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    Summary

    Vash throws a hurt scowl over his shoulder. “My blood doesn’t stink.”

    “Like hell it doesn’t. It’s nasty.” Wolfwood’s free hand, the one not playing with Vash’s un-fun internal anatomy, comes around to smack Vash in the nose. He’s also got Vash’s blood on that one, though significantly less of it. “Take a whiff, Spikey. Or Stinky. Understand the things I’m doin’ for you right now.”

    (Detritus and rotten leaf litter are smells that Wolfwood’s probably never come into contact with, so it makes sense that he’s reacting so poorly to them; the human tang of iron being replaced by garlicky phosphorus doesn’t help the case for Vash’s blood not smelling bad. Vash likes garlic, though. Most people like garlic, actually. It’s a very popular flavor. And vampire legends on No Man’s Land hate peppers instead of garlic, so it’s not like Wolfwood could pull the Dracula card on Vash and say that a different immortal being feared by the general public would be on his side of the argument.)

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