Chapter Text
Vash the Stampede is a walking disaster.
A vampiric one, at that. With a bounty on his head upwards of sixty billion double-dollars.
Vash often opted for the towns that were placed kilometres away from any big cities to minimise his chance of being targeted by whatever hunter had his bounty in mind that day. It seemed to him that there was a new one trying to stake his heart every other week. A couple followed him around from time to time, and he always spent his days travelling looking over his shoulder.
It’s not like there was any getting off this planet. Vash did his best to outrun the hunters anyway, and he did a good enough job at it. Based on how tonight, he was simply content with hiding out in a bar until he was cut off. Finally downing his third glass of alcohol for the night, he called over the bartender to make another order. The bar tonight was crowded, and dim enough that nobody could see his slightly pointed ears or inhumanly sharp teeth.
By the time the bartender finally returned with Vash’s fourth glass of mead for the night, another person had taken up refuge in the seat next to Vash. Wearing a typical garb associated with the Church of Michael. They ordered the cheapest whiskey possible and side-eyed Vash from behind polarised sunglasses.
Vash himself hadn’t taken a look at the person. He elected to keep quiet and his eyes forward. Or down, at his drink.
He almost got halfway through before the other person spoke: “What are you doing running around like that, Blondie?” The person’s voice was kept low, only audible to Vash over the volume of the other people and the card games being run in the corner of the bar. “Ain’t you heard of that high-priced vampire running around? You look a lot like him, y’know.”
Vash returned his comment with a low chuckle—particularly in response to the nickname—and after a sip of his drink, he replied with, “of course I’ve heard of him, who hasn’t?”
For someone running around with such a high bounty on his head, Vash really didn’t make an effort to change his appearance based on the rumours going around. Red coat, blond spikey hair, and an unmistakably prosthetic arm. A metal finger tapped against his glass while he examined the alcohol and the stranger in the reflection of the polished glass. From this angle, the silver cross dangling from his neck and shining in the flickering bar lights was all the more evidence that this guy was most definitely a hunter. No doubt here for Vash too. “You’d have to be living a lot further out to not have heard of him.”
The hunter nodded. “That is true. This town is pretty off the radars, however.” He paused to take a sip of his cheap whiskey, the smell of which was near burning Vash’s nose. “Good for anyone trying to escape their natures.”
While he wasn’t wrong, Vash thought it stupid to comment on any of it. He was searching for something that would make it easy to excuse a stake through Vash’s heart.
“I suppose you’re not that kind of person anyway.” He commented, turning to Vash to get a better look at the man. Eyes narrowing, raking over his features. From the hair to the glasses, the golden piercing sitting at the center of his bottom lip, and down to the prosthetic arm, holding the glass in between metallic fingertips.
“So, Blondie.” There was that nickname again. “If you’re not a vampire, what are ya?”
Vash returned the other’s eye contact. Now he was able to get a better look at the man who was practically interrogating him. The man boasted the attire of a Church of Michael-trained hunter, all the way down to the cross decorum and the way he styled his coat.
“Uhh…” He began, returning his gaze back to the man’s eyes, barely visible behind the sunglasses. Why was he even wearing them inside, anyway? It was night too. There was no reason. “...Human?” was the best answer Vash could think off.
The hunter barked out a laugh, a sound that thankfully didn’t make it over the cheering on of some betters over in the corner over there. “Well, of course I know that. What’s your name, I mean?” The hunter held out his hand and introduced himself; “I’m Nicholas D. Wolfwood.”
Vash returned Wolfwood’s handshake with his organic hand with a smile. It wasn’t one of those genuine smiles, Vash wasn’t exactly sure how to make himself smile more genuinely.
“Vash.” was the answer he gave after a short handshake. He didn’t need to add ‘the Stampede’ to his name. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he continued after retracting his hand.
Wolfwood tipped the last few millilitres of whiskey down his throat, placing the glass back down on the bar. “Nice to meet you, Vash. Whatcha doin’ out here, anyways? This town isn’t really a place for travellers.” He really tried to ignore the name.
“What makes you think I’m a traveller?” The blond raised an eyebrow, glancing at Wolfwood for a second.
Wolfwood, in turn, shrugged. The best word possible. He was leaning his elbows back on the bar when he called the bartender over for a refill. “You look it. In my line, you learn to pick out the locals from the passers-by.” He swirled the whiskey around in the glass when he received his refill, taking a drink while he waited for Vash’s reply. He caught himself overthinking that smile Vash gave him. It was one of those smiles where you can almost smell the empty nature of it—it was a front for ugly emotions that Wolfwood was all too familiar with.
“That’s interesting,” was Blondie’s response, then he was hopping off the bar stool and stretching his organic arm for a few seconds. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat but I’m afraid I’ve got to get going. It’s getting late ‘n’ all.” Vash nudged his head toward a window where the moonlight was streaming in through the panes, cut out by the horrible yellow lighting of the bar. “Don’t wanna be out here too late.”
The bartender slid his tab over the counter and Vash slid it back with a couple of double-dollar notes, assuming it would pay for everything and telling the bartender that any change could be considered his tip for their excellent service that night.
“Of course, have a safe trip home.” was the only response from the hunter.
Vash gave a nod and left the bar without any word, making haste towards the motel he was staying at for the next few days.
Wolfwood, however, thought over what his approach would be; fetching the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lighting one up. He takes a slow drag from the cigarette and directs his vision down. A sigh escaped his lips as he watched the smoke rise and dance in the shitty bar lighting and the reflection of the whiskey’s surface.
He’s got a long night ahead of him if he wants to figure out how to deal with this vampire in a sweet and simple way, and it started with figuring out what the hell Blondie was even doing in this town.