Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Dancing with the Devil ❯ two ( Chapter 2 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: GoneLoki 
Valentine's Day happenings with the two boys. More sniping and making low comments and a furious Kenken.
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 07.22.2004 | Pages: 3 | Words: 3.9K | Visits: 398 | Status: Work In Progress
Valentine's Day happenings with the two boys. More sniping and making low comments and a furious Kenken.
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 07.22.2004 | Pages: 3 | Words: 3.9K | Visits: 398 | Status: Work In Progress
London was a misery when it snowed. In the mornings, before anyone has been up, it covered the ground like soft feathers spilt from a pillow making the stark sky and buildings into a fairy tale scene. But once the snow was disturbed, everything looked brown and tired, like cheap newsprint that's been used then tossed away, gathering piles and becoming slush on the streets and sidewalks alike. I clumped through the mess, just another man in a long winter's coat and heavy winter boots, neither my white hair nor height making me stand out from the crowd.
I slogged from store to store in a vain attempt to empty one of my bank accounts. Toys, clothing, books, food, and furniture were purchased then delivered to the address I gave, the store owners promising that none of my purchases would come to harm during the trip. Finished with the more serious purpose of my trek through the miserable English weather, I made my way towards my next stop. A chocolate shop, in fact, one whose sign proclaimed them 'Makers of fine chocolate since 1859', a claim I doubted by the newest of their storefront.
Stepping inside prove me to be wrong. The store had the old wood of a long ago place, polished to a deep golden brown by loving hands. Containers of thick, smoky glass held old-fashioned penny candies next to sealed candies geared to younger taste buds. The smell of chocolate and caramel hung in the air, mixed with tantalizing traces of honey and butter and milk. I took a sniff at the air, feeling a smile touch the corner of my mouth. Perfect.
I wasn't the only person browsing the contents of the store. A very familiar redhead was frowning down at a collection of red boxes, his face set in serious lines and his shoulders stiff. He glanced briefly at me, purple eyes narrowing before he turned his attention to the display before him, though I knew that he was tracking my every move. Guess he just didn't trust me, though why that was I had no idea.
I gave the display a glance then went in search of something more meaningful than the standard red heart-shapes that over took the English-speaking world around Valentine's Day. I wanted something I knew would be accepted gratefully, having remembered what that was throughout all these years. It took a few minutes to locate what I was looking for, but when I did find it, I was pleasantly surprised by it. I was used to marzipan in fruit and flower forms, but whoever made those boxes had shaped them into fat cherubs and hearts and arrows. Choosing a box, I went to the front to pay for it and spotted him again, still agonizing over chocolates.
I placed my box on the counter and glanced at him, noting that he was dressed for the weather in tweed pants, a familiar orange sweater, and a heavy tweed jacket. He turned his head to look me over then snorted.
“I thought you always wore leather,” he said, his English accented pleasantly and his chin rising into the air.
“We are not going to start snipping at each other, are we?” I replied, leaning back against the counter.
He frowned at me. “Why not?”
“Because it gets tiring and I've already had a long day. You looking for a girlfriend?”
He stiffened and his eyes narrowed more. I briefly wondered if he could even see. “I do not need a girlfriend.”
I raised a hand. “Take it easy. I meant are you looking for something to buy for your girlfriend.”
He snorted and looked back at the chocolates. “Like I would tell you.”
“I just want to give you some advice,” I replied with a shrug, turning my attention to the bulk candy, starting a mental countdown. I had reached five when he sighed.
“What kind of advice would you give me? Aren't you gay?”
I blinked and looked over my shoulder at him. “I happen to be bi. And women like having special gifts instead of the same kind of candy year after year.”
“A lot of help that does me,” he muttered, turning his scowl back to the chocolate in front of him. “I don't even know if she likes chocolate.”
“Then buy her something nice looking and get yourself some,” I replied, picking up various candy bars in their colorful wrappers and putting them back. A particular blue and yellow package caught my eyes, and I recalled the memories of eating that flaky chocolate during my brief time in London as a child. I picked up a package, turned around and leaned over Fujimiya, dangling the Flake bar in front of his nose. “Something like this. It's even better than sex.”
He snatched it out of my hand and shoved an elbow into my gut at the same time. “Back off, Farfarello.”
I chuckled, not at all deterred by his actions. He was even pricklier than Crawford, which was strange considering how well we worked together last summer. Maybe Fujimiya was not at all happy to even be reminded of the condition I placed on freeing him back then. I didn't care so long as he kept on being amusing.
The store's owner stopped me from playing any more games with the redhead. After smiling at the two of us, he took the box of candies from me and asked if there was anything else I wanted. I got myself a Flake bar and then added to my order forty-seven more Flake bars, gave him an address to deliver the candy too and headed outside into the slushy streets for my last purchase.
As I walked, I ate my candy bar, trying very hard not to let it crumble to bits with each bite. The snow was turning into mush, though the air itself still held onto its bitter wind. I suppose it would make a good excuse for lovers to curl up close for Valentine’s night tonight, but it meant little to me. Maybe if things worked out differently, I would have stayed with Sally, but there was something inherentantly wrong with a woman that was so useless like she was. If she broke a nail, she would scream like her whole hand got cut off. She had some sporadic bouts of bravery, but mostly she got annoying after a while. Maybe I just never had any luck with women; either they try to kill me or they try to tie me down.
Not that being tied down was a bad thing. Well, so long as it was just with leather and velvet straps.
I wandered into a couple of flower shops, leaving just as quickly as the staff tried selling me roses and more roses before I could even open my mouth. You’d figured that they would try to ask what a customer wanted before trying to sell him stuff, but I guess the holiday wrapped everyone’s mind right about. I stomped some slush off my boots, walked some more and squinted at a storefront full of different kinds of flowers. It had a lot more promise, the center display made out of roses but there were side displays of other flowers, arranged in dazzling styles.
I may be insane, but I do know when colors look nice together.
Opening the door, I stepped into the muggy air of the shop and heard something I did not expect to hear in February in an English shop. Japanese spoken by a real Japanese person in a familiar lively voice. I actually had the urge to leave before I got spotted but I always did have a masochistic streak. Of course Murphy had to make sure that he spotted me, shouting in Japanese and nearly scaring the poor girls fawning over him.
"Shit, Schwarz! What the fuck are you doing here? Get out!"
"Just shopping, there's no crime in that, is there?" I asked, rolling my shoulders and eyeing the blonde behind the other counter. I’d always felt that their employers looked more for types of pretty boys instead of people who were more killer material.
"Like your kind would just shop. I know why you are here, and I won’t let you come any where near any of us!"
I raised an eyebrow at that. I often wondered if Weiß got some of their lines from ‘Heroes ‘R’ Us’. Somehow, it sounded like something any hero would say before he got his teeth kicked down his throat by the so-called-villain. That so deserved a reply, something flippant and stupid.
"Ken, enough," Aya said, coming out of the back room. "Don't be such a hot head in front of the other customers."
I hid a sigh and eyed the redhead. There goes that fun.
"But, Aya, he's that lunatic from Schwarz!"
"Enough, you are making a scene." He turned to me, switching languages between one breath and the next. "You have to excuse Ken. His soccer team had lost last night to Ireland's. He must be still feeling hostile towards the Irish."
“I don’t blame him,” I replied, switching back to English as well and glancing at the brunet to see if he was still foaming at the mouth. “They did get reamed good.”
There were some puzzled faces among the customers as they looked from Ken to me and back to Ken again. I kept my face blank, even though I felt like giving Ken an evil maniacal laugh or something just to see how high he would jump. Ken’s own features look like it had caterpillars crawling under them before he tossed a bunch of roses onto the counter and stalked off into the back room. The blonde looked from me to him and frowned, following after Ken and calling his name. Aya caught my eye and jerked his head. So I took the hint and went over to him, upsetting some of the people waiting in line.
“Aren’t you going to go after Ken and calm him down?” I asked once I was close enough to talk to him without raising my voice.
“Michel is taking care of it,” he replied, his purple eyes narrowed and chin raised. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”
“I have a lot better things to do than follow you,” I replied, returning the glare. “It isn’t my fault that you have to open a flower shop in England and I happen to be hunting for flowers on a holiday when flowers are given out to people you care for.”
His nostrils flared, eyes narrowing then he snorted. “So, what is your excuse to come in here?”
“Looking for flowers, or is it a crime?”
“What kind?”
“Something that means something, not roses or other stupid crap like that, but a specific meaning to them,” I replied, shrugging faintly. “Most shops are more in the spirit of the holiday than to really want to figure out what I want the flowers to mean.”
He raised an eyebrow, frowning at me. I shrugged and pointed to a holder of irises. “Something with irises in it as well. I want it to mean something like ‘remembering friendship’.”
Both of his eyebrows went up with that. I made a face and stuck my hands in my pockets. Maybe the whole flower idea should be scraped before I lost my fearsome reputation completely. But Aya was already gathering together flowers, lining up the irises with white bellflowers and some everlasting. I blinked as he began to arrange them in a crystal vase, long fingers fluffing the flowers with delicate ease. It was odd seeing those hands like mine making something beautiful and delicate out of fragile living things.
“Irises normally means ‘your friendship means so much to me’,” he said as he worked, slipping a purple flower into the growing arrangement. “White bellflowers mean ‘gratitude’ and everlasting means ‘enduring remembrance’. Would that fit what you are thinking?”
I shrugged. “Sounds close enough to me.”
“Do you want it special delivery?”
I raised an eyebrow, eyeing his professional, blank expression of happy servitude. Now he was making me feel uneasy, something that I hadn’t planned on when I walked into the store. Too late to turn back, I gave him the address I gave the other stores’s clerks. As I talked, Ken came back to deal with the other customers, shooting glares at my back, and growling in Japanese about my refusal to die. I pointedly ignored him, since it just seem to make him madder and madder.
Aya wrote down the address, hesitating a moment when I gave the building’s name as Our Holy Father’s Church, a muscle in his jaw tightening. I paid for the flowers and delivery, gave Ken a nice smirk, and then headed for the streets and some sticky buns for breakfast, and maybe some decent coffee, though British coffee left much to be desired. Give the deliveries an hour or so, then go to visit the church was my plan. And I bet that the Weiß kittens were sweating like crazy thinking that a massacre will happen in that place.
I wish I were there to hear all the yelling that Ken would probably be doing. He was so predictable.
I found a nice little café with freshly painted walls and a modernized interior that tried to hide its roots of being a pub at one time. A lot of business people with slick briefcases and slicker laptops were sitting around the place, communicating into tiny cell phones while typing in their computers. I found myself a corner table and ordered a plain coffee with a cinnamon roll. My order came quickly and I tore pieces of the roll to nibble on while watching the others in the room, my mind on my self-appointed task.
It was hard for me to admit even to myself that I owed the mother in charge of that church a hell of a lot. I never was comfortable with church or churchly people since my childhood, and finding out that she took that path was unsettling to me. But further investigation on my part found that in taking her role, she was able to help more of her ‘strays’ the same way she helped me. I know that it would feel awkward and I know that I will have an urge to wreck havoc on holy ground, but I also know if I so much as twitched for a knife, the Mother would smack me about the ears and tell me off.
Some how, Crawford always reminded me of her in that respect.
I finished the last crumbling flake and drank the dregs of my coffee, placed some money on the table and headed back out. The roads have indeed turned to slush, and I found myself stomping through the brownish mess trying very hard to not turn around and go back to my nice warm apartment. But I was closer to the church than I was to my apartment and I really shouldn’t give the Mother any reason to track me down and give me a box about the ears. So, I dragged myself past the massive bulk of the old church to the rectory and rang the bell.
I rubbed my hands against my jacket, and then stuck them inside of my coat, hunching shoulders and glancing around while I waited. I gave the bell another ring, looking around at the drooping shrubbery and battered bricks, tensing as the door opened. I looked down at the woman in a sturdy pair of wide-legged pants and a bulky sweater and opened my mouth, surprised at what I said.
“I’d thought that nuns had to wear the penguin gear.”
She wasn’t a pretty woman, life had left its marks in her at a young age, drink and drugs digging into her skin and her eyes, but she was far more real than the prettiest of models. She knew what it was like living on the wrong side, and even if she rose above it, it showed in her eyes and face that she knew and understood and cared. The frown between her eyes disappeared and a smile did touch her lips, erasing the lines for only a brief time.
“I should have known,” she said, shaking her head and opening the door wider. “You were always one to show up with flowers when you knew that they weren’t needed. Come in, come in, and take your boots off at the door. I just finished mopping and I’m not about to do it again.”
I felt my muscles relax as I stepped inside. “Of course, Angelica.”
=======
Three hours later, I was stalking down the aisle of the church, my boots echoing horribly in the stone hall. I had a lovely talk with Angelica, and even allowed myself to not choke horribly on her brunt cookies she had made. She may have cleaned up her act, went into a new profession and got educated, but she still couldn’t cook very well.
She told me that the man who delivered the flowers was probably still sulking in the church, snickering a little as she went on to say that she didn’t turn the heat on too high in that building during the day. I could understand that, the church was a huge monster of a stone building and must cost a lot to keep heated. I would offer to donate some money or even a whole account to run the place, but I knew it would be refused. She probably knew deep down that what I did for a living was immoral but she did not refuse the things I bought for the church and the orphanage she ran. But if I offered money, she would throw it right back in my face.
Women were so confusing.
I spotted that familiar red hair and clomped towards him, flopping down in the hard pew next to him. He was wrapped up in his heavy winter coat, fingers tucked into the sleeves of his jacket, his collar pulled up and his neck bent to conserve heat. I smirked at him, stretching out on the pew and waited.
“Come to gloat?”
I tilted my head to get a good look at him. There was the arrogant lift to his head, the almond eyes narrowing and that long nose of his flaring with each breath. I grinned.
”Now why would I do that?”
He spun to face me, his long index finger nearly going up my nose as he jabbed it at me. “You knew what we would have thought by giving us this address and you – purposely – spent the last three hours in there while I froze my ass off!”
I blinked. “It’s not my fault that you still haven’t a clue. Did you ever read more than the distilled information that Kritiker gave you in those mission files? Or did you allow them to tug on your trigger and let you go off to kill without knowing why?”
“I do not have a trigger.”
“Excuse me, but I am not the man that runs around using my sister’s name while killing people to pay off medical bills.”
“No, you’re the man that runs around killing people just for their faith!”
“You know nothing about it, Fujimiya, so keep your nose out of it.”
“And you know nothing about me, so stop sitting there telling me all about my life, Berserker.”
We exchanged glares and flopped back in our seats, acting like two kindergarten students fighting over a bus seat. He blew on his hands, rubbing them together, and I nibbled on a hangnail, looking at the old cravings and the stained glass windows sheathed in clear glass. He glanced over at me, muttered something then tucked his hands inside of his coat’s pockets. I raised an eyebrow, turning my head to see him better.
“What was that?”
“I said, that it’s unfair. I’m freezing and you’re not even reacting to the cold.”
“Look, you didn’t have to be out here with a katana under your coat waiting for me,” I replied, still feeling a bit short with him. “You could have come inside and have some tea too.”
He snorted, “And have you loose all sense and kill everyone here?”
I shook my head, putting my hands behind my head and looked up at the ceiling. “I gather that you never did look into the backgrounds of those priests in Japan, now did you? Three were scam artists, two were rapists, and the rest were not worth the bother. It is really hard to find a person who really believes and follows the true Word. They just follow their greed and their own sense of righteousness. Hypocrites.”
I got that long, hard look that people gave door-to-door salesmen talking about the greatest household time saver ever. I raised my right hand, pointing up at the ceiling and the sooty beams and hidden designs.
“When you think about it, sin is just another commodity. A true priest is as poor as dirt, trying to shovel the waves away with a teaspoon. Those who market in sin have gold cars and diamond rings and always gives a form letter in reply to a serious question of the soul. They only care when they can make a profit, which is why places like this have such a hard time. They try to help and they get stomped on for it.”
“Oh,” Fujimiya replied.
I sighed and stood up, stuffing my hands into my pockets. “Look, I didn’t ask you to follow me around and I am not about to go running around ripping people’s heads off or streak nude in front of the Queen, so why don’t you go back to your shop?”
He didn’t move besides tucking his chin under his collar and stuffing his hands inside his coat. I gave a huff, turned on my heel and stamped out. If he decides to freeze in there, then he can’t blame it on me. I went off in search for a taxi so I could go home and take a bath.
I slogged from store to store in a vain attempt to empty one of my bank accounts. Toys, clothing, books, food, and furniture were purchased then delivered to the address I gave, the store owners promising that none of my purchases would come to harm during the trip. Finished with the more serious purpose of my trek through the miserable English weather, I made my way towards my next stop. A chocolate shop, in fact, one whose sign proclaimed them 'Makers of fine chocolate since 1859', a claim I doubted by the newest of their storefront.
Stepping inside prove me to be wrong. The store had the old wood of a long ago place, polished to a deep golden brown by loving hands. Containers of thick, smoky glass held old-fashioned penny candies next to sealed candies geared to younger taste buds. The smell of chocolate and caramel hung in the air, mixed with tantalizing traces of honey and butter and milk. I took a sniff at the air, feeling a smile touch the corner of my mouth. Perfect.
I wasn't the only person browsing the contents of the store. A very familiar redhead was frowning down at a collection of red boxes, his face set in serious lines and his shoulders stiff. He glanced briefly at me, purple eyes narrowing before he turned his attention to the display before him, though I knew that he was tracking my every move. Guess he just didn't trust me, though why that was I had no idea.
I gave the display a glance then went in search of something more meaningful than the standard red heart-shapes that over took the English-speaking world around Valentine's Day. I wanted something I knew would be accepted gratefully, having remembered what that was throughout all these years. It took a few minutes to locate what I was looking for, but when I did find it, I was pleasantly surprised by it. I was used to marzipan in fruit and flower forms, but whoever made those boxes had shaped them into fat cherubs and hearts and arrows. Choosing a box, I went to the front to pay for it and spotted him again, still agonizing over chocolates.
I placed my box on the counter and glanced at him, noting that he was dressed for the weather in tweed pants, a familiar orange sweater, and a heavy tweed jacket. He turned his head to look me over then snorted.
“I thought you always wore leather,” he said, his English accented pleasantly and his chin rising into the air.
“We are not going to start snipping at each other, are we?” I replied, leaning back against the counter.
He frowned at me. “Why not?”
“Because it gets tiring and I've already had a long day. You looking for a girlfriend?”
He stiffened and his eyes narrowed more. I briefly wondered if he could even see. “I do not need a girlfriend.”
I raised a hand. “Take it easy. I meant are you looking for something to buy for your girlfriend.”
He snorted and looked back at the chocolates. “Like I would tell you.”
“I just want to give you some advice,” I replied with a shrug, turning my attention to the bulk candy, starting a mental countdown. I had reached five when he sighed.
“What kind of advice would you give me? Aren't you gay?”
I blinked and looked over my shoulder at him. “I happen to be bi. And women like having special gifts instead of the same kind of candy year after year.”
“A lot of help that does me,” he muttered, turning his scowl back to the chocolate in front of him. “I don't even know if she likes chocolate.”
“Then buy her something nice looking and get yourself some,” I replied, picking up various candy bars in their colorful wrappers and putting them back. A particular blue and yellow package caught my eyes, and I recalled the memories of eating that flaky chocolate during my brief time in London as a child. I picked up a package, turned around and leaned over Fujimiya, dangling the Flake bar in front of his nose. “Something like this. It's even better than sex.”
He snatched it out of my hand and shoved an elbow into my gut at the same time. “Back off, Farfarello.”
I chuckled, not at all deterred by his actions. He was even pricklier than Crawford, which was strange considering how well we worked together last summer. Maybe Fujimiya was not at all happy to even be reminded of the condition I placed on freeing him back then. I didn't care so long as he kept on being amusing.
The store's owner stopped me from playing any more games with the redhead. After smiling at the two of us, he took the box of candies from me and asked if there was anything else I wanted. I got myself a Flake bar and then added to my order forty-seven more Flake bars, gave him an address to deliver the candy too and headed outside into the slushy streets for my last purchase.
As I walked, I ate my candy bar, trying very hard not to let it crumble to bits with each bite. The snow was turning into mush, though the air itself still held onto its bitter wind. I suppose it would make a good excuse for lovers to curl up close for Valentine’s night tonight, but it meant little to me. Maybe if things worked out differently, I would have stayed with Sally, but there was something inherentantly wrong with a woman that was so useless like she was. If she broke a nail, she would scream like her whole hand got cut off. She had some sporadic bouts of bravery, but mostly she got annoying after a while. Maybe I just never had any luck with women; either they try to kill me or they try to tie me down.
Not that being tied down was a bad thing. Well, so long as it was just with leather and velvet straps.
I wandered into a couple of flower shops, leaving just as quickly as the staff tried selling me roses and more roses before I could even open my mouth. You’d figured that they would try to ask what a customer wanted before trying to sell him stuff, but I guess the holiday wrapped everyone’s mind right about. I stomped some slush off my boots, walked some more and squinted at a storefront full of different kinds of flowers. It had a lot more promise, the center display made out of roses but there were side displays of other flowers, arranged in dazzling styles.
I may be insane, but I do know when colors look nice together.
Opening the door, I stepped into the muggy air of the shop and heard something I did not expect to hear in February in an English shop. Japanese spoken by a real Japanese person in a familiar lively voice. I actually had the urge to leave before I got spotted but I always did have a masochistic streak. Of course Murphy had to make sure that he spotted me, shouting in Japanese and nearly scaring the poor girls fawning over him.
"Shit, Schwarz! What the fuck are you doing here? Get out!"
"Just shopping, there's no crime in that, is there?" I asked, rolling my shoulders and eyeing the blonde behind the other counter. I’d always felt that their employers looked more for types of pretty boys instead of people who were more killer material.
"Like your kind would just shop. I know why you are here, and I won’t let you come any where near any of us!"
I raised an eyebrow at that. I often wondered if Weiß got some of their lines from ‘Heroes ‘R’ Us’. Somehow, it sounded like something any hero would say before he got his teeth kicked down his throat by the so-called-villain. That so deserved a reply, something flippant and stupid.
"Ken, enough," Aya said, coming out of the back room. "Don't be such a hot head in front of the other customers."
I hid a sigh and eyed the redhead. There goes that fun.
"But, Aya, he's that lunatic from Schwarz!"
"Enough, you are making a scene." He turned to me, switching languages between one breath and the next. "You have to excuse Ken. His soccer team had lost last night to Ireland's. He must be still feeling hostile towards the Irish."
“I don’t blame him,” I replied, switching back to English as well and glancing at the brunet to see if he was still foaming at the mouth. “They did get reamed good.”
There were some puzzled faces among the customers as they looked from Ken to me and back to Ken again. I kept my face blank, even though I felt like giving Ken an evil maniacal laugh or something just to see how high he would jump. Ken’s own features look like it had caterpillars crawling under them before he tossed a bunch of roses onto the counter and stalked off into the back room. The blonde looked from me to him and frowned, following after Ken and calling his name. Aya caught my eye and jerked his head. So I took the hint and went over to him, upsetting some of the people waiting in line.
“Aren’t you going to go after Ken and calm him down?” I asked once I was close enough to talk to him without raising my voice.
“Michel is taking care of it,” he replied, his purple eyes narrowed and chin raised. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”
“I have a lot better things to do than follow you,” I replied, returning the glare. “It isn’t my fault that you have to open a flower shop in England and I happen to be hunting for flowers on a holiday when flowers are given out to people you care for.”
His nostrils flared, eyes narrowing then he snorted. “So, what is your excuse to come in here?”
“Looking for flowers, or is it a crime?”
“What kind?”
“Something that means something, not roses or other stupid crap like that, but a specific meaning to them,” I replied, shrugging faintly. “Most shops are more in the spirit of the holiday than to really want to figure out what I want the flowers to mean.”
He raised an eyebrow, frowning at me. I shrugged and pointed to a holder of irises. “Something with irises in it as well. I want it to mean something like ‘remembering friendship’.”
Both of his eyebrows went up with that. I made a face and stuck my hands in my pockets. Maybe the whole flower idea should be scraped before I lost my fearsome reputation completely. But Aya was already gathering together flowers, lining up the irises with white bellflowers and some everlasting. I blinked as he began to arrange them in a crystal vase, long fingers fluffing the flowers with delicate ease. It was odd seeing those hands like mine making something beautiful and delicate out of fragile living things.
“Irises normally means ‘your friendship means so much to me’,” he said as he worked, slipping a purple flower into the growing arrangement. “White bellflowers mean ‘gratitude’ and everlasting means ‘enduring remembrance’. Would that fit what you are thinking?”
I shrugged. “Sounds close enough to me.”
“Do you want it special delivery?”
I raised an eyebrow, eyeing his professional, blank expression of happy servitude. Now he was making me feel uneasy, something that I hadn’t planned on when I walked into the store. Too late to turn back, I gave him the address I gave the other stores’s clerks. As I talked, Ken came back to deal with the other customers, shooting glares at my back, and growling in Japanese about my refusal to die. I pointedly ignored him, since it just seem to make him madder and madder.
Aya wrote down the address, hesitating a moment when I gave the building’s name as Our Holy Father’s Church, a muscle in his jaw tightening. I paid for the flowers and delivery, gave Ken a nice smirk, and then headed for the streets and some sticky buns for breakfast, and maybe some decent coffee, though British coffee left much to be desired. Give the deliveries an hour or so, then go to visit the church was my plan. And I bet that the Weiß kittens were sweating like crazy thinking that a massacre will happen in that place.
I wish I were there to hear all the yelling that Ken would probably be doing. He was so predictable.
I found a nice little café with freshly painted walls and a modernized interior that tried to hide its roots of being a pub at one time. A lot of business people with slick briefcases and slicker laptops were sitting around the place, communicating into tiny cell phones while typing in their computers. I found myself a corner table and ordered a plain coffee with a cinnamon roll. My order came quickly and I tore pieces of the roll to nibble on while watching the others in the room, my mind on my self-appointed task.
It was hard for me to admit even to myself that I owed the mother in charge of that church a hell of a lot. I never was comfortable with church or churchly people since my childhood, and finding out that she took that path was unsettling to me. But further investigation on my part found that in taking her role, she was able to help more of her ‘strays’ the same way she helped me. I know that it would feel awkward and I know that I will have an urge to wreck havoc on holy ground, but I also know if I so much as twitched for a knife, the Mother would smack me about the ears and tell me off.
Some how, Crawford always reminded me of her in that respect.
I finished the last crumbling flake and drank the dregs of my coffee, placed some money on the table and headed back out. The roads have indeed turned to slush, and I found myself stomping through the brownish mess trying very hard to not turn around and go back to my nice warm apartment. But I was closer to the church than I was to my apartment and I really shouldn’t give the Mother any reason to track me down and give me a box about the ears. So, I dragged myself past the massive bulk of the old church to the rectory and rang the bell.
I rubbed my hands against my jacket, and then stuck them inside of my coat, hunching shoulders and glancing around while I waited. I gave the bell another ring, looking around at the drooping shrubbery and battered bricks, tensing as the door opened. I looked down at the woman in a sturdy pair of wide-legged pants and a bulky sweater and opened my mouth, surprised at what I said.
“I’d thought that nuns had to wear the penguin gear.”
She wasn’t a pretty woman, life had left its marks in her at a young age, drink and drugs digging into her skin and her eyes, but she was far more real than the prettiest of models. She knew what it was like living on the wrong side, and even if she rose above it, it showed in her eyes and face that she knew and understood and cared. The frown between her eyes disappeared and a smile did touch her lips, erasing the lines for only a brief time.
“I should have known,” she said, shaking her head and opening the door wider. “You were always one to show up with flowers when you knew that they weren’t needed. Come in, come in, and take your boots off at the door. I just finished mopping and I’m not about to do it again.”
I felt my muscles relax as I stepped inside. “Of course, Angelica.”
=======
Three hours later, I was stalking down the aisle of the church, my boots echoing horribly in the stone hall. I had a lovely talk with Angelica, and even allowed myself to not choke horribly on her brunt cookies she had made. She may have cleaned up her act, went into a new profession and got educated, but she still couldn’t cook very well.
She told me that the man who delivered the flowers was probably still sulking in the church, snickering a little as she went on to say that she didn’t turn the heat on too high in that building during the day. I could understand that, the church was a huge monster of a stone building and must cost a lot to keep heated. I would offer to donate some money or even a whole account to run the place, but I knew it would be refused. She probably knew deep down that what I did for a living was immoral but she did not refuse the things I bought for the church and the orphanage she ran. But if I offered money, she would throw it right back in my face.
Women were so confusing.
I spotted that familiar red hair and clomped towards him, flopping down in the hard pew next to him. He was wrapped up in his heavy winter coat, fingers tucked into the sleeves of his jacket, his collar pulled up and his neck bent to conserve heat. I smirked at him, stretching out on the pew and waited.
“Come to gloat?”
I tilted my head to get a good look at him. There was the arrogant lift to his head, the almond eyes narrowing and that long nose of his flaring with each breath. I grinned.
”Now why would I do that?”
He spun to face me, his long index finger nearly going up my nose as he jabbed it at me. “You knew what we would have thought by giving us this address and you – purposely – spent the last three hours in there while I froze my ass off!”
I blinked. “It’s not my fault that you still haven’t a clue. Did you ever read more than the distilled information that Kritiker gave you in those mission files? Or did you allow them to tug on your trigger and let you go off to kill without knowing why?”
“I do not have a trigger.”
“Excuse me, but I am not the man that runs around using my sister’s name while killing people to pay off medical bills.”
“No, you’re the man that runs around killing people just for their faith!”
“You know nothing about it, Fujimiya, so keep your nose out of it.”
“And you know nothing about me, so stop sitting there telling me all about my life, Berserker.”
We exchanged glares and flopped back in our seats, acting like two kindergarten students fighting over a bus seat. He blew on his hands, rubbing them together, and I nibbled on a hangnail, looking at the old cravings and the stained glass windows sheathed in clear glass. He glanced over at me, muttered something then tucked his hands inside of his coat’s pockets. I raised an eyebrow, turning my head to see him better.
“What was that?”
“I said, that it’s unfair. I’m freezing and you’re not even reacting to the cold.”
“Look, you didn’t have to be out here with a katana under your coat waiting for me,” I replied, still feeling a bit short with him. “You could have come inside and have some tea too.”
He snorted, “And have you loose all sense and kill everyone here?”
I shook my head, putting my hands behind my head and looked up at the ceiling. “I gather that you never did look into the backgrounds of those priests in Japan, now did you? Three were scam artists, two were rapists, and the rest were not worth the bother. It is really hard to find a person who really believes and follows the true Word. They just follow their greed and their own sense of righteousness. Hypocrites.”
I got that long, hard look that people gave door-to-door salesmen talking about the greatest household time saver ever. I raised my right hand, pointing up at the ceiling and the sooty beams and hidden designs.
“When you think about it, sin is just another commodity. A true priest is as poor as dirt, trying to shovel the waves away with a teaspoon. Those who market in sin have gold cars and diamond rings and always gives a form letter in reply to a serious question of the soul. They only care when they can make a profit, which is why places like this have such a hard time. They try to help and they get stomped on for it.”
“Oh,” Fujimiya replied.
I sighed and stood up, stuffing my hands into my pockets. “Look, I didn’t ask you to follow me around and I am not about to go running around ripping people’s heads off or streak nude in front of the Queen, so why don’t you go back to your shop?”
He didn’t move besides tucking his chin under his collar and stuffing his hands inside his coat. I gave a huff, turned on my heel and stamped out. If he decides to freeze in there, then he can’t blame it on me. I went off in search for a taxi so I could go home and take a bath.