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Disclaimer: Yus. I own Trigun. YUS!! The power!!!

Okay, so I lied.

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Bright light city gonna set my soul, gonna set my soul on fire

Got a whole lotta money that’s ready to burn so get those stakes up higher

There’s a thousand pretty women waiting out there

They’re all living, ‘the Devil may care,’

and I’m just a devil with love to spare so

Viva Las Vegas

-Elvis Presley, Viva Las Vegas

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Peaches 'n' Cream Part 3

[Wolfwood]

Okay, so we’ve had a minor setback in our plans. We’re now stuck in this horrid city that is probably so seeped in sin it would take a thousand priests and a fair amount of exorcisms to extricate the evil. Not gonna happen today. And this rather fine hotel that Vash has picked out is hardly what I’d call a nice place to get away. Having refused to stay at the "Luxor," a small, run-down building with a shag carpet so trampled it looked as if you couldn’t rake it up and walls boasting fine chipping paint, Vash found his way to one of the nicer places in this town, a rather extravagantly decorated four-story high edifice with big glass doors and an interior that seems to be, in a word, expensive.

My first clue that Vash had a plan, I suppose, was the fact that a large sign on the outside of the door announced the need for new employees. So, with a bit of his kind persuasion, we are now waiters at the hotel’s main restaurant facility and our sleeping quarters consist of one room with no windows and two beds.

Lucky for me, I’m on break and I get to watch Vash meander about aimlessly in a pair of tight black pants with three plates of food in hand, searching for the correct table that had ordered said food. Ten hour shifts, all but one day of the week. This is bound to be a wonderful job. Vash hurriedly scurries to my table, face flushed and out of breath. "Where was table five again?" He’s so pathetic.

I point over to the table in the far right corner with the hand holding my cigarette. Ashes fall onto the floor. "Thanks," he barely has time to say before he scurries off again in that direction. Those pants just make him look more lanky than I’d ever realized he was. Normally concealed by the thick red coat, it’s a bit difficult to catch the exact form of his body, but, in a pair of tight black pants and a clean, pressed white button up shirt, complete with tie and vest, you can see every curve of his body. In profile view, as he is now, serving the people their food, the inclines of his back are prominent, with a steep inner curvature above buttocks, only to arch outwards again across his shoulders.

I raise an eyebrow at his knobby kneecaps, painfully obvious through the thin fabric of his trousers. He’s staring at the people helplessly, plates of food still in hand. I can almost see his throat muscles constrict as he swallows nervously.

Maybe this job won’t be so bad. We work the same schedule as one another, so I don’t have to worry about finding something to occupy myself with during break: I can always watch him. The pay isn’t too bad, either, and they even include meals and food, which is definitely a plus. The only downside is some of the customers we get later at night. Admittedly, I don’t know exactly what kind of hotel this is, but judging by the fairly risqué clothing I’ve seen some of the patrons wearing, I’d say it’s not the lodgings for your typical family vacation. It was a bit difficult to serve the woman who was modeling nothing more than a few strategically placed straps to cover herself; and that’s not even mentioning what her ‘friend’ was sporting.

I suppose that’s the only downside to this hotel, itself. It doesn’t have all of the gambling that the other hotels and casinos have (which at times makes me wonder what is bringing in all of the money to keep this place running), and it is definitely cleaner than many of the other places. All in all, it’s not so bad.

I ground my cigarette out in the brass ashtray atop the table, taking only a moment to examine it and note the fact that most places have glass ashtrays. Checking the time, I realize that I have a good thirty minutes left of my hour-long lunch break, and I’ve already dined upon some of the cheese omelets leftover from breakfast, so I light another cigarette.

Vash suddenly appears in the booth across from me, nearly panting in exhaustion and looking generally frazzled. "Why do you get a break before me?"

I shrug. "I guess it’s ‘cause the boss likes me better."

His answer is a slight sneer that could also be described as a pout. Poor guy. In all honesty, I do feel sorry for him, sometimes. I get my lunch break right during a rush period, leaving him and one other waiter to all of the work, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to work and not get paid for it, even if it is to help a friend. "Why are you sitting down? Isn’t there some work to be done?"

Vash gives me a sheepish look. "I told Mr. Cole that I needed a break. I think he’s trying to decide now whether to fire me or let me have it."

Dammit. Mr. Cole’s probably the worst person to go to if you need something. Fat, balding, and sporting a limp, it’s plain to see that he’s not too happy with the world. And, unfortunately, he tends to be on hand as the manager during most of our shifts. "That wasn’t smart, Vash. You know that guy’s not friendly."

"I know."

"If you lose this job, it’s your own fault."

"I know."

Suddenly, Mr. Cole’s deep voice bellows through the confines of the small dining area, making the ashtrays atop the tables in the smoking section shake and rattle. Vash’s face turns white as he realizes that the man is screaming his name. He almost looks as if he’s ready to crawl under the table. I give him a smug grin, motioning towards the door that leads to the kitchen and, in turn, Mr. Cole’s office.

He nods solemnly, stands, sets his shoulders back, and then walks towards the door. For a moment, I’m reminded of a man walking before a firing squad...

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[Vash]

When I heard Mr. Cole’s voice rumble through the dining room, I expected to open his office door to see a clawed, fanged creature waiting for me, or even a gun aimed at my chest. It was quite a surprise, needless to say, that I was greeted by a smile. Yellow teeth nearly turned green and cavities abound, it was not a pleasant smile, but a smile, nonetheless. In one hand, he holds a cigar so thick it almost appears comical, and in the other is a folder. He waves it around for a moment before tossing it onto the desk in front of me and motioning to one of the thick leather chairs. I take the seat slowly, a bit skeptical. "You called for me, Mr. Cole?"

He gnaws on the end of his cigar, leaning back in his chair and staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. I sit there, eyes blinking a bit rapidly as I await his response. Finally, after what seems like an eternity of waiting, he leans forward, clasping his thick hands together on the desk. "Vash, right?"

I nod.

"Vash, do you know the nature of this hotel?"

I shake my head.

"This hotel is a bit different than the others, here in New Vegas. We serve a special breed of people. People with special needs and special hobbies." I continue to nod at him as he speaks, wondering if he can get to the point before he uses the word ‘special’ a total of ten times. "These special people often make special requests, Vash."

Mentally noting that he’s now used the word five times, I nod at him once more, reaching to my chest to smooth down the black tie about my neck nervously. "So, you’re now faced with a special proposition. You can either meet these special needs, or you can be fired." He seems to have reached his point with only seven uses of the word. I smile at him just a bit, nodding once more. "Wipe that stupid smile off your face and pay attention." I straighten my back just a bit, forcing myself to not smile.

"What are the... special needs, sir?"

"We’ve got a special customer today. A very rich special customer. She requested that a man, your height, your weight, same kind of build, same color eyes and hair, come to her room tonight and..."

I immediately tense up in my seat, clenching my fists and trying to keep my anger from showing. "Sir, if you’re suggesting that I become some sort of male prostitute in order to keep this job..."

The frown on his face deepens exponentially. "I’m not suggesting you have sex with the woman, you buffoon."

I relax then, a bit surprised. "Oh. Well, what am I supposed to do, then?"

"Cross-dress."

I blink. "Cross-dress?"

"Cross-dress." He leans forward in his seat a bit, lowering his voice to a near whisper. I lean forward as well, trying to hear him over the noise in the kitchen. Admittedly, I should probably go ahead and refuse. Lose my job and decline dressing like a woman for some reason that I can’t even understand. Yet, I don’t want to lose my job... and there really can’t be any harm in doing this one little thing this one night. Hell, maybe I’ll get a bonus. "This woman enjoys, among other things, seeing men in her clothing. All you have to do is go to her room tonight, play dress-up with her, have a few drinks, and then leave. Of course, if you’re willing, there will be rewards."

I try to keep my mouth from falling open. Either that, or cracking up laughing. I try to picture myself wearing women’s clothing, failing miserably. I shake my head, still smirking. It’s almost ridiculous, really, and I guess it can’t be that bad. If it’s just what he says, the only person who will see it will be that woman... and it’s not like I know her. The idea is slowly beginning to appeal to me. "What kind of reward will I get?"

He frowns, looking down at the folder in his hand and reading over a few things before glancing back to me. "How does... five-hundred double dollars sound?"

I smirk just a bit. With a five-hundred double dollar bonus, Nicholas and I can be back on the road again in no time. And I’m sure that he’d appreciate the fact that I was the one to contribute the most to our attainment of a new vehicle. Not that I’d ever tell him how I got so much money...

I quickly nod to him, deciding then and there that I’m willing and trying to convince myself that it’s no big deal. I like to consider myself open-minded. "All right, Mr. Cole. I’ll do it."

He smiles at me, another of those sickly grins, and tosses the folder into my lap. "That contains some of the woman’s information, as well as a key to her room. She expects you there at exactly ten o’clock tonight."

I nod, standing from my seat and grasping the folder tightly in my hand. "Oh, and Vash... go ahead and take that break."

Nodding again and smiling a bit more than before, I exit the room. When the door closes behind me, though, that’s when I begin to wonder why in the hell I agreed to dress as a woman for five-hundred dollars.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[Wolfwood]

The first thing I notice about Vash when he exits through the swinging doors of the kitchen is the fact that he’s a bit... pinker than usual. Whether it’s a blush of embarrassment or heat, I don’t know. Either way, I don’t like it. He smiles weakly in my direction as he weaves through the tables, some of them empty by now, and sits in the booth across from mine.

"Something wrong?"

A quick shake of the head, a bit more tense than normal, before he gives me that damned fake smile. "Nope."

"What’s in the folder?"

"Nothing important."

"Did you lose your job?"

"Nope."

I raise an eyebrow for a moment, checking the time. Five minutes left, cigarette half gone, cup of coffee getting cold. It’s about time for me to go back to work, it seems, and I’m not going to spend the next hour trying to drag shit out of a stubborn spiky-headed nerd that obviously doesn’t want to talk about it. I take a rough, ragged drag off of the cigarette, making certain to exhale directly into his face, before I grind it out into the ashtray. "Fine, Vash. You don’t wanna let me in on what’s going on, that’s fine. But just remember..!" I point at his face, trying to find an end to the threat that won’t sound utterly stupid. He blinks wide eyes at me. I shake the finger in his face and stand from my seat.

He continues to blink as I return to pointing at him. "Just remember that it’s my fault we’re stuck here, so anything... anything good that happens is my fault!" His face contorts just a bit, obviously trying to keep from laughing at my lameness. I growl and turn away, ready to get back to work and forget about the immature man-child who is now sipping my cold cup of coffee.

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