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-----DISCLAIMER----- Don't sue me.
-----AUTHOR'S NOTES----- Lynda: I AM SO SORRY. **whines** In any case, I STILL have no programs, so I had to do this in Notepad. And as such, expect typos, shoddy html tags and confused writings as I try to tell a story and remember the last time I opened a tag and of what kind. **clutches head** ANYWAY... Story wise... We have a Time skip folks! You realize that the past 7 chapters were all within the time frame of ONE DAY?!?!?! That was one BUSY day!!! So, I'm going to give everyone time to compose themselves. Loooots of time. >:) Look how much time!! **points down the screen** Kuroneko: Mya?
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3 months later.
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A Guardian Angel sat quietly at the foot of his Guard's desk, deciding in his doldrums to count the times co-worker Karin ran a hand through her hair. He was up to 22. Bored. Tedium, dullness and more boredom. Vash would not have believed the traffic that occurred in the head
quarters of the Bernardelli Insurance Society, but here it was, plain
evidence in the form of stifling crowds and exhausting busyness. It
was terrible. How did his Guard exist in such an enviroment? Wasn't
it so much more enjoyable to roam under the endless sky? Vash pouted slightly. The sentiment was of the right kind, but the boredom and work was not. Because here he was doing nothing. Nothing, with a capital 'N'. Nothing, nadda and zip. On retrospect, Vash found he couldn't stress this point enough. It was somewhat of a personal grudge he'd been carrying for 3 dreary months. He had been tempted to amuse himself by looking up skirts of the female insurance co-workers, but the very thought of it had electricuted him within an inch of his After Life. Actually doing it would be certain suicide. Damn Holy censorship system. Wolfwood was in a similar position on the desk next to theirs, slouching up against the furniture and gazing steadily into the face of boredom... But the priest seemed so much better at it than the 60 Billion Double Dollar man. He hadn't moved for possibly 2 whole hours, the cigerette dangling from his lips already half burnt out, the ash clinging desperately to the embers. And he hadn't even broken a sweat, hadn't even flickered an eyelid. How annoying. With a small groan, Meryl stretched and leant back in her seat, the furniture creaking with the movement. 'Done.' she sighed, her spine unkinking as it arched over the back of the chair. Milly looked up from her own report. 'That's wonderful Sempai! The Chief will be so pleased!' she exclaimed cheerfully. Thankful for the break in monotony, Vash stood, stretched and made his way around the desk to stand over his Guard. Wolfwood watched him. 'Bored, Tongari?' he asked, smirking, the motion causing the collected ash to fall from the now very finished cigerrette. Vash glared back. 'How can you even ask me that?!' he snapped, then turned his gaze back
down to the report. Words. Yes, there was a lot of words there. Vash
squinted, begging something interesting to pop up from the page. His
scrutiny brought a name to his attention. But Wolfwood and he had done all they could. Meryl, who had been gazing at the activity behind her with half lidded eyes, straightened hurriedly and swivelled in her chair. 'Good morning Chief!' she greeted, pulling the completed report from her typewriter. The Chief, a surprisingly mutual man of average height and proportians froze in his monitoring. The breifest flash of panic seized his features, but he smoothed it over quickly. 'Yes, Stryfe, what is it?' he asked her sharply, somewhat reluctant to make his way over to her desk. Meryl motioned to the slip of paper in her hand. 'I've just this minute finished that report your wanted, sir.' she announced. More reluctance and well hidden panic. The Chief cleared his throat. 'Yes, yes, well done. Commendable. I... Um... How about taking a look at these? Choose a scenario and I'd like you to evaluate the situation.' he blurted perhaps a little too quickly, a fine sweat breaking out on his forehead while shaking fingers tugged on an already loose tie. It was common knowledge that the only things that scared the head of the Bernardelli Insurance Society was sand worms, eyeballs floating in coffee cups and Meryl Stryfe's competence at her job. He advanced and laid a clip folder down in front of her, backing away quickly. Vash blinked and leant over his Guard to get a better look. Meryl frowned and skimmed over the details. 'Timely.' she said in reference to the first scenario. 'Complicated.' belonged to the next. It was followed closely by 'costly' another 'timely' and a few more 'complicated's. She continued to breifly assess the rest of the cases and Vash shook his head slightly. It just looked like a bunch of annoying words to him. So, because he had nothing better to do, he began to add his own monologue. 'Stupid, pointless, don't understand it, twisted,' he listed off, mentally ticking away down the paper. 'stupid, stupid, also stupid, annoying, boring-' 'Costly, timely, boring-' Meryl echoed in a mumble half way down the sheet, then froze. Along with everyone else in a 10 meter radius. Milly, who had been balancing her pencil between her nose and pouting upperlip let it clatter to her desk top in shock. The Chief seemed dumbfounded out of his fear. As if on a winch and pulley, every head slowly turned to face the confused Insurance Investigator. She blinked, expression clearly denoting her own confusion, and laughed nervously. 'I- I mean intrigueing!' she amended, forcing the shocked audience to resume their business slowly, hesitantly. The Chief managed to splutter back into awareness. 'Are-Are you alright Styfe? You don't think the report was done too soon? I could give you some holidays if you like-' he began in a rush. Meryl blinked again, her eyes near visibly asking 'where did that come from?'. 'Fi-fine Chief. I'm just... Not myself today.' she managed, then shook her head to clear it. The man simply blinked several times, then retrieved the clip folder. 'Why not take the rest of the evening off, ok?' the Chief offered, the fine sweat on his forehead glistening in the light. He cleared his throat and moved on when he registered the pointed stare of his employee. Back on a more spectral Plane, Wolfwood finally recovered the ability to speak. 'That better have been a coincidence.' he said evenly, as if the unspoken revelation was somewhat painful. 'Coincidence.' Vash murmured in an echo, unable to take his eyes off
his Guard. It had to have been... But there was no denying the fact
that these 'coincidences' had been taking place more and more frequently...
And both Vash and Wolfwood had promptly and nervously ignored them with
the trepidation of children knowing they were playing with matches. 'Are you really ok, Sempai?' she whispered, the tone the one she used when when coaxing secrets from stubborn partners. 'Nothing's wrong Milly, I don't know what you mean...' Meryl muttered,
visibly pulling an annoyed expression to her features like a security
blanket. She eyed her partner pointedly until the brunette giggled nervously
and returned to her currently unfinished report. She then turned a distanced
slate gaze down to her own typewriter, retreating deeper into her own
thoughts. Vash watched her carefully, as he had found himself doing
lately, trying to see a reaction, desperately fumbling after a connection
he now knew existed... Wolfwood certainly didn't approve of this curiousity, the heated glares plain evidence of this, but there was not much the priest could say. It seemed every morning Milly would come to work with more snippets of information that she, quite simply, shouldn't know. In the last couple of months, Vash had spent many pleasant hours grinning at his partner while the smoking man had shrunk under the gaze, both of them listening with vague amusement to the endless tirade Milly spurted in an effort to convince Meryl Stryfe that Guardian Angels followed them. Despite the Humanoid Typhoon's pointed promptings, Wolfwood denied all instances in which he had obviously succumb to temptations and 'chatted' to his Guard. On retrospect, Vash found that rules had not so much been broken, but shattered into itsy, bitsy remorseless pieces and hurriedly swept under the metaphorical rug with an inconspicious whistle. With a sigh, the Winger settled down in his much worn slump by the
desk, mind trekking the much travelled thought pattern of recollection...
The $$60 Billion Man had recapped their terrible escapade in Carcasses
over and over again, wracking his mind for a small detail he might have
left out of their report. The past 3 months had been spent awaiting a reply. With a small wrinkling of his nose, Vash brought his thoughts back
to the ever present enigma of 'Arch Angel'. It was a touchy subject.
Wolfwood tended to get snappy whenever it was brought up, and this tended
to put a damper on any inclination for Vash to learn more. As far as
the Humanoid Typhoon was concerned, there was things in his head that
were making sense, things in his head that were as integral as breathing.
In private, when the smoking priest wasn't there to reprimand him with
the fire of a thousand suns, Vash had been prodding his talent like
a curious child to a dangerous looking boil. From listening to Wolfwood's occassional out burst, Vash had come to the conclusion that Arch Angels were supposed to be extinct. And he was one. Or at least had all the talents of one. He also knew that these paladins were a big deal; to your average Angel what a loaded Gatling gun was to an empty water pistol. But still he didn't know why he, of all people, was one. It was a mystery. 'Cecent for your thoughts?' Wolfwood asked in a boredom dulled monotone, his head angling slightly to face the blonde. Vash blinked, long legs crossed at the ankles and hands resting behind his head. He then smirked. 'You bored?' he asked, grin broadening and threatening to remove the top of his head. Wolfwood scowled. 'Like hell I am! I'm just wonderin' why you looked so damn empty.' he snapped, finally flicking the pathetic dog-end away and securing himself a new cigerette. Vash mulled over this for a few moments before turning his gaze forward and resting his head back on the desk. Behind him, Meryl sighed and leant back in her desk chair, a pale parrellel of her Guardian. 'I was thinking about our report.' Vash confessed, cyan eyes sliding shut, legs unfolding, arms lowered and elbows resting on the raised knees. 'It's been 3 months. What kind of correspondance is that?' 'Either things are gettin' hectic upstairs, or they're havin' trouble workin' out what we were on about. It's pretty far fetched, Tongari, maybe they won't believe us.' 'They have to! It's a matter of Life and Death!' 'Still... Considerin' all the stuff we cut out, it'd be one damn hard report to follow.' 'But... Rem would know it's important. She wouldn't ignore something this serious. She knew Knives!' Vash insisted, grimacing at the thought of his twin. Wolfwood winced along with him. Then, taking a long and deep drag of his cigerette, the priest exhaled and muttered through the smoke, 'That's if it even gets that high up...' As if on que, harmonic choir filling the cramped office space like a fragrant zephyr, a golden light spilled into the room from the ceiling, an envelope drifting down with sparkles and feathers to two bored looking Angels. Without batting an eyelid, Vash reached up and swatted the letter from the air and glared up into the luminence. 'Took your time.' he snapped at the glowing Holiness, ungracefully tearing open the envelope. The choir stumbled to a non-plussed halt, the light freezing slightly. Then, with an unimpressive and resentful click, the light was switched off and the Angels were alone again. Wolfwood shook his head. 'Love to make a scene.' he muttered, scowling and shaking his head. Raising his eyebrows, the priest turned his smoky gaze to his companion. 'Well, don't keep me in suspense, what does it say?' Vash blinked, pulled the gold rimmed paper from it's envelope, unfolded it and started to read aloud.
Head of Heiloz Weapons and Tech, G.A.T Angelina II
'Idiots.' he muttered quietly, turning his heated glare to the floor.
Vash swallowed again and looked back down to the letter. They were,
for lack of a better word, Grounded. Suspended. And Knives was still
out there with his medley of evil Wingers and evil Demons and evil plans.
Still, it seemed that the report might be making it's way up to Rem...
But it was taking far too long. Bad Things would happen in the time
it would take to make it that far. Very Bad Things.
P.S. I'll hav the Twista Mat ready 4 wen you come back.
'BEHAVE' And, signed in tiny writing in the corner, Lina had looped her frill-less looking signature. Groaning, Vash let the card fall to the ground along with the other two letters. That was relatively painless, but it brought Vash's mind back, once again, to his latest meeting with Knives. Wolfwood had just managed to compose himself long enough to wipe a stray tear away with a callused thumb when he noticed Vash's melancholy. Shoulders still shaking with mirth, the Winger raised his eyebrows. 'What's with you?' he asked a strangely quiet Vash the Stampede, grinning as he picked up the letters and deftly lobbed them into the nearest trash can. Vash remained in his verbal desolation for a few moments more, before a strange confused expression crossed his features. Then, frowning in the thought process, he slowly turned to the priest. 'There's still something I don't understand...' he managed, casting his eyes downward. 'Do you remember when we were in Knives' study and... He said he had 'every intention of turning our pathetic human Religion against us'... What did he mean?' Wolfwood blinked, cigerette poised by his slightly parted lips. He eventually shook his head. 'Don't stress yourself Tongari, it's out of our hands now.' he muttered, turning away and returning to his slouch. Vash waited to see if any more could be wrung from his friend, but, apparently, Wolfwood had finished with the topic. So Vash the Stampede closed his eyes and returned to the turmoil of his problems alone.
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Sitting at a neat and pleasant looking desk, Rem Saverem diligently
worked her way through her moderate stack of paper work. The desk had
a pretty golden little bell in one corner, and a potted red Geranium
on the other. Occassionally, sheet of paper in hand, she would turn
and punch digits into a small calculator, then write numbers down on
a notepad. The Boss of Heaven continued like this for quite some time
before her pen skitted across her notepad. Frowning, the dark haired
woman backtracked her ochre eyes down the page in her hand. She then
punched some more numbers into the calculator, but more slowly and carefully
this time. In a flurry of feathers, a little rosy cheeked cherub fluttered before her. 'Something wrong, Miss. Rem?' the beautiful chubby child of indefinable sex queried. Rem dragged her eyes from the page. 'Are these tallies correct? Number of Living and Number of Collected?' she asked, handing the page over. A quick cursory glance and the cherub nodded. Rem slowly took them back and a strange expression flooded her features. She took a breath, carefully wrote down some words on a slip of paper, folded it, stamped it, then handed it to the hovering child. 'Can you please deliver this to Black Jack? As quickly as possible? We have an emergency.' she asked clearly, standing and leaning on her desk with two finger splayed hands. With a tiny squeak, the winged creature panicked and scurried off. Rem took another breath and stared down at the papers in front of her. Then, wincing, she covered them with a hand.
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'I don't care if you're scared of fire!! This is Hell!!! We're supposed to be scary!!' Black Jack shouted at the Lost Soul, reaching forward, grabbing it by the scruff of the neck, dragging it to and literally kicking it out the door. With an almighty bang, he vindictively slammed the door shut, the hinges creaking and popping from the frame. The crash caused the towering mountains of paper in the small office to topple everywhere. He was in the process of stalking back to the alchohol cabinet when an imp scampered through the service flap and up to the tall man. It reached up and tugged determinedly on Black's single sleeve. 'Message from Upstairs, sir!' it croaked, raising a folded piece of paper. Black Jack pulled a face, and took the paper. 'What is it this time? If they're complaining about the smell of sulfur, I've fixed that ventilation shaft 5 !@#$ing times-' he began, unfolding it and browsing over the message. The sentence faultered to a halt when his lime eyes finished. He read again in silence, and more carefully this time. He lowered the paper slowly, raised his face in thought, then swung around to his desk. In a quick movement, Black Jack had swept the strata of paper work from the table top and let it all tumble to the already covered floor. He opened a drawer, sorted through some folders, then pulled out a calculator and several sheets of paper. He pulled up his chair, hunched over the stationary and began feverishly pressing buttons. The imp watched on in trepidation, wringing it's gnarled little fingers. '@#$%.' Black Jack suddenly managed, glancing over his calculations and searching desperately for a mistake. There was none. Slowly, quite terrifyingly, the black haired man swivelled in his seat and turned to the familiar. It squeaked and backed up a couple of steps. 'Call a meeting.' he said simply. 'We have a problem.'
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-----AUTHOR'S NOTES----- Lynda: DONE. **falls from her chair** ARG. I'm going to have html tags
swimming before my eyes for ages... @_@ Kuroneko: Mya. Lynda: Oh yes. I'd like to apologise again for my delay. A guy should be coming with all my programs on Thursday... **twitch twitch** He better... Feh. Ahwell, on to the next chapter right? **goes off to rub html out of her eyes**
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