What do you get when you mix writer's block, an ancient plot device, two maligned characters, and an economy-sized tub of Vaseline? And no, it's not a trick question.
Vash stealthily tiptoed through the halls of the hotel. It was the middle of the night, and the candle in his hand cast a soft glow over the walls nearby. The whole building was silent except for the slight sound of his restrained breathing. After walking down a long corridor, the gunman stopped at a door to a room at the end. Self-consciously looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching, he knocked gently on the door.
For a long, tense moment, no one answered. Feeling nervous and just a teeny bit silly standing in the hallway in his skivvies (for that was his attire at the moment) with a suspiciously phallic-looking candle in his hand, Vash anxiously put his ear against the door for signs of any life inside the room.
Nothing. He leaned harder against the worn plywood, straining to hear. Still nothing. He threw all his weight against the door, nearly crushing his ear in his efforts.
Naturally, at that moment, the door swung open.
And our favorite donut-glutton landed on top of a very surprised, shirtless Wolfwood.
For a moment, the two men simply stared at each other from their fairly compromising positions from the floor. The candle that Vash had formerly been holding managed miraculously to land upright by the pair, casting a dim light over the spectacle.
Vash stared, looked down, blushed, and resumed staring.
Somewhere, hordes of MerylxVash fans simultaneously clicked the "back" button on their browsers.
"You know, I usually don't do this," Wolfwood said as he set the candle on the dresser table.
"Why, of course," Vash snorted incredulously as he clambered to an upright position. Stretching, he surveyed the rather plain room. Except for a rickety stool and the aforementioned table, the only piece of furniture was a small bed.
"Um, so where should I, uh..." Vash said haltingly, crossing his arms for no apparent reason. Wolfwood, who was bending over- to retrieve some unknown items from his luggage on the floor-, looked up at his traveling partner and raised an eyebrow.
"What do you think?" the priest said, tilting his head in the general direction of the bed.
"Just checking," the Humanoid Typhoon muttered as he tentatively sat down on the edge of said bed. "Um... Nic?"
"Yes?" was the reply as Wolfwood pulled an economy-sized tub of Vaseline (pain control, you know) and a mysterious container from his knapsack.
"Just keep this-"
"-hush-hush," Wolfwood finished, walking to the bed, items in hand.
"Not a word."
"Not a single word," Nicholas murmured as he gently pushed Vash on his back and yanked off the latter's pants.
That night, a continuous stream of loud cries rang through the hotel, mostly consisting of the word "Ow".
Meryl was in a bad mood.
The insurance girl yawned slightly as she strolled through the halls of the hotel. She was a light sleeper, and that night she had had particular trouble falling asleep. When she had finally managed to drift off into Merry Merry Meryl Land, where job promotions were plentiful and hot blonde young men cavorted naked through sprinklers, she had woken up. With a live rat on her pillow.
No, our favorite petite heroine was not in the best of spirits at the moment.
As Meryl wandered around, she heard two faint familiar male voices. Puzzled, she walked toward the source of the dialogue. The noises appeared to be coming from a door at the end of the hallway. Being the nosy- er, healthily concerned person she was, and seeing as the door was conveniently unlocked, she cautiously turned the doorknob and peeked in.
And turned bright red.
She quickly and quietly shut the door, moving to her room as fast as she could without breaking into a full run. When she reached her destination, she dove into her bed under the covers and firmly placed a pillow over her head.
Where she promptly proceeded to laugh her skinny ass off.
"BWA HA HA HA HA HA HAHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!" Meryl giggled, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks. She squeezed her special, chibi Vash-shaped pillow against her chest, which sweatdropped. (The pillow. Not her chest.) After about an hour, her maniacal laughter subsided, and Meryl slowly regained control of herself.
"Who would've thought Vash waxes his bikini line?" she snickered as she closed her eyes, snuggling in the blankets.
The entire world was left to ponder that point, as Meryl Stryfe drifted off into Merry Merry Meryl Land, where job promotions were plentiful and hot smooth-skinned blonde young men cavorted in economy-sized tubs of Vaseline.