~~
 

Black eyes narrowed further as the watcher regarded the couple with a dispairing gaze. The night was cold, cold enough that his sleek suit was being cut through like a slab of hot butter on the fire. The moons were all down, and would be for another hour and a half- the darkness was a comforting safety for one such as him.
 

This was too easy.
 

"Chapel...what the hell are you thinking?" he asked the brooding, opressive silence that surrounded him.
 

The only testimony to the silent watcher was the glowing butt of a dying cigarette as Midvalley the Hornfreak surveyed the two staggering drunkards below. They exited the slummy atmosphere of a run-down bar in a haze of bad music and smoke. The blonder of the two was wearing some sort of striped band around his head, and his steps were by no means stable. Midvalley supposed he was drunker than hell- which wouldn't be so alarming or unusual, if it wasn't for the fact that the blonde below was Vash the Stampede, and he had a would-be Gung-Ho Gung draped across his shoulders.
 

As he watched, there was a partially obscured explosion, and a building went up in flames nect to the two. That was the unnerving habit of Vash the Stampede....He destroyed things without even blinking- and most of the time, he wasn't even at fault. A black cat with throbbing green eyes dashed away from the scene as Midvally tapped the ashes off his cigarette and frowned at himself. Smoking was a pesky habit he had picked up from the very staggering, drunken priest he was supposed to be reporting in with.
 

They were making their way in the general direction of a hotel, and Midvalley (after checking on Slyvia's reed) leapt to another rooftop, following the pair.
 

This was where that strange, twisting emotion played in his heart. Odd, that someone like him could feel an emotion as powerful as this after years of seperating himself from filthy things like feelings. However, it was obvious to one who had 'been around' more than once in his lifetime that the pair below were just a little too comfortable with their arms around one another. The way the priest casually slurred out an affection insult was just too easy, and the convenient way Vash the Stampede stumbled into the taller man's arms was a little bit too well planned. They were, undeniably, best friends.
 

They also had to be lovers.
 

Midvalley allowed himself the luxury of a long drag and exhaled, the smoke forming silver ribbons about his face as it drifted into the night. He wasn't sure how he felt about this yet- it was obvious that Wolfwood- for that was the name he used now- hadn't cared much about him after all. What had they really shared, anyway? Not attachment, not really love- that was frustrating. Chapel had provided a good ride now and then- but that wasn't any reason to get jealous over this.
 

Vash was having a hell of a time with the steps to the hotel door- Nicholas, leaning against the railing for support, hauled the man in red up after him and the two proceeded inside, arms around each others waist in a casual, drunken manner.
 

Would it be safe to enter the building? He knew their room number. They had rented out a single bed on the third floor corner of the hotel- Nothing was chanced in this, nothing went without planning, not even the hotel room Vash was assigned. Chapel was steadfastly leading Vash the Stampede into his worst nightmare- so how had the gunman managed to fall in love with the prey?
 

Midvalley arranged himself on the rooftop opposite the room of Chapel and Vash the Stampede. He watched idly as the lights flickered on and another bottle of Kuroneko brand beer was produced. He smoked in silence as that was downed by the pair and conversation ceased, moving on to something more intimate indeed-
 

"Just wait, Chapel. Just wait."
 

The black haired, black suited man left his perch and found himself a promising corner near the bar he had so recently staked out, set out Sylvia's case, and played for a few doubledollars as he contemplated exactly how Knives would take this.
 

~~
 

Thin lips pressed firmly against themselves, a gloved hand clenched, and the icey blue inhuman eyes narrowed to slits as Knives repeated the words of the eleventh Gung-Ho Gun in his mind. "He...what?"
 

"They are lovers," Midvalley clenched his fingers against Slyvia, hard enough to crack a knuckle or two against the brassy metal of his instrument. What else could he say? Legato would instantly sense a lie, and to lie meant death. At least this way he might earn a quick end rather than be thrown to the blue-haired masochist as some sort of plaything-
 

Midvalley tore his mind away from those morbid musings and concentrated again on the not-human that was sitting before him. Knives was giving him the most chilling stare- he swore internally. What a damned assignment. When he saw Chapel again he'd beat the living shit out of that damned priest.
 

But what else could he say? 'He's fucking your brother' wasn't exactly the best way to explain this to an insane plant-creature. And the way they had walked, had held one another- they were two people very much in love. So he had told Knives this...And he'd probably die for it.
 

Knives stared at the man before him, concentrating on his calmness, the even breathing of Legato, who was standing at his left. Lovers. His brother and a...a human...? What's more, his brother and a priest, sent from eden to drag Vash back with him.
 

That was wrong. Fundamentally wrong. Turning, the blonde haired man regarded his own hands with an almost angry look, then cleared his throat and spoke, voice even and unruffled despite the fury in his eyes. "Thank you, Midvalley. You may go now."
 

The Hornfreak had never wanted to run and panic more dearly- but he edged out of the room, keeping himself under control until he managed to get free of the confining walls. Outside again, he found a perch, lit a cigarette- he really should stop smoking, considering that this lungs were his only claim to fame- and brooded.
 

~~
 

Legato hit the wall with a sickening crack, slipping downwards into a puddle of rags on the floor, unwilling to move or even breath loudly. Knives moved on, found himself a window, and stared out of it at the endless dunes beyond. The furious, bitter hatred in his chest was like a living thing, but overall, he was suffused with an emotion that only one person had ever been able to inspire within him.
 

Jealousy...and that person had been Rem.
 

"The priest. Chapel. Your friend, taking his orders from my people. Vash, you're the stupidest thing alive, how could you let him do that to you? Spoil you?!"
 

When Legato looked up again, Knives had a dangerous, not-quite-all-there glimmer to his eyes- and he was talking. The blue haired man looked around nervously- nobody was in the room, but Master never spoke- oh. He was talking to Vash. Annoyance rose within the minion, but he turned his head and averted his eyes- never look at Master unless you were allowed to. Especially not when he's dealing with his errant twin.
 

"Vash, you did it again, didn't you?" Laughter rang out, harsh and a bit high. The inhuman timber of it made Legato shiver as Knives shattered something and glass scattered across the floor, shards of crystal sand. "But they're just humans. They can only hurt you. Haven't you learned that, yet? Every human you meet- it's another betrayal!" The blue eyed man let his gaze run across Legato's broken form, who was still sitting, and concentrating on being as quiet and small as possible, so that he wouldn't annoy Master. Wouldn't distract Master.
 

Abruptly, his body jerked up, like a marionette on strings, and Legato again made contact with the metallic walls of the room. "Trash! Don't you agree, Legato?"
 

The blue-haired man nodded, whispering a hoarse sound of agreement as he closed his eyes. Even now, Master wasn't really looking at him-
 

When warm palms took his left hand up and pressed them against a too-pale face, Legato almost moaned. Knives was regarding his hand- Vash's hand- with the most adoring of looks, the most loving expression that Legato had ever seen gracing the man's face. Swiftly Knives ran his fingers across the lines of the palm, the callouses on the fingertip- and he pressed a kiss into it's palm. Tasted the sweat. "Vaashu..."
 

Legato felt his heart contracting- yes, he had a heart, it was wenched somewhere between the core of his rage and the depths of his jealousy. His mind was shattered, his soul twisted beyond recognition, but Knives had command of both, and he would die for the pale-faced God that was at the moment running a tongue over the fingertips of Legato's left hand. It was almost unbearable.
 

"Ah, Vashu!" The sound of his name was like music coming from Knives' lips, the second twin's voice was filled with adoration, with possession. "But he's not for you, soon you will realize that he, like the rest of them, is nothing! Soon you will return to me, won't you? Yes, soon, my beautiful brother, my perfect other half.... When you learn of Chapel's nature, you will understand. Even the most perfect of the human pets will end up disappointing you. And then you will come to me, and our Eden will unfold."
 

Legato's eyes rolled back in his head as Knives took his other hand and stared disdainfully at it, as if it was infinately too dirty to be associated with his brother's limb. "Perhaps I shouldn't have taken this arm. You really don't deserve to touch his flesh, Legato. He's perfect- you snivelling human...weeping child... You are the replacement." Again, attention on the left hand. "Soon I will have Vash- his body and soul- for myself. My Vash. Humanity is...is unpredictable. Chapel will die in the most painful way possible, and Vash will be...will be what? My brother...and... my lover?"
 

Legato tensed, and opened his golden eyes to regard his Master with a rapturous look. Knives was staring at the palm of his left hand, tracing circles across the lines and wearing the smallest, most innocent smile he could manage. "Yes. Lover. Brother. Vashu.... Just wait for me, Vashu, just wait."
 

~~
 

Wolfwood's cigarette was dying slowly, the sweet death of the bee that drowns in it's own honey. The priest, his usual black garb crumpled against a chair on the other side of the room, inhaled softly and felt the man beside him stir in the smoky air. He absently reached down and ran his fingers through the faded yellow hair of his lover, and felt the older man relax in sleep beneath his touch.
 

Outside he could hear the dim wailing of a distant saxophone on an echoing street corner. A familiar one. Shivers ran down his spine as he recognized the tune- Midvalley the Hornfreak was here in town. He was probably checking on himself, Chapel, and in all likelyhood Knives, by now, knew his brother had lost his heart to another human.
 

'You're a fool, Nicholas D. Wolfwood,' he told himself bitterly. If Knives knew of this then indeed, Chapel was a damned man. 'You should have stayed out of this all together.' And what, never met Vash? Never loved him? Never known what innocence could be... But it wasn't worth it. Nothing was worth hurting Vash, even the truest, most honest love he was likely to ever find.
 

Another cigarette was required, and Nick pulled an already broken stick of nicotine from the nightstand drawer, lighting it up and closing his eyes as the first wave of powerful relaxation struck his nerves. There was nothing that calmed him like a cigarette- except perhaps for Vash's smile.
 

Vashu.
 

In sleep, the man was like a child, his spikey hair flopping across the pillow, and his mouth hanging open with soft breath. Curving lips were half-upturned, and his hand had sought out Wolfwoods' thigh, looping comfortably across his friend's waist...a breath of smoke passed over him, and the blonde's nose wrinkled slightly, his lips muttering something secret into the night air.
 

How long would he be able to sit like this, in the company of one so pure, on a night as clear as this? Wolfwood let his cigarette burn low. Every moment by his side was precious- especially now. "Just wait, Vashu," Wolfwood sighed, "this will never last. It can never last."
 

Vash the Stampede- typhoon, stampede, plant- slept on in his innocence.