A/N: Haha! Midterms are through. I've celebrated with a chapter this week because next week, when the tests come back, I probably won't be in the mood to celebrate.
ReadingWhiz89: --sigh--. I'm still stricken with the deadly plot bunnies plague. At this point, the prognosis is weak; I can only cross my fingers and hope for the best. Thanks for your review.
Sinically Disturbed: Pssh. I'll go over to your house and warp your Roger Rabbit DVD. See how you like it. P.S. I stll haven't gotten over the fact that Tim Burton directed a happy, stupid, fluffy, love-at-first sight movie. His reputation will never recover. I'm so disappointed.
Peridot3783: Wow. Thanks for the review. I'm still hunting for a plot...they're elusive though. It looks like I might just do what you suggested: a series of unconnected vignettes. Hope you enjoy this chapter :)
Celesma: Yes! I've finally graduated from fourth-grade humor! I needed some way to get my "writing ya-yas" out...Thanks for your review. P.S. This chapter is overloaded with Vash's clumsiness. ;)
Ajd262: Haha, thanks! Your review was great. Gave me incentive to write Chapter three. And guess what...I'm still suffering from those darned plot bunnies. Hmm...seems like your plan worked :p
Inkydoo: Lol. I'm glad you picked up on that! I don't think many people did...Thanks for reviewing.
Lady Dark Angel: Here you are! More silly Vash and Meryl plotless fluff. Will a storyline ever appear? Nobody knows...
Daimon080: Thanks! That was one of the greatest reviews I've had. I hope you enjoy this chapter :)
Zeon of the Twilight Blade: I've gotta say, you left the most interesting review I've ever read---I just about died laughing. I finished this chapter as quickly as possible so as to avoid undue Thomas trampling. P.S. Just to give Knives a heads-up...I'm a fanfiction writer too...better watch your back. P.P.S. I have never in my life written fluff before Hunting Mayflies and, shockingly, I'm not a big fan of either fluff or romance. That's almost as rare as a male fanfiction author ;) P.P.P.S. Is it just me, or are the P.S.s longer than the review?
Igbogal: You leave the best reviews ever...I'm thinking about nominating you or something. Seriously, thanks for the review--made me feel special :p.
Pottachu: Thanks! This is the first fluff I've written. I didn't expect anyone to like it. Hope you enjoy this chapter.
Hunting Mayflies
By: The Hellcat
Click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click.
Vash was bored. He clutched a pen in his right hand, clicking it open and closed absently.
Click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click.
His aqua eyes wandered to the window. Behind the fluttering muslin curtains, a truck rattled past, leaving behind a cloud of red dust that hung in the still air.
Click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click.
The sound of the pen clicking echoed in the open house, joining with the twitter of birds at the windowsill and the staccato clacking of Meryl's typewriter to form a sort of symphony.
Click-click-click-click-cli—
The sound of a gun being cocked broke the monotony of Vash's daydreams. He brought his eyes slowly, hesitantly, away from the windowpane and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. A derringer, to be precise.
Meryl ran a hand through her short, ebon hair frustratedly, holding the derringer level with Vash chest. "Drop. The damn. Pen."
Wordlessly, Vash opened his hand. The pen fell to the table, rolled off and dropped onto the floor with a clatter.
Meryl re-holstered the derringer with a glare that clearly read "talk to me and I will shoot you." Unfortunately, Vash was never good at reading expressions.
"Sheesh. Somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed today."
"Vash," Meryl forced out through gritted teeth.
"You've been cranky all week."
"Vash!" She said, sharper this time.
"What's the matter? Is it your time of the mon—"
"VASH!"
The outlaw lapsed into a stricken silence. Meryl ripped her weekly report from the typewriter, slid a pen from behind her ear, and signed "Meryl E. Stryfe" with short, furious gestures.
"I'm not in the mood today," she said shortly, by way of explanation.
"I can't help it, Meryl!" Vash whined. "I'm bored."
"Go get a job! Run some errands! Do something—I don't know—productive." She sealed the letter and looked up at him. "Do not sit in front of the kitchen window and click a ballpoint pen for—" she checked her watch "—two and a half hours."
"I wanna go outside and play!" Vash cried.
"You're a liability. I can't allow that."
Vash crossed his arms huffily, staring fixedly at the table. "I'm 130," he groused, "you'd think I'd be old enough to go out alone."
"Yes," Meryl replied acidly. "You're 130 years old. When are you going to learn to grow up?"
"Can we please, please, please do something today?" Vash begged. "Please?"
"Vash, I don't know if that's a good—"
"Come on! I'll be good. I promise."
Meryl glanced warily at the tottering stack of paperwork to be filled out. "Vash," she began.
"How about shopping? Let's go grocery shopping. Please?"
Meryl bit her lip, remembering the painfully empty cupboards. She did need to get some groceries. And she couldn't leave Vash alone in the house—she shuddered as she thought about what mischief he might cause. Besides—what harm could he do? She would be right next to him, keeping an eye on him. It'd be nice to have a break from documentation for once...
"Okay," she agreed slowly, against her better judgement.
Vash blinked at her. "What?"
"I said 'okay'. You should listen once in awhile."
Vash looked at her with wide-eyed, little-boy wonder. "I didn't think you'd actually agree."
"Yeah, well, I'm beginning to have second thoughts," the short insurance girl replied tartly.
"N-no," Vash scrambled to his feet, accidentally knocking over the kitchen chair. "Don't change your mind. It'll be fun." He righted the chair and flashed her a cheery smile.
Aisle One: breads and canned goods
Twenty minutes later, Meryl found that her doubts had been justified. The moment they stepped inside the stuffy, overheated grocery store, Vash had been overcome with boyish enthusiasm. He needed to touch everything, look at everything, examine every detail.
"Ooh, what's that?"
"It's a muffin, Vash."
"Can I have it?"
Meryl sighed. "No, Vash."
Vash opened his mouth to complain, then shut it again as his eyes wandered over a pyramid of canned beans. "Wow, this looks great. Let's get some."
Meryl had hardly opened her mouth to say "okay", when Vash grabbed an armful of cans from the bottom row of the pyramid. The entire display groaned, lurching forward. With a crash, the tower collapsed, cans rebounding and rolling over the shiny white linoleum. Meryl dragged Vash into the next aisle, clamping one hand over his mouth.
"What are you doing!" She hissed, hazarding a glance over her shoulder. The intercom spluttered to life.
"Cleanup in aisle four. Cleanup in aisle four." A handful of employees in red aprons rushed over the scene, shoes squeaking against the polished floors.
Vash pried her hand away from his mouth. "I was just trying to get some canned beans," he whispered back, staring earnestly down at her. She was a full two feet shorter than him, and he wondered briefly how such a small woman could be so...intimidating.
"That's it," she said. "Don't touch anything. Don't look at anything. Don't–don't even breathe on anything. When we get home..." She shook her head, leaving the sentence open.
"When we get home, what?" Vash picked up, winking suggestively.
Meryl rapped him upside the head. "I'm going to kill you and collect the bounty myself."
Vash laughed uneasily. "That was funny. Good—good joke." He paused. "You were joking, right, Meryl?" Meryl gave him one last scathing look before stalking away. Vash stood, riveted to the spot for a moment. Then he collected himself and hurried after her. "Right, Meryl? Meryl?"
Aisle Seven: Dairy products.
"Mm, milk. Can we get some milk?"
"We've got milk."
"Yeah, old milk."
Meryl twisted around, glaring at Vash. "I got it two days ago. It's fine."
Vash sighed like she was being impractical. "Do we need eggs?"
Meryl hesitated. "Go ahead and grab some," she said finally, moving on to examine the cheeses. She had just turned her back on him when she heard a loud, distinct CRA-ACK. Meryl froze. Slowly, slowly, she turned to look at Vash. He was cradling a carton of eggs in his hand—an empty carton of eggs. A dozen splattered yolks lay scattered around his feet. Vash looked up at Meryl, cringing.
"Vash!"
"It's no big deal, Meryl. They only cost...ten double dollars."
"Ten double dollars!"
Vash fidgeted uncomfortably. "Sorry..."
"That's it. We're leaving."
"No! I'm done! I won't touch anything." He looked at her seriously. "Anything."
Meryl snatched the empty egg carton from him and tossed it into the cart. "You better not," she growled.
"Hey—what if I push the cart? Then I wouldn't have to touch anything."
Meryl looked down at the cart. It seemed like a good idea..."All right," she agreed at length, relinquishing the cart. "But be careful."
No sooner had the words left her mouth when Vash was running down the aisle. "Look!" He cried gleefully, glancing over his shoulder. "No hands!"
"Vash! Watch—rack—look out!" Meryl stammered. There was a thunderous crash as Vash ran headlong into a rack of juice kegs. The rack overturned with a metallic clang, sending juice cartons skittering across the floor. The cart was on its side, wheels spinning, groceries spilling onto the ground. The outlaw sat up, nursing a bruised elbow. He bit his lip, wincing as he took in Meryl's expression.
"Oops."
Aisle Two: Frozen entrees, ice cream, and beer.
Vash walked silently down the aisle behind Meryl (who had taken over pushing the cart), watching his reflection ripple past in the glass of the freezer doors. Behind the doors, he could see frost-covered cardboard boxes with instant meals and frozen entrees. Meryl paused here and there, checked her list against the food behind the doors, and moved on. Vash had shoved his hands into his pockets and was earnestly trying to follow Meryl's orderswhen a large, block-printed sign caught his eye: ICE CREAM.
"Meryl!" He cried excitedly, pressing his nose against the glass. "Look! Ice cream."
"What did I tell you about touching things?" Meryl chastised.
Vash ignored her. "Can we get some ice cream? Pretty please?"
"No; we don't need it."
He looked at her hopefully.
"No," she repeated firmly.
"Fine," Vash surrendered glumly. He followed Meryl's path down the frozen goods aisle dejectedly, shoulders slumped in defeat. Until another flashy label caught his eye. "Hey, look! Beer! Let's get some." He rushed over to the door and flung it open before Meryl recovered from her shock.
"NO!" She cried. She darted between the outlaw and the freezer, banging the door shut on his hand. "No! No beer—absolutely not."
"Ow! Why not?"
Meryl turned to face him, keeping her back against the freezer door. "Be-because."
Vash wiggled his fingers, trying to remove his hand from the freezer. "That's not a very good reason," he pouted.
Meryl snatched the collar of his red duster, yanking his head down to her level. "Because I said so." She said evenly, daring him to argue.
Vash opened his mouth to respond and was cut off by a passerby. "Hey, people—get a room. Sheesh."
Meryl, sandwiched between the freezer door and Vash, quickly released her hold on Vash's lapel, a look of mortification spreading over her features. She scrambled away from the gunman hurriedly, face flushing.
Vash hastily freed his hand from the freezer door, turning to face Meryl. "Um, well, I guess we should go."
"Yes!" Meryl agreed loudly. "We should." She scrunched a hand through her hair, cheeks glowing red. "Where did I put the shopping cart—Oh, there it is. Let's check out. Now."
Vash dropped a considerable distance behind the insurance girl, pulling the collar of his coat up to hide his face. He was certain of one thing: he would never, ever go grocery shopping again.
Next Chapter---
Problem: Meryl is late getting dinner started. Solution: Vash helps. Somehow, this doesn't seem like a good idea...
(Preview of Chapter Four: "This doesn't seem right, Vash. Are you sure you followed the directions?" Meryl poked uncertainly at the liquidy goop with a wooden spoon, trying not to gag on thefumes wafting off of it.
"Of course.Half acup of milk,two cupsof flour," he began reading off the cookbook, "a teaspoon of vanilla, a cup of water, sugar, butter, two eggs. I followed it to the letter." He glanced up. "Maybe the water wasstale."
"How could it be stale? You used thewater from the tap, right?"
Vash's eyebrows furrowed. "Nooo," he said slowly, "I used the bottle water. I thought it would taste better."
Meryl blanched. "Vash. We don't have bottled water."
"Sure we do." Vash picked up a glass bottle filled with viscous liquid to illustrate.
"Vash," Meryl cried, snatching the bottle away. "This is vinegar."
Vash blinked, uncomprehending. "Huh?"
"Vin-e-gar. You just poured a cup of vinegar in Milly'scake!"
Vashread the bottle's label, lips pursed.He glanced back up at Meryl's exasperated face. "I'm sure it'll tastefine...")