling on the deck before him, her soft smile dimmed his confusion as she whispered, "You aren't a thing, Vash."

6. Every Day

Eyes studying the bar room floor, hands fumbling for pockets that his jumpsuit did not have, Knives mumbled an apology.

Vash nearly dropped his beer as his jaw hit the floor. Staring, fingers unmindful of the foam that had sloshed onto them, he stuttered a response, "Y-you're what?!?"

Ice colored eyes unusually soft, his brother repeated, "I'm sorry. For, you know, trying to destroy all humanity, and killing Rem, and making you suffer so much. You know," he shrugged, "I'm sorry."

Vash blinked, "Really?"

"No!" he crowed maniacally before dissolving into psychotic laughter.

Vash sighed, "He does this every day."