Chapter Text
Life on a desert planet is not without its hardships. Bandits, blistering heat, sandstorms, worms...and the one that no one seems to ever talk about: constipation.
It's one of those things that most people are going to have to deal with, especially when your planet is hot, and dry, with two suns to bake everything under them. When you spend a lot of time travelling, or running for your life, you are going to be chronically dehydrated, and constipation is going to happen.
And not mild, just need an extra few glasses of water, five more minutes in the bathroom, and a little grunting and straining. No, it's the white knuckle grip on the toilet seat, feet up on the wall for leverage, about to blow a vein constipation.
Meryl does her best to make sure she is sufficiently hydrated. It's a challenge when sometimes all they have are dry travel rations and when alcohol is the only safe thing to drink. As soon a she starts having issues, Meryl is breaking out the home remedies, which usually involves a bottle of castor oil.
Neither of the guys seem to care about the consequences of being dehydrated. She can keep pushing them to drink more, but they always wave off her efforts with a myriad of excuses. And when they finally arrive at their destination, Meryl knows that at least one of them is going to be having problems.
Meryl sees the scuffed boot prints on the wall in the bathroom of the hotel room they'd managed to book. She comes striding determinedly out of the bathroom, "Alright, which one of you is fecally challenged?"
Vash gives her a startled look.
Wolfwood wheezes a swear as he chokes on his cigarette smoke, not having expected the directness or the euphemism.
Roberto gives her an irritated glare and a grumble of "What the hell are you on about, Newbie?"
Meryl gestures back towards the bathroom door and answers, "There are scuff marks from somebody's shoes on the bathroom wall in front of the toilet! Which one of you is trying to shit rocks?"
"How do you know those weren't left by the previous occupants?" Roberto replies calmly.
"Because, they weren't there yesterday! I bet those are yours, Roberto! We've been on the road for three days, and all you've had to drink is booze. Everyone knows it's a diuretic!"
"It's not me." Roberto grumbles, fishing in his pocket for his cigarettes. Meryl glares at him suspiciously, before turning her gaze to the Undertaker.
"It ain't me, Shortie," Wolfwood rumbles around what little of his current cigarette is left, "I've been enhanced, remember? I don't get the dry butt brownies."
"Oh yeah? Well those scuff marks look a little narrow to me, like they could have been made by your fuggly 'slippers'!" Meryl counters.
"Maybe you're the one whose guts have a hostage situation going on," Wolfwood retorts, reaching for his pack of cigarettes on the nightstand, "You sure those aren't your footprints on the wall, and you're just trying to put the blame on one of us?" He gives her one of his irritating smirks, having successfully put the spotlight on her, and Meryl seriously considers slapping the cigarette box out of his hand.
"Can't be her," Roberto interjects. He grunts quietly in disappointment when he finds his carton and discovers it's empty, then continues, "Her little legs are too short!"
Wolfwood barks a laugh as Meryl makes an affronted sound. He shakes out two cigarettes from his pack and tosses one to Drunkle. The old man had earned it for the smart comeback.
"Yeah, you're right, Grandpa," he agrees as he places the new cigarette between his lips, "Her feet probably don't even reach the floor!"
"Well, Wolfwood," Meryl shoots back, annoyed at the joke about her height, "You were in the bathroom for a long time last night. What were you doing in there for forty five minutes?"
"Your mom," Wolfwood responds cooly around his cigarette as he buttfucks it off the old one and takes a long pull.
Vash - who has, so far, been flying under Meryl's radar by quietly minding his own damn business - chokes on a laugh, covering his mouth and making a loud snorting sound.
Wolfwood grinning wickedly, siezes the opportunity to divert Meryl's attention from himself. "How do you know Blondie over there ain't the one pucker plugged? I recall him complainin' about his stomach hurting the other day!"
"Well, I did get kicked in the gut by that Thomas," Vash says quickly as he falls under Meryl's scrutiny. Ducking his head as if embarrassed by the incident, he shoots Wolfwood a sour look for the betrayal. Wolfwood gives him a smug grin in return.
Vash isn't going to let Nicholas throw him under the bus without a fight. He lifts his shirt, exposing the large, ugly bruise as proof. He lets his hand lightly run over it before flinching and looking at Meryl with large, suspiciously wet eyes.
A single tear slides down his cheek as, to Meryl's eyes, he bravely tries to smile through the pain and whimpers, "It's still a little sore." A quiet sniffle and a wobbly smile add to the dramatic effect.
Meryl's expression instantly morphs to one of sympathy and concern.
Wolfwood almost bites through his cigarette. Oh, hell no! That little shit! Wolfwood narrows his eyes briefly at the blonde before casually drawling, "Hey, Spikey, you're a Plant, ain't ya?"
"Yeah..."
"Don't Plants need lots of water or they wither up and dry out?"
"I'm drought tolerant."
"You fucker-!"
"Alright, drop it!" Roberto quickly intervenes before things escalate and his acquired kids start fighting.
Meryl glares at all three of them, but allows the discussion to die. There is no point in arguing about it. Honestly, all three of them could be constipated at the same time, but neither one of them is ever going outright admit it.
But Meryl always ends up finding out who it is, no matter how good they think they are at hiding it.