Title: Lost in Translation
Characters: Vash, Wolfwood
Word Count: 448
Summary: Packing uncovers strange things.
Comments: No comments, really. Written in response to another challenge. I do so love challenges. :D
Lost in Translation
Moving from place to place was almost never fun, and it definitely wasn’t easy. Things inevitably got left behind. There was just no helping it.
Vash had found the worn, soft roll of cloth on the floor in the doorway to Wolfwood’s room. When Wolfwood saw what the Humanoid Typhoon was holding up he dropped the belt he was securing around the Punisher’s arm and hurried over.
“Gimme that.” He swiped at it. Vash lifted it easily from his reach, intrigued.
“So it is?”
“No, of course not. I just like to collect worked skins—it’s a fetish of mine. Now hand it over, noodle noggin.”
“But what is it?”
Vash held it up as high as he could and swiftly unrolled it. The ink staining its folds was a deep, rich black and written in a small, uptight hand. Vash squinted up at it.
“This isn’t your handwriting. Whose is it?”
“None of your goddam business. Now give it.” He’d ceased struggling. Now he merely stood with an outstretched hand and an annoyed expression on his dark-featured face.
Vash mouthed some of the more largely-written words. “‘Though shalt not keep for thine own when others want with need...’ Hmm. Looks like a bunch of rules to me. What’re they for?”
“My religion,” said Wolfwood gruffly. Vash handed him the skin and he hastily rolled it, his hands obviously familiar with its weight and texture. Vash’s eyes lit up.
“Really? So it’s like your Bible?”
“It’s the Bible. Everyone’s gotta keep his own copy with him. Higher-class priests get actual paper.”
Vash whistled. “Impressive. So where’s the rest of it?”
Wolfwood stared at him like he’d suddenly realized he’s been talking to the wrong end of a thomas. “That’s it, Tongari. There is no more.”
“Well sure there is!” Vash exclaimed. “The Bible’s this big thick book with these really thin, see-through pages and columns and columns of this tiny, miniscule type...” He trailed off when he noticed the look of astonishment Wolfwood was giving him.
“Real paper, huh? Typed? Sounds pretty luxurious.”
“Not when you have a lot of trees,” Vash reminded him, then stopped, frowning. “You’ve never even seen it, have you?”
“No, the Bible.”
Wolfwood shrugged and flapped the rolled skin. “This is all the Bible I need, my pointy-haired friend. As long as I live it truthfully and do not stray from the written path, I shall not fail.”
Vash’s eyes were an unreadable dark shade of emerald. “The Bible says ‘Thou shalt not kill,’” he said softly.
“Does it really?” Wolfwood looked thoughtful as he pocketed the creased leather. “Hmm. Amazing, the things that get lost over time, eh?”