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A week had passed since Vash the Stampede had been captured. Yes, that worthless, pathetic creature who was, by some bizarre twist of fate, the brother of Millions Knives. An end had at last been put to his aimless skittering across the planet, his shameless squealing about love and peace.
For too long Legato had dreamt, prayed and downright fantasized about times like these. The Humanoid Typhoon, this disgrace to the name of Plants who had so grievously injured Legato's beautiful master — now stripped of his powers, his tacky red coat, and any hopes of defying his infinitely superior brother for humanity's sake. And to add glorious insult to well-deserved injury, Vash had not only been trapped and rendered helpless; he was also fully at Legato's mercy. Master Knives had ordered Legato to keep watch over him, day and night. Sweet vengeance. Oh, terrible satisfaction. In that moment it had taken all of Legato's self control not to respond: "with pleasure".
And yet today, something was off. Legato could not help but notice one pesky little detail marring that pleasure, a vulgar new addition to what had once been an otherwise perfect picture.
Vash was, for all his faults, beautiful. How could he not? He was master Knives' twin, after all, the mirror of a god. Like the master Legato worshipped and adored, Vash had a graceful figure, long-limbed, gazelle-like, elegant and svelte. The facial features were elfin, sharp yet bright. Unlike master Knives there was ordinarily something sappy and lackluster about Vash's eyes ... but the agony Legato had inflicted upon him had banished that. Replaced it with a far more appealing martyr look.
Yes, suffering brought out the best in Vash the Stampede, and Legato was far from tired of admiring it. But in this moment ... ugh. There was no less distasteful way to put it. Too human by far, Vash was beginning to look unkempt.
"Ew," Legato said.
Vash barely blinked, his exhausted, dark-circled eyes seeming to agree with his tormentor.
"Ewww," Legato said again, slightly louder this time.
Legato counted three seconds before Vash finally deigned to look at him. Doubtlessly in no mood for mockery, Vash must have been determined to maintain a dignified attitude by ignoring him. For the first second, at least. Then he must have realized that defiance could only lead to more suffering. Another limb twisted past its natural limits, another paroxysm of pain. In the world of pain no personhood could thrive; the self was sublimated. The noble struggle of existence reduced to nothing but longing for the cessation of anguish. Even a few minutes' break would suffice, for the proudest man alive would content himself with crumbs when made to understand that the grand, romantic idea of freedom no longer existed in the same world as he.
Legato knew this all too well. Captivity and domination, the song and dance of shame. He stared down at Vash and softly said:
"You are a shoddy imitation of him."
But there was no hurt in Vash's eyes that Legato could see. In fact, he smiled a little.
"0/10 ragebait," he whispered.
Legato blinked. "What."
"I know I'm the weaker one. You wouldn't be the first to say so, Legato, and you certainly won't be the last. But I'm no imitation, and you know it. You wouldn't hate me so much otherwise."
Legato scoffed. "You are unbearable. Always going on and on about trivial, irrelevant emotions. Of course your character isn't worth one hair on master Knives' head." He lightly shook his head, the most movement he was capable of in this state. "No, I was referring to your ... general appearance."
"Aww, sucks to hear that!" Vash affected that intolerable whine of his. "I'll tell you what, why dontcha let me out of here and I'll clean up real nice. Pinkie promise!"
Despite himself, Legato let out a little laugh. "A comedian, I see. Indeed, your face with that appalling stubble truly is cause for laughs." He watched with interest as Vash's straight little nose scrunched up. He could practically hear the blonde's thoughts, imagine the plaintive enunciation with which he might say Well, what the heck do you want me to do about it? "Mm." Legato gave a tiny nod. "Yes, you prefer to keep yourself pretty and primped, don't you. How many cans of hairspray do you go through in a year?"
At last Vash displayed a hint of discomfort. Legato licked his lips at the apprehension in those large, downturned, pale blue eyes. Confusion and wariness battled there, eyelashes fluttering rapidly.
"... What are you getting at?" Vash finally asked.
"Oh, nothing at all. Only ..." Legato made a show of hemming and hawing.
Vash took the bait. "Only what?"
"You see, I can't allow master Knives' brother to remain in such a deplorable state. What do you say to a little beauty salon appointment? Right here on the Ark, just for you."
Vash's eyes darted back and forth. What an expressive face, Legato thought to himself. The play of emotions flickering across it was as loud as spoken words and five times more entertaining. The scruffy, worn down angel visibly adjusting his perception of just how insane this servant of Knives' could possibly be. "What in the deep space planet future gun action is going on?" Legato could all but see the weary question written into the curvature of Vash's eyebrows. A faint twitch of his fine pink upper lip and it was clear that his prisoner was wondering how Legato — paralyzed as he was in his mechanical coffin — might even pull off such a thing. But — oh. His threads. Of course. The eyebrows dropped, relaxing into wry unhappiness. Then the lips set into a hard line. Contemplating the outrageous grotesqueness of the proposed situation, Legato would assume? The extent to which the puppeting of Vash's scarred and half-naked body would unnerve him. And lastly Legato saw Vash, too human by far, close his eyes and fall into the most important and most obvious question: what reply would earn him the least pain?
"Gee, Legato," his voice finally floated up, buoyed by dry, longsuffering sarcasm. "That sounds great."
"That's what I thought." Legato retreated into his own mind and mentally reached out to Elendira, also on the Ark. He envisioned his inner voice carrying through the ship. Cold, electric strands connecting the two of them. Requesting ...
A razor, shaving cream, water, shampoo, conditioner, and hairspray. If you would be so kind. Oh, she swore at him and promised him a world of pain for daring to invade her mind with his disgusting powers, but she brought the items anyway. Perhaps out of simple curiosity? Which might have been what compelled her to linger in the doorway, leaning into an asymmetrical pose with her arms crossed as if she expected to be photographed for a magazine cover at any minute. That was Elendira's way.
"Thank you," Legato said primly.
The first order of business was to transfer the water from the bucket to Vash's face and hair. But how? Legato cursed his broken and traitorous body, even though it was his own beloved master who had seen fit to imprison him in it. What Knives did was invariably admirable and right. Yet this move in particular certainly made it more difficult to serve him ...
Not impossible, though. Legato ran through his options. He could, of course, put Elendira to work as a proxy with his threads. This possibility, however, came with several cons. Sharp, enormous ones, in fact, that would easily pierce through Legato's sarcophagus to skin, muscles and organs.
Ooh. I'm like a beetle. Hehe. Exoskeleton, Legato mused. Okay. Other plans of action.
Only ... What a test of his patience, this. Such a strain on his resolve! Only a few months ago Legato could have picked up that bucket and gone to work without even thinking about it. That was the time his sole enemy was the virulent greed and power-grubbing nature of mankind. Now it was that PLUS his useless muscles. It really made a difference.
How Legato longed for that small freedom he had once disregarded. To move, just move. He wanted it ... so desperately ...
"Let me out of here, Crimsonnail."
The woman stared. "Are you stupid?"
"Trust the process."
Elendira shrugged and crossed the distance between them with two sweeping steps, so swift and graceful she might have been rubbing it in Legato's face for all he knew. She briskly undid the clasps and latches to open the sarcophagus.
Legato spilled out of it rather than fell or flopped. His body hit the floor with a soft thud.
Of course Elendira took that as her cue to slow-clap.
"You know, I can't see anything from down here," Vash piped up, "but it really sounds like you're having fun!"
Legato's arm shot out drunkenly. Uncoordinated, it rammed into the bucket like a club, tipping it over and sloshing its contents onto the Stampede's insufferable face. Sputters and gasps erupted from the floor cell. Legato's perspective was skewed from the fact that he was lying on the floor, but he could sense Elendira gaping behind him.
"How ...?" she breathed.
His lips curled into a grin. "My threads extend to all living things. At the moment, that subset happens to include myself." He couldn't see her expression, but he hoped some fear might be written there. Though most likely it was not that at all but instead a steely, practiced poker face. "I'll need practice, but for now ... more than enough to get Vash the Stampede's hair all fresh and ready." Legato waited for a reaction, but Elendira wasn't giving him the satisfaction. Classic. He was in such a good mood that he let her take that round and broke the silence again himself. "... Push me nearer, please."
"Jesus Christ." Elendira nudged Legato's inert body with the toe of her boot until he could see Vash's sopping wet and mournful face through the bars.
"Excellent," Legato replied, although human touch mostly gave him the urge to puke first and murder immediately afterwards.
She shrugged. "Only doing this out of morbid curiosity for what you do next."
"Yes. I don't care. Be quiet." It took all of Legato's focus, but he was able to cast his arm out again, enough to send the shampoo bottle across the floor and through the bars. Vash yelped as it clocked him squarely in the left eye.
"Legato! What the hell, man. Have you ever showered before?" the Plant bravely managed to get the words out. "You're supposed to pop the cap off, squirt out a little, and gently rub in —"
"Oh, I know. Which is why we will be doing that. Together."
"... HUH??"
Before Vash could let out another word of protest, his own fingers were clenching around the offending bottle and jamming the top of it into his mouth, which was concomitantly opening against his will. Muffled, panicked little cries bubbled up from Vash's throat as his body went through the motions that were not his own. Legato's fingers worked away, occasionally twitching lightly, and Vash's body kept helplessly responding, his eyes blown wide with the surprise that never seemed to wear away no matter how much he saw of Legato's power. There he went, Legato's mind behind his captive's muscles: popping the lid open, lifting the shampoo bottle up above the part in Vash's blonde hair, squeezing the sides. Working the soap into the roots as well as the individual locks, gone floppy from days of neglect.
"Ow! Stop, please Legato, you're being so rough!"
"Hm. How about no."
"But — I can shampoo myself, you don't have to thread me! You think I don't want clean hair?"
"Silence."
Vash groaned softly and squeezed his eyes shut as his fingers got stuck in a tangle but pushed senselessly onward. Goaded on by a force that couldn't feel his pain for him. "Why are you doing this ..."
Clearly, a lack of true torture had made this pest bold. Legato wanted him humiliated. He made it so a stray soapy finger got in Vash's eye. "Oops."
As Vash wailed in shock and hissed at the continued sting, Legato laboriously turned his head to face Elendira. "We're going to need more water."
"Maybe he could shower normally." Her eyes were steely with distaste. "Knives never said anything about —"
"But what do you care?" Legato raised one eyebrow. "Tattle on me if you wish. See if it scores you some extra points with him. What I am doing is keeping Vash the Stampede distracted and worn down so he cannot overpower me and escape."
"Oh really? I thought you were giving him a shower."
"No. I'm also going to shave his fuckass stubble afterwards."
Vash whimpered.
Regardless of her reasons, Elendira breezed away and returned with the requested water. She sloshed it over Vash herself, and Legato could see the pitiful clown in his pit of misery trying to play it cool and even smile soggily up at her. Didn't he have some sort of a reputation as a ladykiller ...?
"Embarrassing," Legato said, and politely forced the Plant to slap himself.
Ignoring his catlike yowl of surprise, Legato controlled Vash's fingers with ease, threading them through his sopping hair to rinse and rinse until he was satisfied with the general soaplessness of it. "There," he said. "Doesn't that feel luxurious?"
Vash shivered slightly. "Um ... yes, positively extravagant ..."
"Wonderful. Then it's time for the beard."
"Oh! Um, I'm actually thinking of keeping —"
Elendira let out a strangled noise and kicked the shaving things down into the cell herself.
The tube of shaving cream had a lid that had to be twisted off this time. It was particularly delightful for Legato to negotiate the mechanics of this, given the singular arm of Vash's at his disposal. With infinite delicacy, Legato put the blonde's tongue to work. During this procedure Vash's eyes went a little blank and unfocused. Even his face seemed a little paler.
"What's the matter?" Legato purred. "Feels strange?"
Of course, Vash was unable to respond.
The blonde's fingers were easily under Legato's control. The shaving cream? Not so much. Frothy and lathery and unpredictable, some of it got into Vash's nose and throat, causing him to squirm and sneeze most deliciously.
Finally, when Legato curled Vash's fingers around the razor's handle, the blonde's expressive face couldn't help but give away the dread doubtlessly building in his heart like limestone in an old dishwasher. Oh, and then the minute microreactions as he realized the mistake he'd made letting Legato see him sweat. The oh shit, I'm fucked of it all ... Legato's heartbeat quickened in his chest. Nothing could be more stimulating to his sadistic soul. How was he supposed to resist playing with this mess of a man, pushing all those oh-so-obvious buttons?
Oh don't worry, he projected into Vash's fear-wracked brain. I'm not going to cut up your face. At least not on purpose. I'm doing this because I couldn't stand the unsightliness of your previous look. However ... Legato forced the muscles in Vash's hand to clench around the razor he was still holding. That doesn't mean we can't keep this thing for later. Yes?
Vash was unlucky enough to display the exact reaction Legato wanted. He shook his head no-no-no in jerky, panicked little movements, a terrorized look on his face, cheeks flushed with unshed tears. Legato pounced on it, savoring the helpless flutter of those fair eyelashes, the tension in Vash's lithe body. Awww, I think you like that idea! I can tell by your radiant smile. I'm sure we'll find something to do to you once Crimsonnail gets bored of watching your beauty queen makeover.
And so Legato proceeded to draw the razor across Vash's stubbled chin and upper lip. Slowly, slowly, since any mistake truly would defeat the purpose. Despite his eternal blazing loyalty to Millions Knives, Legato could not deny he missed the view he had when Vash was pretty. Therefore, he fully devoted himself to restoring it. This was tricky work even by his standards; it felt artistic. But of course the irritating creature just had to spoil it. He snapped Legato out of his reverie by flinching, nearly resulting in a shaving cut. The exact issue Legato had been trying to avoid.
Legato exhibited remarkable self restraint by not turning Vash into a pretzel.
Instead, he very reasonably forced all the Stampede's muscles still. He maintained this extreme immobility until he considered Vash had learned his lesson.
The instant Vash regained some control over his own body, he was shuddering and wiping the shaving cream away with the back of his hand as if it hurt him.
"Aww, don't do that, you'll irritate your skin," Elendira said. "You're too cute for that."
Vash seized onto some note of sympathy he perhaps imagined he could hear in her voice. "C ... can we stop ... for the day ..." His voice was ragged and weak, as if Legato had been doing to him who knows what. It rubbed Legato every wrong way. Clearly this weepy wretch had yet to learn the meaning of true pain.
"Aww, but your hair is wet, you'll catch cold," Legato said, copying Elendira's tone. "You're too cute for that."
Vash shook his head again, his eyes hollow. "I'm sorry, Legato," he murmured. "I'm tired. Really. ... Don't ... don't you want to take a break too?"
"Who, me?" Legato flashed him a merciless smile. "I haven't broken a sweat. Besides, I can't just abandon you mid-makeover, can I now? That would be inconceivably rude."
Vash whimpered again and closed his eyes. Steeling himself.
"You're afraid of a little blow-dry?" Elendira laughed. The sound was pleasant, betraying her incomplete understanding of the situation. The intimacy of it all excited Legato even further. "Watch out, we got a tough guy here," she teased.
Legato swooped back in before her easy manners and friendly exterior could put his prey at ease. "My thoughts exactly."
Truth be told, Legato's energy was flagging. Simply existing had become ten times more difficult since master Knives had crushed him. He somehow did nothing at all and still tired easily. But there was no way in hell he was he going to give up on this. For the rest of his days, Legato would be able to brag that he once tortured a man with no more than a beauty salon treatment.
Elendira dashed and fetched her hairdryer. It was an excellent one, as was everything that Elendira used on her body, and it gave her the most admirable blowouts. Knowing none of this, Vash nearly burst into tears at the sound of her plugging it in and turning it on. But Elendira was not about to trust her expensive, premium hairdryer in Legato's hands, so she handled this stage of the makeover herself. Legato opted not to fight her on that. Not when she had proven so cooperative. Most days she was downright violent with him. Today, Legato was even privately grateful not to have to fumble with the appliance himself in front of his own captive. Elendira also passed Vash some tissues and cleansing wipes for any excess shaving cream, and he had just thanked her and started to use them on himself with visible relief before Legato took over and made him scrub himself as if he was trying to exorcise demons.
At last Vash was all rinsed and soaped and wiped and shaved. All that remained was ...
"Your signature spiked hair," Legato intoned. "Aren't you excited?"
Vash appeared to be fully dissociating.
"I said aren't you excited." Legato impeccably reproduced in Vash's prefrontal cortex the sensation of stubbing your toe when you already have an inflamed ingrown nail.
Thus, Vash spent the last lap of his dream makeover mechanically teasing and spraying his hair into its usual punk style while sobbing quietly.
"Man," Elendira said when all was finished and Vash looked like his typical twunk self (if perhaps more red-rimmed and dark-circled about the eyes). "That was ... weirdly kind of relaxing to watch. Though I don't know if I still think he has a chance at defeating Knives. Kind of a pussy. I'm sorry! I said it!" She put her hands up. "Beauty hurts!"
"Indeed." Legato pursed his lips. "Of course he has no such chance. And even if he did, I would never permit it. Can you imagine me, Legato Bluesummers, abandoning my post?"
"No. Cause you couldn't even abandon this room if you wanted to, asshole." Elendira picked up the last of the scattered hygiene products off of the floor and straightened up. "Still. We should totally do this again."