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To eat was to live, that much was simple. If only eating and living were simpler things to do. It had been many years since either of them were easier tasks for Vash. He wasn’t quite set on whether or not he enjoyed living, but one thing was certain- he hated to eat. As a Ghoul, he could appreciate the fact that humans had it easy when it came to food. There was so much of it, different food groups, flavours, and recipes. A whole world full of cultures that could be savoured on a plate. Ghouls had only one option available to them, human flesh. Sure, they could drink coffee and alcohol, but what sort of a meal was that? Humans had a world of choices. They could choose to cut out dairy, meat, carbs, anything. Ghouls were not so lucky. Their diets could not be altered. They could not expand their horizons beyond the single thing they had. They could not be human.
Vash did not enjoy eating. Not because it didn’t feel good or he didn’t enjoy the taste of flesh, but because he hated to kill. Even though he had a workaround, eating only those who had willingly taken their lives… Death still didn’t sit right with Vash. Death had sustained him for 30 years, it was the thing that kept him alive, and he hated it. He couldn’t stand the thought of killing, but the idea that he was only alive because of people so unhappy that they would rather end their lives than push on… It was hard. It was harder because he was a Ghoul with that sentiment. Others of his kind… they killed and they did it easily. They were able to separate humans as an ‘other’, label them as food. Vash had never been able to do that, he didn’t want to do that.
Because of the hard time Vash had eating, he didn’t do it as often as he should’ve. He ate small portions with large stretches of time in between them and he was weaker for it. His body, which as a Ghoul should’ve healed deadly wounds quickly with no blemishes to show for it, was covered in scars. Even his left arm, which he had replaced with a special prosthetic made from a part of his own kakuhou, had failed to regenerate after he lost it to his brother in a fight. He was strange for a Ghoul, beyond strange and beyond help.
More than that, Vash was hungry.
It was dangerous to push his hunger so far, he knew it, but he was always able to control it. It would never take over his senses. Vash knew he would never kill for his hunger. While the dead body of an adult human could hold over a Ghoul for a month, Vash had once eaten on a singular corpse for nearly four months before. It had been too much and Vash would never make himself go that long without eating again, but he did manage to find a time frame that worked for him. One body, one entire body, could last him two and a half months. That made five bodies within a year.
Vash was nearing his two and a half month mark and he was hungry. Hungrier than normal, at least. Vash was always hungry. Hunger lived inside him, living on a low volume. It was never fully satiated, only curbed. He often chugged cans of coffee just to feel something in his stomach. At the end of his eating period Vash was his hungriest. He grew antsy and was irritated easily. He didn’t want to, but he had to eat.
There were spots Vash could visit to find food. Places where people congregated to end their lives far away in hopes they would not be saved or found too soon. The ‘best’ of these places (if that word could even be used when talking about places to kill yourself), was a valley under a high, winding road. The road was narrow and dangerous to drive in bad weather or at high speeds, but it was still fairly busy. Some people ended their lives by walking the road until a car came too fast around a bend and plowed them down. Others chose to walk until its highest point, hop over the dull guardrail, and walk over the high edge of the cliff- not stopping until they died upon impact at the valley below.
The valley had never left Vash hungry. Once or twice he had even managed to bring back two bodies in one night from it. It wasn’t a well known spot in the night, and Vash had very seldom been interrupted there. Except… for the night he met the odd priest.
Vash knelt over the body of a young man, dead for no more than a day, and cried silently. He was hungry, his stomach churned with hunger pains and his mouth was full of saliva. Despite this, he did not eat. He did not bend his face down and wrap his lips around the first piece of flesh he could find. He did not tear off a hunk of the swollen, discoloured meat with his sharp teeth. He did not swallow it greedily, not bothering to chew the sour meat. He did not taste the thick blood on his tongue.
He did not.
He did cry, tears dropping onto the yellow skin of his unfortunate meal. Through eyes clouded with tears, Vash could not help but note just how young the man looked. The ugly hand of death could not change that, could not take away his youth. Youth was the most tragic thing for a corpse to possess. Youth meant there had been time for change. Things could have gotten better if only they fought another day. But what was a day compared to the swift death of a fatal fall? A day was not instantaneous or painless, but the fall the man had suffered was. That much was clear given the way his skull had exploded on the ground, the blood and grey matter of his mind splashed on the ground in a dirty halo of gore.
A painful image flashed through Vash’s mind, one he would never be able to forget. A blue vase shattered on a hardwood floor, red flowers- geraniums, with their blooms ripped apart by the fall. Water with drops of blood soaking into the cracks in the floor. Shards of the vase, sharp and everywhere. A sound, a scream. He-
“It’s a sad thing, ain't it?” A sudden voice came from behind Vash.
Flinching, Vash spun around. A hot crick burned in his neck as he faced the man- a human. He had been so lost in his own thoughts that he had failed to sense the man’s approach. That was no good, if he had been a Dove-. A quick look over the man revealed that he had no luggage with him. Vash exhaled and gave a slow nod. His hunger could wait, it always did after all.
“Yeah,” Vash’s voice was nasally. He stood carefully and wiped his eyes on the wrist of his flesh and blood hand. “I was just out on a walk and-” A quick glance backwards made Vash’s hunger rear in him again. It wasn’t the time for his hunger, not anymore.
“Hm,” The man hummed quietly and lit up a cigarette. The brief glow of his lighter illuminated his face, showing dark hair and darker eyes. He didn’t seem uncomfortable despite a corpse being less than ten feet away from him. Vash wondered who the man was… What sort of things he had seen for a dead body not to be a fearful sight. How was he, a human, less bothered than Vash, a Ghoul? “Ain’t the best place for a walk unless you’re tryin’ to picture how you’ll look if ya go through with it.”
A coldness flooded Vash’s veins, freezing him where he stood. “I’m not-” He spoke softly, trying to defend himself. What was there to say? Death was the reason he was there, it just wasn’t his own death. Tearful and skinny, he had no doubt that he did look suicidal being in that place. He wondered if the man he cried over had scouted out the location before he took his life. Did he find peace with the image of himself dead? Or did it scare him? “I didn’t-”
“I never said ya were.” The man said, holding Vash’s eyes. He took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled the smoke into the night sky with a sigh. “Sorry.” He spoke quieter. “C’mere, let me call this guy in and then I’ll make ya a drink.”
“A-” Blinking, Vash hesitated. “A drink?”
“Seems like a good night for one, donnit?” He smiled, small and tired despite the situation they were in.
That it did. Vash nodded silently and walked away from the body. He faced away from it and listened to the man make a phone call, no doubt to authorities, and waited. There would be other bodies, other nights… One day longer without eating wouldn’t drive him to madness, he had gone longer. He would be okay. If anything, Vash’s curiosity about the stranger did help distract him from his hunger, at least for the time being.
A few minutes passed before the man walked back to Vash’s side, the cigarette loosely hanging at the corner of his mouth. “Police will be ‘ere soon,” He clapped Vash on the shoulder and began to walk in front of him. “Let’s go.”
It took Vash a few seconds to begin to follow the man. He wasn’t scared, the stranger was undoubtedly human by his scent, and he didn’t carry any sort of bag that could be holding a quinque. He felt only taken aback. For much of his life he had tried to live as quietly as he could. To blend into the background and go unnoticed. That was how most Ghouls lived. This stranger- he had met Vash’s eyes and saw him. Saw him in the dark, crying over a corpse, and reached his hand out to him.
Vash was already interested in him, more interested than he had ever found himself in a human.
They walked in silence, footsteps leading them out of the small, suicide valley and through its neighboring forest. Grassy ground turned to cracked sidewalks, which subtly blended into unmarked pavement. Streetlamps made their shadows reach across the road, their forms bobbing with every step.
Five steps behind him, Vash didn’t take his eyes off the man’s dark clad back. The shock inside him had finally subsided and his tears had dried. “What are you?” He asked, his brain throbbing with hunger and from the pain of his own tears.
“Ain’t it obvious?” The man stopped and turned around, his face fully illuminated from the shine of the overhead light pole. He put his hands in his pockets and leaned back, head cocked to the side. “‘M a priest.” A silver cross glowed around the neck of his low unbuttoned shirt, the chain shimmering as he spoke.
Vash had never met a priest, but even then he knew that the man didn’t look like one. “A priest?”
He scoffed and shook his head. “Yeah, ‘n just what are you s’pposed to be?”
Vash hesitated, the words heavy on his tongue. “A Ghoul.” He said truthfully.
There was no fear on the stranger’s face. He laughed loudly, his smile showing off yellow teeth. “Yeah, right!” He gasped as he attempted to catch his breath. “A Ghoul,” He looked at Vash and his smile grew as he shook his head, clearly amused. “What are ya, really?”
A small smile pulled at Vash’s lips. He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “A florist.” He had no idea why the stranger’s disbelief in his being a Ghoul amused him so. But either way he was grateful. He should have never told the stranger about what he was, even if it ended up being played off as a joke. Even a human calling themself a Ghoul wasn’t something to be taken lightly and could lead to their entire life being investigated.
Still chuckling, the man turned back around and began to walk again. “Yeah-” He inhaled deeply, “Sounds ‘bout right.” He waved his hand in the air. “Keep up, we’re nearly there.”
Vash was not scared of the stranger. Maybe he should have been, but he wasn’t. He figured he was strong enough to defend himself if need be, but it wasn’t even his Ghoul identity that made him feel safe… It was something about the man he was following. Weren’t priests supposed to be inviting? Vash had no clue, but for what the man lacked in his appearance for his job… he sure made up for it in his presence.
Too trusting, Vash was too trusting. He walked behind the man, following his steps until they came to a small, Christian church. Soft lights lit the front windows, but the doors were shut. He watched as the man took out an old-fashioned looking key and unlocked the heavy doors.
“Wow,” Vash muttered, stepping inside behind the man. “You really are a priest.” Although the church was small, it had enough of the typical Catholic grandeur that made Vash very certain in the stranger’s faith. The Holy Mother was everywhere and the tan walls were covered in faded prints of old paintings. Despite the beauty of the place, Vash held his breath. Churches had always made him nervous.
There was once a time where Ghouls were only known as demons. Beings that made pacts with the Devil and wielded his strength in exchange for their souls and a new diet. It still wasn’t uncommon for Ghouls to be called demons. Vash, the Diablo Ghoul to Ghoul Investigators, was quite familiar with that fact. He may have been no demon, but he felt just as unwelcome as one in the house of God.
“Guilty as charged,” The man pulled the mighty doors to the church shut and led Vash past the pews and the pulpit to a door at the back of the building. “Only in spirit though.” He shot Vash a glance over his shoulder and pushed open the door. “So don’ be callin’ me ‘father’ or anythin’.”
They both ducked inside and Vash looked around. The second room was no bigger than a standard hotel room and was just as cramped. There was a twin bed pushed into one corner with a large trunk at the foot of it. Clothes were thrown here and there, hung on nails in the wall and even hanging off the bed. The other side of the room was just as cluttered with a couple of wooden crates around a makeshift table and a dangerous nest of electrical cords plugged into a single outlet, each leading to some sort of appliance.
The room did not have the heavy presence of religion and Vash breathed easy, finding comfort in the mess. He was used to messes.
“‘Only in spirit’?” Vash questioned, standing near the door. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means-” Frowning, the man grabbed a pair of slacks off of one of the wooden crates and tossed it onto the bed. “I inherited the place and the title with it.” He gestured to the crate and began to busy himself, moving over his messy ‘kitchen’ space and preparing two cups of day-old coffee while Vash sat down. “But I take m’job seriously.” With a wry smile, he handed Vash one of the cups. “Sorry it ain’t fresh, cups’re clean at least. I got a little strong sugar if ya’d like…” He looked at Vash carefully, “Ya look like ya need it.”
“Love some,” Vash nodded, holding his cup close. “So…” He took a sip of the cold, bitter coffee. “Mr. Priest-Who-Isn’t-A-Priest,” Smiling tiredly, Vash watched as the man rummaged under his bed and produced a half-empty bottle of whiskey. “Since I can’t call you ‘father’, what can I call you?”
The man made the two step journey back to the tiny table where Vash was and poured a generous amount of whiskey into both of their cups. “Just call me Wolfwood.” He put the bottle down and sat on the crate opposite to Vash. “Nicholas D. Wolfwood.” Wolfwood raised his cup to his lips but paused, “‘N you, Mr. Florist?”
There had been many names Vash had gone by over the course of his life, as was the same for most Ghouls. Changing names and changing locations as needed, it helped keep a sense of anonymity that made life less dangerous. For Ghouls who were already recognized by the CCG… it was something that couldn’t be avoided. ‘Vash’ was, incidentally, the name his mother had given him. It was stupid of him to take it up again, but the name was special to him. It was one of the very few things he had left of his mother, and it had been over 20 years since he had last gone by it. He figured, or hoped, that it was safe to use again. His last name, at least, he could live to change.
“Vash,” He said. “Vash Remmes.”
“Vash, huh?” Wolfwood asked. He knocked his head to the side, as if listening to something, and nodded. “Ya made it another night.” He raised his cup to Vash and took a swig. “Good on ya.”
Shaking his head, Vash couldn’t help but smile. “And to you, preacher.” He took a deep drink from his mug, feeling the stale, spiked coffee go down his throat and twist coldly into his stomach. It did nothing to help Vash’s hunger, if anything- it reminded his body of how much it ached to feel full. He ignored it.
Vash knew it was a bad idea to spend the night drinking with the not-priest, especially when he was so hungry, but any interactions for him were few and far in between. If only he knew what that one night of talking would cause and the pain it would bring for them both.
To live, after all, was to suffer. And it had been so long since Vash had actually felt like living, maybe it would make his suffering worth it. Maybe.