Vash The Stampede had always hated sunny Desert with its damaged, deep dried weeds. It was a place where he felt mad.
He was a dumb, funny, beer drinker with skinny arms and skinny legs. His friends saw him as a damaged, deep dumb funny. Once, he had even rescued fantastic realastate Girls from a shootout in a bar. That's the sort of man he was.
Vash The Stampede walked over to the window and reflected on his dull surroundings. The dry teased like rampaging rat.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Discartes Voice. Discartes was a rude brute with big arms and big legs.
Vash The Stampede gulped. He was not prepared for Discartes.
As Vash The Stampede stepped outside and Discartes came closer, he could see the harsh glint in his eye.
"I am here because I want 60 million double dollars," Discartes bellowed, in a violent tone. He slammed his fist against Vash The's chest, with the force of 5380 Horses. "I frickin hate you, Vash The Stampede said."
Vash The Stampede looked back, even more aggressive and still fixing the silver heavy gun. "Discartes, your gonna have to kill me for it," he replied.
They looked at each other with grumpy feelings, like two low, long lizards running at a very dry pool, which had loud music playing in the background and two surprised uncles shouting to the beat.
Suddenly, Discartes lunged forward and tried to punch Vash The Stampede in the face. Quickly, Vash The Stampede grabbed the silver heavy gun and shot Discartes's skull.
Discartes's big arms trembled and his big legs wobbled. He looked angry, his body raw like a broken, bright bomb.
Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Discartes Voice was dead.
Vash The Stampede went to the Real-estate girls and took their donuts.
