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    Summary

    "Shut. the Goddamn. Door." Vash's voice was a broken rasp, like the chamber of a revolver in need of grease. He was half-concealed in the shadowy corner between the dresser and the window, and his eyes were unusually bright, feral, flashing like an animal's in headlights.

    Wolfwood was taken a bit aback by the snarl on Vash's face, but he was taken several yards further by the realization that Vash had torn off most of his clothes the minute he got in his room. And then Wolfwood was yanked so far aback that he went clear though the door, out of the building, and around the planet to come right back to where he started: with a half-naked Vash the Stampede leaning against the dresser, breathing hard, with an egg in his hand. It took Wolfwood a very understandable second to find words.

    "Did. Did you just--"

    "Either stay and help," Vash gasped, "or leave, and lemme get on with it."

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