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By Brian Randall

Disclaimer: Moved to footer.

This one goes to the good people at Foothill Anime, which is a shame, because they deserve better. ;)


Shielding his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun, the shorter of two companions measured time against distance. "Almost there," he commented.

His companion grunted in a noncommittal manner, his swarthy bulk casting a shadow that the shorter of the pair was almost tempted to hide from the sun in. "Water's getting low."

"Yes, but the town's right there. We'll be fine."

The taller traveler nodded, his face, as were both of theirs, covered by a thin layer of cloth to protect from the dust and the sandstorms, his duster flapping in the dry, hot breeze.


She imagined she probably looked silly when she thought about it, posing so dramatically in nothing but her underwear — and the gun. She shook her head, carefully putting the gun back in its case, and grabbing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

Her reflection made a face at her in the mirror, and she played with it for a bit before giggling, brushing her short hair back. "Baaaaka," she murmured, smirking.

The wall behind her was lined with carefully maintained weaponry — none of them loaded, of course. It was a hobby, though… and she did have ammunition, hidden as that was. She sighed, thinking about it.

A hobby that cost her friends, only the few members of her club actually sharing her interest, and scared off potential boyfriends. Her stomach growled a warning at her, reminding her that she had yet to eat that day.

Sighing again, she went to the phone. Maybe some takeout…


He glanced around the tavern warily. The majority of the men looked like the rough type — people he'd rather not mess with, if he could help it. His taller companion was large himself, and somewhat rough… but trouble was to be avoided, wherever possible.

"We're…" he cleared his throat, coughing the dust of the road away. "We're looking for someone… and we'd like to know of anyone here has seen them."

The men looked up, casually interested, some of them still intent on their drinks or card games. One of them finally spoke up, asking, "Who?"

"They call her…" he paused for a moment, licking his lips. He really should have gotten a drink before beginning the search. "They call her 'The Breeze'?"

The tavern was suddenly silent, save for the sudden inrush of breath as casual interest gave way to outright terror.


"Heeelllooooo!" the voice on the other end of the phone crooned. "You've reached the love and—"

"Eh? Excuse me?"

"No need! One of our representatives will be with you shortly! Now, if you would answer a few questions before we begin—"

"What? What? What questions?"

"Well, first off, what are your three sizes?"

Face flushed, and one hand clasped to her chest, she slammed the receiver down. "Not the number I meant to call!" she squeaked.

Shivering, she hoped it wouldn't show up on the phone bill. "Not important," she muttered turning back to the phone book. "Nobody likes pizza anyway. I'll get some Chinese."

A sudden flash from the reflective surface of the gun rack alerted her, and she whirled, staring wide-eyed. "What the…"


He motioned the taller companion back, "Careful; we have no idea what she's like — if this is even her. Let's be careful."

Nodding wordlessly, the swarthy man drew his duster apart, revealing the giant piece of weaponry strapped to his hip. Not a gesture of aggression, but a show of good faith that they wouldn't need to hide their weapons. They hoped.

How she interpreted it…

"Excuse me?" he asked, trepidation making his legs weak.

This was the woman supposedly responsible for the destruction of countless territories. It was said that her kindness alone could kill, and… and here he was trying to make some kind of deal with her? He wasn't paid enough.

His bosses would hear words from him about that, if he made it back alive!


In a swirling flash of light, someone else was in her room, and she was not pleased with that fact, either. She fumbled for her gun, swiftly loading it and releasing the safety, drawing a bead on the trench-coat-clad figure. Male, she discerned after a moment.

He blinked at her, seemingly unconcerned with the weapon. "You called the love and peace hotline?" he asked.

"What? Never mind that — who are you, and how did you get in here?"

Raising his hands slowly in a gesture to indicate his unarmed status, he said, "Whoa! Don't worry — is that an original .44 magnum?"

She blinked, staring at her weapon. "Um… yeah, it was a gift…"

The man drew closer, staring at it raptly. "The one with a cut down .308 rifle round instead of the standard .44 clips?"


"Oh, my!" she said softly, as he stood near her nervously. "What's this all about?"

"Er…" he began nervously, gesturing to his larger companion, "this is my partner, Otaki, and my name is Morisato Keiichi… I'm with the Nekomi insurance society. Are you… Are you the one they call 'Belldandy the Breeze'?"

She nodded pleasantly — disarmingly, even — at him. "Yes! Can I help you?"


"Anyway," she explained, "you can see here where the rifling was reduced in an attempt to increase the speed after ejection. It doesn't actually work very well, but it's kind of interesting to look at, eh?"

He nodded knowingly, offering her a gentle smile. "So, you have a wish, now that I'm here. And, ah… sorry about surprising you earlier, Miss."

She waved a hand dismissively, wishing he would stop joking about wishes. "Call me Megumi. And I kind of wish that I could have someone like you as a boyfriend to stay with me, but you can't have everything, eh?"

Eyes becoming distant, she felt a faint power begin to build, and for the first time began to wonder if maybe that hadn't been such a wise wish to make. "Er… Vash?"

Ah! My Gun, or Trigoddess. You decide!

Disclaimer: Ah! Megami-Sama is property of Fujishima Kosuke, and Trigun belongs to Pioneer.

Notes: Well… that done, I think I'm going to take a break from the Mystery Fusions for a while. Twenty is a lot, after all.

Layout, design, & site revisions 2005

Webmaster: Larry F
Last revision: January 7, 2006

Old Gray Wolf