Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ In His Eyes ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun or any of its characters. If I did, then Vash would be locked in my room as I fed him doughnuts at my leisure. Anyway, this story is going to be at least a few chapters long, but if any of you know me, it's never certain when the next chapter will be up. In the meantime, enjoy this one, and please review!

In His Eyes

Sometimes, I try to look at my life from an outsider's perspective. From all viewpoints, my life two years ago was about as ordinary as it gets. Twenty-something female gets up to eat breakfast and get dressed, goes to work, returns home after long exhausting day at said job, eats dinner and goes to bed again. Boring, but that was all I ever wanted.

Actually, that's a lie. Stories had been a part of my nightly routine as a child. Swashbuckling stories of adventure where the handsome hero always killed the dragon and won the hand of the fair maiden without seeming to break a sweat. Deep in my heart, I had always wanted something of that for myself. But on this dust ball of a planet, there wasn't much hope for that.

After the Great Fall, the survivors set about creating shelter for themselves and their families. There was no time for heroes or adventures, and certainly not enough time for romance.

My parents worked hard in the city that their grandparents had helped create. They were often gone, but they always had time for a bedtime story. Being an only child, there was never anyone to play with, so I spent my time after school expanding on the previous night's tale with flourishes of my own.

Growing up, I had heard stories of a monster living in the desert called Vash the Stampede. The rumor was considered to be just another wives' tale by the older children in my area; something parents made up to scare small children just enough to make them obedient. It was like the boogie monster, only that there were occasional sightings of outlaws claiming to be the Stampede, which sent all the adults into a frenzy.

I can remember one particular incident where the living legend was supposed to be camped only a few isles away from our edge of town. Some of the local men decided to see for sure if the rumors were true, and took guns and whatever other weapons they could find. I was around 13 years old at the time, and it was my job as the resident babysitter to calm all the small children.

We sat for hours in dusty playground, everyone waiting tensely for any news. As darkness approached, all of the men slowly appeared over the nearest hill carrying one on a stretcher. After he had been sent to the hospital, the explanation was trickled down from oldest to youngest. Vash the Stampede was alive and well; the infamous red coat had been spotted from miles away, and the man in the stretcher had decided to shoot him from a safe distance.

Of course, the legendary gunman had shot the gun right out of his hand, but that had been enough to send the rest of the men charging towards him, intent on ridding our town of a dangerous menace. Diego, the man who shot first (as we soon began to call him), had been grazed in the right shoulder from a stray bullet. Other than him, no one had been injured.

It was amazing, considering the odds. Twelve men had gone out, twelve men had come back. Deep in my heart, I was proud of the mysterious legend. Aside from being dangerous, no one knew anything about him, and that intrigued me. The amusing thing was, each of the men swore the red-cloaked man had started screaming, and then seemed to dodge each bullet. He only shot back when forced to, and even then only to disarm the offender.

That night as I lay in my bed, I tried to envision the strange man. Visions of a giant, shaped by the descriptions of those who had seen him came together in my head. His eyes were such a strange shade of green that the men swore they glowed behind yellow sunglasses. Strange blonde hair, seemingly held up merely by force of will. Who was he? Why did he stay away from everyone, and how was he able to win against such odds? Now, I admit to developing a small crush that night. Who was this phantom who never killed, but still managed to spread such destruction? His misadventures were the living embodiment of all my childhood daydreams. If only there was a way I could see this man in action, I was sure that he would be all my heroes wrapped up into one.

Years passed, as they always seem to do, and my childhood dreams of adventure and romance were slowly pushed out of mind. I graduated from my small school near the top of my class; mostly out of determination. I managed to find myself a job soon after. At the age of 22, after three years of being a lowly pencil-pusher for the Bernadelli insurance company, I was given an assignment.

My friend and co-worker, Milly Thompson and I were to be sent to track down Vash the Stampede, and to keep track of his actions in order to prevent further damage. It seemed a simple enough task, yet my heart was pounding.

A celebration was in order. A field position like this was not only an increase in pay, but a rise in status over some of the people in our office who always looked down their noses at us. The thought was thrilling enough, but then I remembered who we were going to be sent to track. Vash the Stampede…the hero that dreams were made of. I could feel a flush creeping into my cheeks as I remembered how his face had looked in my imagination.

He would certainly be handsome. Maybe rugged and muscular, from living so many years as a wanderer, as my imagination dictated he would be. I made my way into the ladies' locker room first, and looked in the mirror in my locker as I straightened the bow on my blouse. Yes, certainly handsome, with green eyes that glowed as he looked out over the desert wasteland while his red coat flapping, almost as if he were challenging the wind to a duel.

Satisfied that my bow was straight, I rubbed my cheek in a futile effort to make the deep rosy blush go away as I mentally erased the heroic picture of the Stampede in my head. I repeated in my head that the man we were looking for was probably a drunk who happened to be good with a gun, and that the man I had seen in my imagination for years would never match.

Life simply didn't work that way. If it had, I certainly would have dreamed up a big bag of cash for myself, and maybe the manager position at work. It was so easy to explain away childhood fantasies when faced with the harsh truth of reality. I slammed my locker door closed a little harder than necessary, and went to find Milly.