Categories > Anime/Manga > Trigun > The Insurrection

The Insurrection

by millyfan 0 reviews

When one of his lovers kills the other, Midvalley the Hornfreak forms an alliance with the only other survivor of the Guns, once his nemesis, in a desperate bid for freedom and revenge. Set between...

Category: Trigun - Rating: R - Genres: Angst, Drama - Characters: Chapel, Knives, Legato, Midvalley - Warnings: [!] [!!] [!!!] [V] [X] - Published: 2005-05-27 - Updated: 2005-05-27 - 5459 words - Complete

Theme: "26. Rage."
Title: "Insurrection"
Pairing: Past Midvalley = Wolfwood and Midvalley = Legato equal pairs.
Warnings: Violence, angst, references to past yaoi sex, language, alcohol and drug abuse, and spoilers. Anime universe with some manga elements.
Rating: 17 up
Summary: When one of his lovers kills the other, Midvalley the Hornfreak forms an alliance with the only other survivor of the Guns, once his nemesis, in a desperate bid for freedom and revenge. Set between episodes 23 and 24.
Archiving: 30_rounds, millyfan, ficwad,,
Unlike the other compounds of the Gung Ho Guns, aside from "The House Of The Beloved Slave," as it was called, outside of Jeneaora Rock, the Demetery and Berd compound was actually a pleasant place to stay. Whereas the other compounds were mostly reconstituted Planet Corps forts with the same Spartan atmosphere their military ex-occupants had maintained, the Demetery and Berd compound rested upon a Geoplant and two towns that had been "evacuated" of their residents and repopulated with loyalists to either the Eye of Michael or the idea of Plants being superior to humans.

Despite the latter part, the place seemed lively enough and provided the comforts of the flesh almost as good as December or even June, simply because half of the human residents who knew they were living for someone who wanted them dead seemed to accept it with an almost celebratory attitude.

That was what Midvalley loved about this town, this "compound," if it could be called that: it reminded him of June, of the Little Orleans of his childhood, of something better than the fate he had been bound into against his will. It was a beautiful distraction, and for now, he could care less about why the remaining Guns, including himself, had been summoned here.

Legato had told him a tantalizing bit of the plan in their briefing on the day he, Midvalley, Hoppered, Grey, Leonof, Zazie, Master Chapel, Wolfwood, and Caine, their only survivors, had arrived almost four months ago. The plan, what he had caught of it, was to injure Vash to the point where he would have to either return to Knives or die, and to destroy Sky City so he would have no option to retreat there.

At least, that was the plan Legato had spoken in front of Knives, who had sat in at the meeting, observing almost in a detached manner, speaking only through his blue-haired slave.

Then the reports came back a week later: Sky City had survived the attack, though it had crashed to the planet below as a result of the Plant's dying. Leonof, Hoppered, and Grey were all dead. Midvalley had remembered the flare of panic that had ripped through him the second he had heard, how he had occasionally worried, hoping that the lack of news he had heard about the priest was for the best, secretly dreading the telegram he had sent would get answered back by someone else.

Instead, that day, two weeks after the attacks, the courier had delivered the telegram to his room in the palatial building known as Angels Rest, the inner sanctum that was home to Knives, Legato, and himself.

"Alive. Chessboard flipped. Obviously can't return now. Will return when called back in three months. Love, N.D.W. P.S. Milly sends regards."

Although he wasn't too pleased with the idea that Nick was now working for Vash as well as Knives for certain, and even less pleased with the thought of having to entertain that featherbrained woman who had somehow worked her way into the relationship that had once been solely between them, his annoyance at both bits of news was overwhelmed with a huge sense of absolute and total relief that Nick had made it through again, that he was, as he had laughingly said, too tough to die.

That was what gave Midvalley the confidence to believe that, tonight, he would soon hear the sound of a motorcycle outside the bar, soon be clinking glasses over old times, then they'd go back to the room and both would have the best sex they had in months, and the thought of that was already making him hard. /Not yet. Don't get ahead of yourself/, he silently reminded himself as he walked to the bar, about to order enough booze to float a sandsteamer to celebrate the safe return and the end to all of this, hoping that Vash was either dead or in no state to ever get away from Knives again.


A chilled snake of dread slid around his spine the second before he arrived at the bar, as he scanned the bar for Wolfwood or for that woman he was bringing back with him, and instead saw someone he rarely, if never, saw in bars, especially in seedy bars on the bottom floor of a place that sold rooms by the hour.

Chapel the Elder, Master Chapel, as the Gung Ho Guns now were told to address him, sat at the table in the back, the dim light of a single candle reflecting off of his red vision contacts in the second he looked into it, giving his eyes an almost otherworldly glare of emptiness, before he placed his head in his hands once more, a choked, drunken sobbing escaping from his throat despite his best attempts to prevent it.

Midvalley winced. Something was definitely wrong here. Not only was the old priest of the Eye of Michael sect usually very averse to drinking even a drop of alcohol, or of putting one c-cent into a business like this, but this was the man that Nick had told him would beat one of his trainees for "weakness" if he had seen so much as a tear on one's face. This was also a man who /never /questioned Knives or even Legato, and who was now screaming curses Midvalley himself hadn't even used in years at both his angel god and his slave prophet.

Maybe he's just letting off steam. Old fossil must have a lot to let go, seeing as he once told me he never as much as got off once in his life. Pitiful man, that.

Another wrenched scream from the old man drew even the attention of the bartender for a second. "Old drunk," he mumbled, before going back to handing off drinks to the waitresses.

The musician sighed as he walked toward the table. As much as he hated the old man from their past altercations, over everything from Midvalley's flippant attitude toward Knives to Chapel's opposition to the Gung Ho Guns even counting among their members a "libertine" such as himself, it wasn't really classy to let a man make a fuss like this, especially if what he was screaming got back to Knives or Legato.

He gently placed his gold-ringed hand on the old man's shoulder. "Shhh. C'mon, let's get you home. So you finally let go and went on a bender. Congratulations, maybe you'll finally get that saguaro cactus out of your fundamentalist fundament."

Midvalley had half expected Chapel to laugh along with him, or at least to slap him. Instead, Chapel sat back down, sobbing inconsolably. "I didn't want to kill him. He was my own son and he made me kill him, that accursed, filthy murderer. They told me pig boy had blood on his hands, that he was a bloodthirsty glutton but did I listen? No, I did not! Now I've killed someone who was my own son," he slurred.

You're celibate, or so you've said. How could you have a son? Tell me you've had some sort of relationship, that this isn't who you normally call your son. Midvalley's mind was racing, scrabbling for some hope, some chance that the old man was still just drunk and babbling, that he actually had a son other than the person he normally referred to as such.

Chapel's next wail confirmed Midvalley's very worst fears, the thought that had been at the back of his mind ever since he saw the grieving old man. "Nicholas, I didn't want to do it! You've got to forgive me! I wanted to stop when you did, and he made me kill you!"

Midvalley's hand tightened around Chapel's shoulder. "Please," he whispered, "Tell me you're lying. Tell me it wasn't Nick."

The look of absolute pain in Chapel's eyes as his piercing gaze met Midvalley's own, the tear-stained face and dripping nose said it all.

"I see," he said, attempting to keep control of his own voice as he numbly signaled the barmaid to bring more drinks. /If I ever needed to replace the blood in my veins with whiskey, /he half-breathed, slumping into the chair across from the old man, who reached out his hand to cover Midvalley's hand.

"You were right all along about them," Chapel hissed bitterly. "We've given our all to a blasted cult of murderers, who only want us dead, for no reason at all!"


I can't believe you're gone/, Midvalley whispered to no one in particular as he stumbled into his room. /You told me we were too tough to die, we could live to the end if no one else did. Now you're dead, and I'm probably next.

He reached around in the drawer for his mirrored Sand tray, his hand closing around something boxy and papery. Your cigarettes. Why did I have to find those?

The communications device buzzed, then Legato's soft voice drifted over it. "I request your presence, Hornfreak."

Mouthing off to Legato Bluesummers was normally at the top of the list of things for the Gung Ho Gun who wanted to live not to do. It wasn't like Midvalley cared anymore. "I request that you go suck a Plant."

Legato's voice took on a peeved edge. "That was quite uncalled for, Hornfreak."

Alcohol and rage pushed him to snap back rather than apologize. "You would dare talk to me about 'uncalled for'?"

"If this is about Chapel the Younger," Legato continued, "He was a mere tool. You should understand what it is to be one of Master's knives. Now come to my room and I will console you over this matter. If you wish, I could even wipe your memory of him entirely-"

"Try it, and you'll find just how well my Sylvia can sing," Midvalley growled as he ended the communication.

Exhaustion and alcohol finally won out, as he slumped over the bed and slipped into a restless sleep.


The dreams, the memories, it all ran together in his mind that night as he slept the fragmented, restless sleep of the very drunk.

Their friendship and camaraderie had been almost instant, from the very first mission they had been sent on together, a "rescue mission" to a town that had been severely abusing its Plant. It was like we admired each other, felt such a connection to each other. For as hot as I am, love rarely is a part of it. Lust, passion, desire, need, but nothing like love no matter how many love songs I've played. For me, for you, it was a friendship, a camaraderie, an understanding that, two months into it, suddenly included all of our need and lust.

Midvalley remembered it all as if it was yesterday as he lay there in his suite, too drunk to sleep any real sleep, remembered how they had so much in common, from their distrust of the twins to their taste in alcohol to their violent childhoods.

The thoughts that tormented him the most, though, were the memories of the physical side of their relationship and how it had developed, how they were the only one the other could, for the most part, trust and the range of their experience from near-violently rough to almost sappily gentle, how almost every gesture between them was charged with so much tension and how good it was when they finally could get time alone together. . .

And now you're gone.

His mind flashed another image, one provided by his imagination and experience: vultures gnawing the flesh off of a dead body, and with that, his stomach lurched hard enough to leave him limply hanging over the wastebasket by his bed until he passed out again.


The buzzing of the alarm clock by his bedside echoed like a horribly sour note locked into position. For a few seconds, he debated even getting up at all, as the hangover and the grief were taking a toll he had worked so hard to hold off at almost any cost: he felt every bit of the forty-five years that he had lived.

Despite the pull dragging him into bed to sleep forever, he made himself presentable enough to leave his room, in case Legato chose to call on him again, as he couldn't exactly keep up the insubordination too long without the telepath taking notice and issuing severe punishment.

Midvalley leaned down over the gold counter, measuring out lines of Sand, each long enough to kill a first time user, then deliberately inhaled each one. The handful of pills was next, chased by alcohol.

What have I done to myself? Staring in the mirror as his shaking finally calmed, he thought for a second just how weary he looked, how much he had changed. If that swinish /psychopath and those scary monsters don't kill me, which they probably will, I'll die like my old man, a disgusting overdose. Ironic. . . he went into his final spiral after Knives killed his lover./

A knock on the door drew him from his morbid wanderings of the mind. "I hope you do not mind if we talk," Chapel said. "I believe this is important."

"Come on in. It's not like I've got anything anymore anyway." Midvalley sighed as he fell into a chair at the table. "What's the situation?"

"I couldn't bear the thought of him being left there," the old priest said, weeping, "so I had his body brought here."


"The central morgue. Don't tell Legato or Knives, they will kill me for acting without their authorization, which neither would have given-"

"You don't have to worry about me," Midvalley whispered. "I don't trust either of them anymore."


Chapel led him to the room of the morgue where the body was, cautioning him all the way that he might not want to look.

"I've seen my fair share of death. Caused more than my fair share," Midvalley said softly. "It can't be that bad," he said, half flippantly, half to reassure himself, as he rested a hand on the drawer's handle and pulled to reveal Wolfwood's body, covered with a blood-stained white sheet.

At first, his eyes fell on the face, eyes closed to give the illusion, almost, of peaceful sleep. He gently stroked the side of the body's face with a finger, remembering when he would occasionally run a hand along those familiar planes after they had made love. Goodbye, Nick. I hope you found peace.

It was when Midvalley lifted the body slightly to check the wounds that had killed him that his grief solidified into white-hot rage. He had expected a series of clean shots from the elder Chapel's sidearm as being what Legato had forced the man into firing. Instead, it was machine gun fire from the older style Cross Punisher, enough to entirely shred the heart and lungs, and leave almost no skin on his back that didn't look as if it had been mauled, to the point where scraps of the black suit and white shirt he had been wearing that day were inextricably buried in the gore.

Midvalley couldn't even count the bullets, the individual wounds, and he allowed the body to fall as he stepped back and attempted to collect his thoughts. You, Legato, are an effing /porcine/ bastard. I hope your beloved Plant makes you look like this with his angel blades someday, as you beg for him not to because you've lost your faith in him and you actually want to live as much as Nick did when you did this to him.

Chapel was screaming in anguish, also having seen the sight of his adopted "son's" body when Midvalley had lifted it from the coffin. The old man rocked back and forth on the morgue floor, wailing. "I did this. I killed him like a dog or a practice target or an infidel or-"

"You didn't do it," Midvalley whispered, his voice trembling with a rage that no amount of sedatives or alcohol could hold back. "Revenge," he hissed. "We have to get revenge. The only thing that will make his death worth anything, make me worth anything, is to kill Millions Knives, to watch that filthy monster wallow in his own blood as he begs the humans to hold back."

The old priest's red-tinted eyes met the flaring dark gaze. "The impetuousness of youth. What makes you think we have a chance against someone who has power equivalent to that which blew a hole in the Fifth Moon? How can a mere human dare challenge an Angel, for all we know, a /god/?"

"I'm not that much younger than you," Midvalley hissed. "Nor am I deluded. We don't have a hailstone's chance on the suns unless we can somehow surprise them."

"How do you surprise a-"

"It's not safe here," he whispered, placing a finger to Chapel's lips, noticing a camera on the ceiling. "Meet me in the bar tonight."


Paranoia had been a constant companion throughout Midvalley's life. While some of it was doubtlessly attributable to his mental state and what had happened to him, most was from the acute knowledge of being a killer, and that killers always had to worry about being killed in a world like Gunsmoke.

He looked around the bar several times, finally checking the watch on his wrist. It would be an hour before Chapel's arrival, but he wanted to be absolutely sure a setup of any form wasn't in place, because after all, the old man could have only been trying to detect a traitor in the cruelest way possible.

You were right when you said this planet is the worst place there is. I hope you're somewhere better.

The world before him swam before his eyes in a whirl. He was vaguely aware of something feeling strange, of a creeping sensation of burning running up his spine and exploding in an almost shattering headache. /Like the evil sister of coming, /he thought, as his eyes began to focus on the bar once more.

"Are you all right, Midvalley?" It was one of the bar waitresses, face etched with concern as she helped him back into his chair, then began to wipe the vomit from the table. He recognized her, slowly, as the world got back into focus, but couldn't recall her name.

"Thanks for asking me," he said, dodging the question and the utter embarrassment of whatever had happened to him as best as he could. "Bring me a glass of water."


Midvalley slowly sipped at the water as Chapel sat down at the table next to him. "So you actually aren't setting me up," he said, resting the glass on the table.

"No," the old man said, his face drawn with remorse. "Though I could see why you would assume that of me."

"Not anymore. We're in this together, to the end."

Chapel sipped at his own glass of water. "To the end. I'm guessing you've planned this out."

"I actually have," Midvalley whispered. "Nick and I had it planned ever since I told him what Knives was really like. Mostly, the same plan would work, technically, as your weapons are very similar in function if not appearance. I've got a couple of problems with it that have been botherin' me though."

"You and Nicholas. . . had this planned. . . from the beginning?" Chapel seemed stunned at the idea.

"You'd better believe we did. After this mission, after he had been promoted to your position and you had retired, we were going to request a meeting with Knives, for me to play music as Nick, on the face of it, was going to worship him. Instead, it would have been a combined attack, with him opening fire the second Knives met us, and me playing the best death note I've ever played, before that scary monster brute could get the chance to angel anything."

The old priest's mouth seemed to hang open for a second. "To think you both were planning something like this under our noses for so long. . ."

"Great, isn't it? No one ever outsmarts me," Midvalley said, unable to resist a bit of self-important bragging even at a time like this. After all, I do have my pride as an artist.

Chapel snorted. "For once, I agree with you."

"So," Midvalley said, now sipping at a glass of whiskey, "I think that plan is our only chance. Nevertheless, you're /not /as good for it as Nick would have been."

"Thank you for the undeserved insult," Chapel glared. "Maybe I should go it alone after all. You don't seem confident in my abilities because of my age."

"It's not only your age. True, you're a second slower on the draw than Nick would have been. Also, though, you and I both know that Legato can mind rape you a lot easier, and that's what I'm worried about the most. There is no way I can take him out of the equation first, and in the original plan, Nick and I weren't too worried about him since we've both learned to block him somewhat."

Chapel looked down at his hands, shame filling his eyes. "I never should have done it. When I was appointed to being the head priest of the Eye Of Michael, I allowed Legato to connect into my mind. . . at the time, I believed allowing him to form those links was an act of high devotion. Instead, I've given my body, my mind, my soul to the king of demons."

"I only gave my body." Midvalley said with a wink, wanting to lighten the mood somewhat. "Either way, we're scheduled to meet them two days from now to discuss one last attack. Until then, I want you to work on finding some way to fight him off when he gets into your mind, because he /will/. You've got to fight him with everything in you. It's our only chance."

"Understood," the old priest said, nodding. "I will."

Midvalley sighed as he leaned back in his chair. "You also must absolutely open fire the very second you see Knives. Don't hesitate for even a second, like you always told us not to hesitate. Because you're slower and open to being used, you will have no margin of error at all. You'll want to aim for the upper body, as he can't do anything with his legs. The heart and the Plant cores are your targets, and you need to use the auto machine gun because the rocket launcher takes too long to fire. I'll cover you if he somehow survives."

Chapel nodded again. "All that time we spent studying Plants wasn't wasted," he said with a dark laugh. "How do I know it's on? That we're not calling it off for another time?"

"You know I normally wear white suits when I'm not expecting to get into a fight. Don't want to soil my fine white suits with blood and all. If it's on, I'll be wearing a black suit and Sylvia won't be in her case."

The older man stood slowly. "See you in two days, Hornfreak."

Midvalley stood himself, feeling an odd tingling in his feet, as if they were falling asleep. "Two days to freedom. Two days to vengeance."


After an episode like that one in the bar, he normally would have checked in with Caine, as the ex-doctor sharpshooter had been the go-to person for the higher-ups in the Gung Ho Gun echelon, those who couldn't afford to have knowledge of any possible weaknesses spread through the grapevine. Now, though, Caine was dead.

Poison? Venus's curse /yet again? Age? The next possibility that crossed his mind frightened him the most. /The Sand. It's finally taking back what it's given me.

He reached for the small pin tool he kept in Sylvia's case. Normally, it was used to make the finest adjustments when he repaired the sax, but it also served as a test for feeling that he used to check himself any time he worried that the nerve damage was finally setting in, that a bout of sickness had been the neural crisis state that was the cumulative effect of Sand, the sharp bite of pain at even the slightest poke being a reassurance of his abilities, of his body's condition.

This time, though, it didn't hurt at all when he grazed his finger with it. That's got to be a fluke. He was sure the pain would come as he pushed the pin into his finger, and it finally did, only after the pinpoint was almost half buried, blood dripping around it, any doubt he had over what had happened to him now gone. Way to go, Midvalley, /he sarcastically whispered to his image in the mirrored desk. /You just blew out thirty percent of the feeling in your hands and feet two days before the grandest performance of all.


Midvalley had wanted to spend the night before the planned revolt in his usual manner for the night before something he wasn't sure he'd live through: having bought the services of at least two women of the street, though he feared somewhere within that the neural crisis had compromised his ability to enjoy that.

That wasn't an option anyway. Before he could make arrangements, Legato had summoned him once more, and he had known that he couldn't get out of it this time without raising suspicions.

It took all that he had, at first, not to snap back at the telepath like he had the previous night. Things had gotten easier, somewhat, as the hours dragged on, as Legato obviously didn't seem to be wanting anything like active participation or even love this time, but only a silent object to express his frustration and lust, and yet it still felt good enough that Midvalley could close his eyes and remember the days when this being could still be called human, still had a need, a capacity for something other than alternating submission and these rages.


"Wake up, human filth."

Always so endearing, Legato. You forget that you too are human, or wait, did that graft finally turn you into one of them? Midvalley yawned and blinked at Legato, feigning innocence. "It's morning already?"

Legato silently glared at him before speaking. "The stagecoach driver will be here for us in two hours. Make yourself look like something suitable for Him."

"Who? The driver?" he said, in an attempt at banter.

"You know of whom I am speaking, Hornfreak. Don't make me hurt you again."

"'Don't make me hurt you again.' Like master, like slave?"

"Yes," Legato said, beginning to cackle as he rocked back and forth. "Yes."

Midvalley shook his head. "What happened to you? Last time before all of this went down, you were still human-"

"Master has entrusted me with the ultimate act of devotion. I must therefore eradicate what is left of my miserable human self."

Ultimate act of devotion. The suicide mission. It's all riding on Chapel and I to stop this madness before it goes one step further.


After a quick shower, shave, and makeup application to hide his baggy eyes and crows's feet for vanity's sake, he dressed in the black suit, the clothing that would signal that the attack on Knives was on, since, for the second they would meet in the Inner Sanctum before Knives entered, they couldn't exactly say much to each other about the plot.

Then, he methodically began to check the arsenal he would be carrying. Lifting the sax out of its case, he quickly reloaded all of the gun attachments to their maximum capacity for ammunition. It wasn't like he could actually test fire the barrels, but they had worked fine the last time he had tried them out at the range, so he wasn't too worried about them.

Next, he slipped the new reed he had been soaking onto the sax, playing the notes he would need, smiling as they echoed true. Just a little louder and I'll be able to crush even Plant lungs.

It was almost compulsively that he began to soak a new reed, out of fear of the possibility that the reed he had equipped a few minutes before would somehow break. As he did so, he checked and reloaded the pistols in his hip holster and shoulder harness, though he knew that if it came down to that, he had slim to no chance against even a mortally wounded Knives. He'd seen the mandated practice sessions, had seen the "Master's" shooting skill, rumored to be surpassed only by Knives's twin brother's, and he knew that a shooting fight, especially with the loss of feeling in his trigger fingers, would be absolutely in Knives's favor.

Midvalley slid the new reed onto the sax as the driver's stagecoach pulled up. /That stagecoach. For some inane reason, the almighty Plant is afraid of cars/, he thought mockingly as he stepped out the door of his suite, daydreaming for a second that his return to this place would be as the man playing Knives's funeral dirge.


He made sure he stepped from the stagecoach first, hoping that he could signal to Chapel once more that the attack was a definite go.

The old priest was standing nearby. Their eyes met for a half-second as Legato stepped from the carriage and summoned Knives.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the door to the Inner Sanctum slowly slid open to reveal the freeborn Plant, as Midvalley surreptitiously moved his uncooperative fingers onto his sax, preparing to lift it to his lips in the next second, as he saw Chapel draw the Cross Punisher and aim at Knives. No! What the hell are you doing? Open fire! Now!

Chapel stood there shaking, quivering with an equal mixture of rage and fright, as he aimed the Cross Punisher One on Knives, the Plant seeming unfazed by the human as he began to lower it against his will.

Will we even get another chance? You won't, that's for sure. Will I? Midvalley's hand tensed on Sylvia for just a second, as Legato's voice filtered through his mind.

Watch and see, my beloved Hornfreak. This is what happens to human traitors who would dare commit deicide.

Get out of my head!

Oh, isn't it a pity that you have no more control over yourself than your former enemy, /Legato whispered sarcastically. /I will make you kill him. Play for me, Hornfreak.

Midvalley's mind went blank as he lifted the saxophone to his lips, as Knives seemed to create a small black hole to the tune of the music, drawing the elder Chapel inside, crushing his body into nothing.

No. . . No. . .

/I only drew out your past feelings for that traitor. Now, behold the power of the angel god, /Legato whispered, as Knives stabbed a sharp shaft of rock through his own shoulder, and the telepath did nothing but give him a look of the deepest love possible.

Midvalley only watched in slack-jawed amazement.


Sitting on the porch of the bar in LR, he scanned the town for his target, in between glances about the town, downing glass after glass of whiskey.

Looking back on it, he knew the plan was hopeless, and he inwardly cursed himself, the world, and most of all, the monsters he had wished he had never met, Legato Bluesummers and Millions Knives, and the monster he was about to meet. This is all your fault, Vash the Stampede. Why could you have not stayed with your brother and been his pet?

He saw a flash of red coat, a second later, hearing sobbing. How dare you cry for him? He died from accepting your empty sentimentality, and you have the gall to cry for him? You were never good enough for Nick.

Midvalley deliberately set his glass down on the table and stood, adjusting the strap of the sax on his shoulder, as the man in red seemed to notice and recognize him at the same second.

"Care to join me for a number," he said, barely restraining the hatred in his voice. "Vash the Stampede?"
Sign up to rate and review this story