A/N: I'm back, and hopefully I've brought along something good. This one-shot is dedicated to marinmitgebrochenenherzen, who requested a fic about the portable confessional. I hope it meets her high standards! Of course, I am SO grateful to all my wonderful reviewers for all the unconditional positive regard and helpful suggestions. I dearly wish I could hug you all! Also, I apologize in advance for any and all grammatical and usage errors.
Warning! Warning! Warning! This story contains an implied female/female same-sex relationship. If you don't like that kind of innuendo, or are too young to read about that sort of thing, skip this story. There. Now no one can blame me for corrupting the innocent.
Disclaimer: Trigun and all characters mentioned below belong to Yashiro Nightow, and are not being used for profit.
In the city of May, two men walked together toward the bus station in the still gentle midmorning sunlight. The man dressed in black with a huge cross slung across his back ground his cigarette into the sandstone sidewalk. He turned to his companion in red and broke the unaccustomed silence.
"Somethin' eating you, Vash? You've been quiet all morning, and you just walked right past that donut shop without stopping. What's up?"
Vash waved his hand in the air dismissively. "It's nothing."
Wolfwood looked shocked. "Needle-Noggin! Lying to a priest? You should be ashamed of yourself." he said with a smirk.
Vash rubbed the back of his neck and looked uneasily at the ground. "It's just… it's a little embarrassing, is all."
They had reached the station. Wolfwood ushered his friend to a bench and sat down. The priest rummaged through his duffel as he spoke up again. "Well, if you're too shy… never fear, my friend! With just one use of the innovative, handy dandy Portable Confessional, your secrets are kept exclusively between you and our Savior himself. In an instant, you'll have freedom form your woes, guaranteed! Guarantee void in Inepril city." Hundreds of years ago, on a faraway planet, Nicholas Wolfwood's ancestors would have instantly recognized his chipper tone as that of late- night television ads that annoyingly urged them to buy indispensable gadgets that slice and dice and chop things into little tiny pieces and fold up to fit under the bed, for the low, low price of $19.95. Vash, however, just looked at the priest's cheesy grin and laughed.
"All right, I give in."
Wolfwood placed the tiny cardboard confessional over his penitent's head. "Now," he said solemnly, "What do you have to confess?"
Vash paused to consider the question, and then said, "I guess I had what you'd call, uh, impure thoughts."
The priest rubbed his chin. "Well, nobody's perfect – no matter how hard some of us strive to be." Wolfwood thought he saw Vash squirm slightly in his seat. "So, when did these thoughts start?"
Vash cleared his throat and reached back into his memory. "It all started last night…."
They had all had dinner together after they checked into a hotel. When everyone had finished, Milly and Meryl were strangely eager to return to their room. Wolfwood went out in search of cigarettes, leaving Vash to entertain himself at a local bar. His solitary festivities were cut short when the bar's owner discovered that Vash had promptly gone through all of his best bourbon, and for good measure, had also hit on his favorite niece while she was bartending. So it was that a slightly tipsy Humanoid Typhoon had been tossed out into the street at the very early hour of 10:00. Out of cash and with nothing better to do, he dusted himself off and wandered back to his hotel.
Feeling a little dizzy, Vash made his way down the hall to his room and rested his head against the doorframe. He was surprised to hear the sound of female voices from the other side of the door. What were women doing in his room? Intrigued, he leaned in closer, straining to hear.
A nervous voice drifted out the door. "I don't know, Milly…I mean, I've never done this before."
"There's nothing to be nervous about, Meryl. Trust me – when it's all over, you'll feel much more relaxed!"
Vash's eyes widened. The Insurance girls? This was their room…. what were they up to? His wonderings were interrupted by the chipper voice of Milly.
"Just take off your shirt and lie down…okay, ready?"
"Yeah, I – oh, that feels good! Mmmm…. You know Milly, we should have done this…ooooh… sooner."
"Mmm. Now, tell me if I'm too rough – sometimes I don't know my own strength!"
"You're doing great….that's the spot…. Ahhhh…."
The sounds of Meryl's contented sighs sparked many enticing ideas in Vash's bourbon soaked brain. So this was why the Insurance girls never went out on dates, why Meryl violently spurned men's advances. He had just never imagined that they were 'that kind' of girlfriends. Maybe he should open the door just a crack - just enough to see if they were in any danger, of course. There could be snipers around, or spooks, or….
"Milly, that tickles!"
"Hee hee! Sorry! Let's try – "
At that moment, the laws of physics governed Vash's eagerly listening form, and he fell, head first, into the room. Suddenly, there was the sound of a shriek and the sight of a very angry, towel clad Meryl standing over him, bottles of nail polish and emery boards scattered at her feet. Milly stood behind her, dressed in pajamas with cold cream all over her face. "Oh…hi Mr. Vash! Weren't you going to go to a bar? Well, if you want to join in on the fun, too bad – it's our girl's night in, so no boys allowed!" the tall girl said, wagging a finger at him playfully. "I can give you one of my famous massages later, though, if you want."
"NNN….No, that's okay…" Vash stammered. Backing away from an increasingly incensed Meryl was a priority now; if he didn't hurry –
"What do you think you're doing, you – you – PERVERT! " she yelled. As the short girl's fist came down on his head, he heard Milly's anxious plea.
"No, Meryl! You'll ruin your massage!"
"…and after that, everything went dark." said Vash, lifting the confessional from his head. "Meryl will never forgive me. It's been hours, and my head still hurts!"
"Well, you have the Lord's forgiveness," said the priest, chuckling. "It sounds like the whole thing was an honest mistake. Just tell Meryl that, apologize, and buy her a banana sundae every day for a week, and she'll surely forgive you." He put the tiny chapel away and stood, walking toward a coffee stand.
"And for the good Lord's sake, needle-noggin," he said over his shoulder, "Stop listening at doors!"