Studio Shinnyo Presents
A Castle Of There Production
Sailor Moon: Missionaries
Prelude: A Taste of Thing To Come
By Draxel Bethlehem
"Are you ready
For what is to come?"
-Creed
+++++++++++++
Balboa, Spain
+++++++++++++
"Oi!" Antonio called as Joe entered the back
door of the kitchen. "Jose, thank God. I thought you
were going to late for your last day."
Joe smiled that warm smile of his as he dropped
his bag and hung up his coat and hat on the cat
hanger behind the door. "No faith in me, senor?"
"No," Antonio replied. "I was just worried.
You're usually here an half an hour early. I thought
maybe you got ran over in the street. The misses was
about ready to break out her rosary, thinking you
could be dead in a gutter someplace."
Joe let out a hearty laugh, as he grabbed his
apron off the hook and tied it off behind his back.
"Nice to know I'm loved."
"Well, you best get to work then," Antonio
said, giving him a slap on the back and heading back
out to the front. "My wife may think the world of you
but if she thinks I'm letting you slack in your work
just because it's your last day, she'll chew us both
out." And with that he was gone and the only sound
that could be heard was the noise of the cooks going
about their work and telling dirty jokes as they did
and the radio in the corner that played old Spanish
love songs on some forgotten AM station.
Joe headed over to the sink in the corner of
the kitchen and turned on the hot water, added soap,
and got ready for one last day of scrubbing dishes.
After the sink he sunk his hands up to his
elbows in the silky suds, letting the almost scolding
heat of the water sink into his skin. Then, he went to
work.
Three plates, two pots, eight forks, and a
ladle. More came soon after. Two soup bowls, the dish
barely touched by the couple that had had it in front
of them earlier, obviously too engrossed in some
conversation to eat. Or too in love.
Five wine glasses with a shade of lipstick on
the rims that was usually seen on the more elderly
ladies who sit by the windows, smoking cigarettes,
watching people, and dreaming of lost loves.
Five dishes, covered in some sauce, by the
messy eating habits of some tourist and their kids
who more concerned with eating quickly then enjoying
the food. Most probably Americans. They were always
more concerned with time then enjoying their meals.
McDonald's was proof of that.
After a while, it all faded together. Joe
detached himself from the suds, the dishes, the
sounds of the kitchen. While his hands continued to
work diligently scrubbing away every bit of food,
his mind floated away.
And as it did it traveled. Up above him,
through the roof, and up into the morning sky above
the city. This wasn't a new thing to him. Joe had
learned quite a few tricks in his traveled. This he
had learned either from a Tibetan Monk or a Incan
Medicine Man. He couldn't remember. Just sink into
the task at hand and you can see the world. And see
it he did.
But today, his mind had somewhere to go. He had
people to check in on. Too much had changed in the
past year. For him, it was like what watching a car
accident meant to others. He just couldn't take his
eyes from it while feeling some sort of sick dread in
the pit of his stomach. It was as if a train was
coming and he was going to be under it.
So, he traveled. Up, over the Spanish
courtyside. Then past it. Over the Atlantic. America.
Then north. Past Washington in a flash. Past Jersey.
There. New York. Down. Manhattan. Harlem. A single
apartment. Into the living room.
The place could have been any other apartment
in Harlem. It was cheaply furnished, as if put
together by someone on a tight budget. There also a
warmth to it. Strong and comforting like a mother's
embrace. But the warmth was just an echo of the past
now. There was something else now that overwhelmed
it.
As he sank into the room, he could smell it.
Feel it. The pain in this place was unimaginable.
And it came from one man.
"I don't care," a voice said from the next
room. Joe felt a rush of panic and surprise but
then relaxed. The man in the next room was quiet
as a mouse as he walked around the bedroom, throwing
on one article of clothing after another while speaking
into his cell phone.
"No," the man said. "No, you're not listening.
We're doing this my way. You don't like it, then get the
hell out of New York and pray like hell that you never
cross my path again, got me?...Good. Alright. It's
good to have you aboard. Sure. Yeah. Come to the
party in Central Park next Sunday. And bring the
family. Jane's eight right? Of course I'd remember.
Sure. See you then."
The man hung up and stood quietly in front of
the mirror on the bedroom wall, adjusting his tie in
silence. He tied it, then, not satisfied, and tied it
again. He was a perfectionist about it. Afterward, he
just stood in front of the mirror as if trying to figure
out what sort of creature was looking back at him
from the other side of the looking glass.
He was an impressive figure, at least at first
glance. He stood at six feet four in height with wide
shoulders a cold look on his face. His hair was cut
short, his fingernails manicured in the most masculine
way, and his goatee well trimmed. The black suit only
made him look more imposing. He wore it like a man in
mourning.
After a minute, he shook himself from whatever
funk he was in and walked out into the hall, heading
for the door. Then he stopped. He turned and looked
back to the middle of the living room behind him and
for a moment, Joe thought he saw him. And then he
realized the man wasn't looking at him. He was looking
at the floor at Joe's feet, as if he was looking upon
a grave.
Again, after a moment, he shook himself out of
it and headed for the door. He looked at the mirror by
the door and just smiled at it with a totally evil
but forced grin, trying to melt the cold sadness from
him. "I'm a bad man," he told his reflection. "Yeah."
Then he laughed, threw open the door, and stepped
outside. There in the hall was a large black man
waiting for him.
"Morning, Mr. Curtis," the large man said.
"How're you doing?"
Mr. Curtis just smiled. "Peachy. And you?" he
said as he closed the door behind him.
Joe just in the apartment for a moment, knowing
what the man had gone through, what he was planning.
He shook his head in sadness then rose up. Through
the ceiling. Above the building. Above the city.
Then southwest. Over the Appalachians. Across
the Mississippi. Into Texas. Past the wet marshlands
of east Texas. Towards the harsh desert hills of the
south. For miles there was nothing and then a large
brown building rose out of the wastes. A prison.
Joe sank into the largest wing of the prison,
into one cell in particular. There, lying on the cot
was another man. He looked like the Aryan dream,
tall, blond, and built like a mountain. He didn't
have his shirt on so besides being able to see his
massive muscles, Joe could also see the stretch
marks on his body that showed he had once been a
heavier lad in his youth.
"Hey, T," a guard said, walking up to the bars
of the cell. "Visitor."
The big man tilted his head as a second figure
walked up to stand in front of the bars. This man was
the almost total opposite of the prisoner. He was
short, scrawny, and dark, in both his hair color and
choice of clothing.
"Damien," the prisoner said as the guard opened
the cell.
"Hello Trevor," the dark man said as he walked
in.
Trevor let out a snort and laid his head back
on his pillow. The guard in the meantime closed the
cell door and walked away. "You got five minutes," he
said as he left.
"No hello?" Damien asked with a cocky half-
smile as he leaned against the wall, folding his arms
in front of him.
Trevor just shrugged.
"It's been a while," Damien said, hopping to
open up a conversation but with no success. Trevor
just laid there eyes locked on the ceiling.
"I heard that bitch got you sent here,"
Damien said.
Trevor shook his head. "Nope," he said simply.
"Got sent here by my own accord. Nine months here and
five years probation. I'm out in a week."
Damien smiled. "You've picked up a bit of the
Texas accent."
"Not surprising," Trevor replied. "It's been
five years since I moved here."
"I still don't see why," Damien said with a
shrug.
"To get away from it," Trevor hissed back. "My
family. That town. All the stupid fucks. And you, you
fucking asshole."
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
Then Damien softly said, "I'm not proud of what I
did. I was a stupid kid who wanted to get even. If I
could go back, I would change it."
"Words don't change what you did," Trevor said
coldly.
Damien let out a sigh of defeat, no
disappointment, mostly directed at himself.
"I wanna make up for it," Damien said. "Listen,
there's something that's going on back home. I
thought you might want in on it. I told the minister
in charge about you and the work you did with the
Rangers and he would like you on board."
"Minister?" Trevor asked. "When did you start
going to church?"
"Since I went looking for redemption," Damien
replied.
Again, a silence fell over the cold cell. After
a moment, Trevor sat up, leaned forward and ran his
hand over his face. He sighed, "Alright. I'll hear
you guys out."
Damien smiled. "Good. Meet us in Austin two
days after you get out..."
Damien continued speaking but Joe just blocked
it out. He didn't need to hear it to now what was being
said. Plans were being made. Blueprints laid out.
Instead, Joe rose out of the cell and back into
the Texas sky. He just stayed there for a moment,
considering what had just transpired. He thought of
friendships and forgiveness. Sin and redemption.
Then he was moving again. North this time.
Across the Great Plains. Over the edge of the Rocky
Mountains. Then he suddenly stopped, as if out of a
second thought. He swooped down toward a nearby ridge.
He came to rest at the edge of a creak that
flowed smoothly along under the shade of nearby pines
at the foot of the ridge which ended in an odd rock
formation about the three times the size of a SUV.
Nothing grew on the rock. There was no grass or
trees. Just a lot of dirt and the occasional patch of
lichen and moss.
Joe just stood there, listening. Watching.
Waiting to see what no one else would see. He slowly
reached out and ran his hand over it, as if petting
an animal.
Then the rock moved.
Joe froze for a moment, not daring to startle
the rock. Then the stone split open, revealing an eye
the size of a Volkswagen, and looked at him. It
startled Joe so much that he leapt back in surprise.
For a long while, neither of them moved. Joe
just stood as still as possible, hoping the creature
in front of him could not see his astral projection.
The eye just looked at him and blinked.
"Can you see me?" Joe asked. The rock just
shifted slowly, as if nodding.
"I didn't mean to wake you," Joe explained. The
eye just blinked as if waiting.
"I just came to check on.." Joe began but the
rock just closed it's eye in disinterest.
Joe let out his own sigh of disappointment.
"Alright," he said. And with that, he left.
Back up into the sky. North again. Past the
Canadian border. No customs on this flight. He flew
over Calgary and it's sprawling suburbs. Past the
wide opens fields filled with bails of hay. To
Edmonton.
The hotel room was quiet as Joe sunk into it
and already the feeling of wrong makes his skin
tingle. He had heard people talk about sneaking
through their parent's or their sibling's possessions
with a since of excitement and dread at being caught.
This is what he felt. He shouldn't be there. It wasn't
his place.
It was midmorning now but nothing could be
heard except for the muted sounds of the city through
the windows. The drapes were drawn to keep out the
rising sun.
Joe walked past the couch where Michael slept,
curled up into a ball. He mumbled something about
poppycock and then was quiet.
Joe walked through the main room and slipped
quietly down the hall. He didn't need to open the
door to go into the bedroom, instead slipping through
the door itself. He walked over to the bed and stood
over the figures lying there.
He slowly reached out and touched the forehead
of the young raven-haired woman asleep in front of
him and slipped into her dreams.
Suddenly everything around him changed into a
warm English forest in spring. Birds sang strange
songs off in the distance and the grass at his feet
grew in different shades of green in perfectly square
blocks, like a chessboard.
Arguing in the distance instantly caught his
attention. Joe walked through the trees until he came
to a clearing. There in the middle of it was a long
table, set perfectly for nearly two-dozen people.
Strangely enough only four people were sitting at it.
Though, they weren't really people.
"No!" the Dormouse yelled. He wasn't the
typical image of the Dormouse. He was bigger. Fatter.
More menacing. And far too eager for his own good. He
wore only a coat made of red maple leaves that were
loosely sown together. "You must share."
"Yes," the Hatter replied in a much calmer
voice. The Hatter, unlike the Dormouse, was the
perfect image of his namesake. The only variation
was the card in his hat that read "N/Y" instead of
the usual size. "You must share."
Sitting next to the Dormouse, across from the
Hatter, was the March Hare. Only the Hare was female,
it's ears tied up in odangos with the leftovers
falling to her shoulders.
"I don't wanna," the Hare wined and cried.
Joe walked over the person who sat at the head
of the table, a raven-haired girl in a red dress.
"Hello," he said to her.
"Oh," she said as she looked up at him, not the
least bit surprised that he was there.
"What are they arguing about?"
"Just the usual nonsense," she said with a
bored sigh. "They can't just enjoy the tea."
"Must I remind you it's rabbit season," the
Hatter said to the Hare.
"Yes!" the Dormouse cut in. "We are quite
within our rights to totally ignore you."
"Please don't," the Hare replied. "I have such
lovely mushrooms."
Joe frowned and turned to the girl. "They
always like this?"
"Yup," she replied with total apathy.
"It's the only way to get things done," the
Hatter said to Joe. "We didn't do things this way
there'd be total chaos."
"So, why won't she share?" Joe asked, motioning
to the Hare.
"They want to cut the cake!" the Hare said with
sadness.
Joe then noticed the cake sitting in the middle
of the table. It was large, round, and covered in
blue and green icing. Joe had to admit that it did
look appetizing.
"Well, I'm sure you could share," Joe said.
"How much do you each want?"
"All of it," the Hatter and the Dormouse
replied in unison.
"But that's not sharing," Joe stated.
The Hatter and the Dormouse just glanced at
each other and then back to Joe. They shrugged. "So?"
they asked in unison.
"It is our fair share," the Hatter added.
"Yeah," the Dormouse. He then pointed an
accusing finger at the girl in red. "It's bad enough
she's trying to steal half of my chair but now you're
trying to take my share of the cake."
"No," the Hatter cut in. "It's my share."
And thus the agreement continued.
"It's a lost cause," the girl said, capturing
Joe's attention again. "They just don't see it."
"See what?" Joe asked.
"That they can enjoy the cake without cutting
it," she said.
"Deep," Joe said with a sigh.
"Yup," the girl said apathetically.
Seeing there was nothing left to look at Joe
rose from the dream and was once again standing
beside the bed in the hotel room.
"Okay," he said under his breath. "That was
strange."
Joe just stood there for a moment, considering
where to go next. There were a few other faces worth
looking in on. But...
Joe hesitated. Out of the corner of his eye he
saw something. There, on the dresser, next to the
laptop was Strike Fiss' katana. It rested on the a
simple sword stand with a simple black gloss finish.
But there was something else.
Joe had seen the sword before. There was
nothing remarkably different about it. Nothing the
human eye would see anyway. But in his corporal state
there was one thing Joe could see.
Running the length of the scabbard was what
could only be described as a silver string, thin as
silk and twice as delicate. It glowed with an almost
spiritual power.
Now the last time Joe had seen the sword, he
had seen this as well. It was a spiritual thing,
linked to the sword, wrapped into it's very essence.
However, last time, the end of it had gone from tip
of the blade and away. Sometimes into the sky and
sometimes into the Earth but always in the general
direction of away, like a river to flowing from some
unknown source.
But now this river flowed differently. It
didn't go away from the room, as would be expected
but across it, over the bed, and to Strike Fiss.
Joe frowned at noticing this. Since he had
discovered the unusual nature of Rei Hino's dreams
and their ability to hint at the future when properly
interpreted he had visited many times but not paid
not much attention to the young would-be samurai and
angel. But now, with a faint suspension as to what
this change could mean, he could only feel worry and
doubt about the future.
The problem was not what was happening but that
he could not know the details of it. He could look
into dreams but not into the rest of the human mind.
Not into it's deepest and darkest corners and that
was the sight he would need.
But he knew of someone who could.
He let out a sigh and then looked up. Slowly,
he rose. Time to check on someone he hadn't checked
on in sometime.
Then higher, over North America. Then higher,
over Earth. Out past the moon. Out past Mars. The
asteroids, Jupiter, Saturn. Stop. There. The tear.
Quickly through. Up over the crater. Across the
nearby forest. Then down, below this world. Into the
other. Into Hell.
Over the pain. Over the suffering. The screams
and cries rang out in his ears. The pain and anguish
was so thick in the air that it burned his eyes. He
had to remind himself that it wasn't his real body
that was here.
On the horizon, set against the blackened sky
and looking down upon everything from a high plateau
was a city of spires. Each tower was made of polished
obsidian and ebony, jagged, twisted, and scraping the
sky.
Joe's spirit reached out to the main tower that
was built from the peak of the pyramid at it's base,
like some god-awful phallic symbol of every woman's worst
nightmare.
And there, looking down on everything from the
highest balcony, was Lucifer, gazing out over his
domain as if lost
in thought.
"You've been distant," a voice said behind him.
Lucifer turned and looked at the men sitting behind
him.
There were two men and a woman. The first man
was very dark, his clothing, his hair, and even his
aura was pitch black as the night skin. He wore black
robes with a blue trim, the sign of the Grigori order.
The second man wore the same robes but in a
much different fashion. He wore his hair long and his
robes in a feminine manner that showed off his shaved
legs. His faces was heavily made up and to anyone
that didn't know, he could have surely passed for a
female.
The true woman in the room was not so
flamboyant in her femininity. She stood against the
wall as the men sat and wore her plain gray robes
both simply and with an overwhelming amount of
intimidation to make even the strongest men
cower.
It was too the woman that Joe's spirit flew. He
got close up next to her and softly whispered in her
ear as Lucifer turned and said.
"Excuse me?"
"You've been distant," the dark man repeated.
"Really, Baraquijal?, Lucifer asked, as if he
hadn't noticed. "What makes you say that?"
"Oh, come off it darling," the transvestite
added. "You've been mopping about the place ever
since that whole terrible scandal with the boys
upstairs."
"Hmmm," was Lucifer's only reply as he turned
his back to them and looked back out from the
balcony.
"You know what you should do?" the transvestite
continued. "You need to go down to the Pits for a
couple of days. Raise some good ol' unholy justice
like the old days. You know, find some fine young
lad that looks a bit like Michael and beat him to pulp."
"Azazel?" Lucifer said without turning around.
"Yes, darling," the transvestite replied.
"Shut-up or I'll have you buggered by wild
bulls."
"Ah," Azazel scoffed. With a wave of his hand,
Azazel rose from his seat.
"Come on, darling," he said to Baraquijal.
"Let's go somewhere where we're wanted."
Baraquijal chuckled at Azazel's reaction as he
followed the flamer to the door.
Just before the two Grigori closed the door
behind them, Lucifer could have sworn he heard Azazel
say, "Wild bulls? Hmmmm," as if considering the idea
with interest.
After they left a thick silence fell on the
room. The woman standing against the wall stepped
forward without a sound and sat down in one of the
vacated seats. Joe, having finish giving whatever
suggestions to the woman, stood and watched the pair.
"Have I changed?" Lucifer asked.
"No," the woman said, taking a cigarette from
the folds of her robes and lighting it up. "You've
haven't changed one bit since the day I meet you."
"It feels like I have," Lucifer replied.
The woman took a drag over her cigarette as she
considered the man standing in front of her. "You're
not angry anymore," she said. "That's what it is."
Lucifer turned to look at her. "What?"
The woman smirked as slowly exhaled a cloud of
smoke and said, "Yeah, that's what it is."
"Explain," Lucifer said.
"Say please," the woman said.
Lucifer just sighed in annoyance. "Fine. Please
explain."
The woman smiled. "Better. Now, when I first
meet you, the one thing that drove you was your hope.
Hope for the world, for people, for everything. Then
when your brother left..."
"Must we talk about that?" Lucifer cut in.
"You want my opinion on the situation?" the
woman asked. Lucifer nodded. "Okay then," she
continued. "Shut-up."
"When you're brother left, you lost your hope.
From that point on it was all anger."
"So?" Lucifer asked, sitting in the seat across
from her.
"I think something happened to you while you
away fighting Azrael. Somehow, you got your hope
back."
"I don't want to hope," Lucifer said softly.
"Hoping is like believing a bad lie."
The woman smiled. "Well, I think it's part of
your charm, Sammael."
Lucifer shot a deadly glance. "I told you never
to call me that anymore."
"And I told you that you were not allowed to
tell me what to do. Not anymore."
For a moment neither of them said a thing.
Lucifer slowly sank back into his seat in defeat.
"I'm sorry, Lillith," he finally said. "I don't
think I ever told you how sorry I am."
"You don't need to be," Lillith replied. "I
never blamed you." She rose from her seat and stood
over him. "But you were right. You have changed.
You're changing back to the way you used to be."
She kneeled down in front of him and looked him
straight in the eye. "Listen. You should leave."
"What?" he asked. "That's absurd. I built this
place. My sweat, blood and tears are in every bit of
brick and mortar. I'm not about to just up..."
"Lucifer," she barked, cutting him off. "I know
you. Without your wraith, you won't belong here. This
was merely a place for you to vent your anger.
Nothing more. Now it's time to move on."
"I can't just leave," Lucifer said. "The others
would go apeshit. Mephistopheles and Beelzebub and all
their little followers would tear this place apart
trying to figure out who's in charge. I..."
"You can't baby-sit that bunch for the rest of
their lives. They have to make their own choices in
life, just like you. Now tell me, are you really
happy here?"
Lucifer just thought about it for a moment then
shook his head. "No. I've never liked this place."
"Then what's keeping you here?"
He nodded. "Point taken." Joe smiled.
With that, she stood up and walked to the door.
"Maybe it's time to find a new mission in life," she
said as she
opened in life," she said as the opened the door.
"Maybe," Lucifer sighed under his breath.
"Lillith," he called out to her.
"Yes?" she said, pausing in the doorway.
"Think there any chance of you and me getting
back..."
"Like I said," she said, cutting him off.
"You're learning to hope again."
Lucifer chuckled to himself as he hear the door
shut behind her.
Joe looked at the Devil sitting across the room
from him and smiled. Yes, his involvement would help a
great deal.
If only...
Suddenly everything got bright. He opened his
eyes to find himself back in the kitchen in Balboa,
and Antonio shaking his arm.
"Hey, you awake?" the old man asked.
Joe smiled. "Yeah. Guess my mind was just
wandering."
"Well, you hadn't said a thing all day. Thought
there might have been something wrong."
Joe just shook his head. "No, senor. I'm fine.
It's just...I got a lot on my mind."
Antonio nodded. "Well, finish up this mess and
you can call it a day."
Joe looked over the mountain of dirty dishes
and just sighed in despair. With all the things he
could do, all the things he had seen, all the things
he knew, he was stuck doing this.
‘Oh well,’ he thought. ‘To reach enlightenment one
must chop wood and carry water. And when you reach
enlightenment, you must chop wood and carry water.’
He went to his work, this time focusing on the
dishes.
He managed to finish scrubbing the last of the
pots just as the sun was setting. He finished
cleaning the counters and tidying up before taking
off his apron and hanging it back up on it's hook.
Joe quietly put on his coat and hat, grabbed his
bag and was out the door.
"Oi! Jose!"
Joe turned just as he reached the street to see
Antonio running out of the back door of the
restaurant.
"You almost left before I could pay you,"
Antonio said, check in hand.
"Oh, almost forgot," Joe replied honestly.
"You are a strange one to forget a thing like
that," the plump little Spaniard said.
Joe just shrugged.
"Well, I just have to write out this check,"
Antonio said, pulling out his pen. "What is your full
name anyway? You never told us anything beside Joe."
Joe smiled. "You never asked."
"Anyway, it's Joseph..."
"No, not Joseph," Joe corrected him. "Joe is
short for Joel. Joel Azer."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Draxel here. I'm not going to bore you with
any Author's Notes since I never really do
know what to say. I'll leave that to Fiss
in case he wants to add anything down here.
One thing though. While I did write this to
scratch my writer's itch, please don't
be bugging Fiss to much with questions like
"How's this guy?" or "What happens next?"
or "When you gonna get off your ass..."
You know what I mean. The boy works his ass off
to pay the rent and then goes home to write
stories to entertain we mob-of-psychos.
At least he's working hard on the Higher
Learning story.
Just be thankful his girlfriends on the other
side of the continent or we'd never have anything
to read. Just kidding Fiss. Nothing but love
for you and your girl. Hola hermanita!
Anyway, I'm gonna go now. Later kids and remember
do not harass your local fanfic writer or
they will go even further down the spiral
of insanity. Flash photography frightens them
too.
Later,
D
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