The Blanket Fort

Ordinary Miracles

darthstitch — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 12:48:59 +0000

Ordinary Miracles
A Trinity Blood Fan Fiction
by Darth Stitch

DISCLAIMER: Trinity Blood was created by Yoshida Sunao (R.I.P.) and is now an anime directed by Tomohiro Hirata and produced by the studio GONZO. I’m just a poor schmuck who wanted to see more romance amongst the all the high adventure, action and intrigue. Yes, the title IS taken from the song “Ordinary Miracles” from the film Charlotte’s Web. However, there aren’t any talking pigs and wise spiders in this fic. Heh.

I made a mistake earlier and put up the lyrics for another, different song that incidentally had the same title! Barbara Streisand originally sung this one and I ended up liking the lyrics, so I’m letting them remain. Now I’ve added the correct lyrics from the Sarah McLachlan song as well in this edited version.

AUTHOR’S WARNINGS: Trinity Blood is set in a post-apocalyptic world where the Roman Catholic Church/the Vatican is portrayed as a military power as well as a spiritual one. The series also strongly implies major and controversial changes in the Church, such as women being bishops and cardinals as well as romantic relationships and quite possibly marriage between members of the clergy. If this disturbs you, do not read any further.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: This is a side story/in-between short fic in the Milk Tea & Thirteen Sugars series before we go back to the Massive Plot that’s brewing. Btw, er… watch out for completely unashamed romantic fluff. A LOT of it. Prepare for sugar shock. Or tooth decay, possibly.

Isn’t it remarkable like every time a raindrop falls
It’s just another ordinary miracle today
Birds and winter have their fling but always make it home by spring
It’s just another ordinary miracle today…

- “Ordinary Miracles,” theme from Charlotte’s Web, sung by Sarah McLachlan

Ordinary miracles,
One for every star,
No lightning bolt or clap or thunder
Only joy and quiet wonder,
Endless possibilities
Right before our eyes
Oh, see the way a miracle multiplies

- “Ordinary Miracles,” sung by Barbara Streisand

1.The Past

Esther Blanchett has long learned to look for the ordinary miracles in life.

The Reverend Mother had the kind of faith that didn’t need to be bolstered by Great Signs or mystical visions. It was something that she had taught Esther – to see the wonder of everything in the world, even the things that most people would take for granted, to see that special kind of grace, even in the most ordinary of people.

When the Reverend Mother had been killed, Esther had forgotten that lesson for a brief time, lost as she was in that burning need for vengeance, for justice. And when she’d been told that the Vatican was sending over a priest to replace the Reverend Mother, all she could think of was to pray that the man would be happily oblivious to what she and Dietrich would be planning or would help them achieve their goals.

When Esther first met Father Abel Nightroad, she pitied the sweet, innocent scatterbrain who looked so helpless and lost in the Marquis’ palace. It wasn’t fair that he had to be dragged into this but she’d learned bitterly that life wasn’t fair and sometimes, one had to take things into their own hands to make it so. Let him be the parish priest then and feed the people of Istvan fairy tales about faith and hoping that things would turn out for the best. She knew just how painful it was to lose one’s innocence – she had no wish to inflict that on anyone else. And truly, what would she tell him?

Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I have killed a man. He was a vampire, an unholy, monstrous creature. He killed someone who was very precious to me so what I did was just. I cannot regret what I did. I refuse to be sorry.

Ten thousand rosaries, an endless litany of Our Father’s, Hail Mary’s and Glory Be’s would not be enough as penance. Not for the price of a life, no matter how wretched it may be.

And then, her entire world finally came to an end on that one night.

The Marquis’ men came and Dietrich, her only friend, was shot like an animal right before her eyes. They burned down the church which had been the only home she’d ever known and no Angel of God came down that night to stop the flames, no survival of church relics, statues of the Blessed Virgin or the Christ to be found in the ruins, miraculously unscathed. There was absolutely nothing left but ash and broken stone and twisted metal.

And finally, Esther understood what it meant to have absolutely nothing left to lose.

She’d been prepared to die that night, to take up that gun and to go down fighting. It was Abel Nightroad who had saved her life then, in more ways than one. And yes, he’d stopped her from using that gun and yes, he’d told her that revenge was a useless venture. And somehow, she’d looked up at him and realized that these were no empty useless platitudes coming from an innocent Catholic priest. There was darkness in those wintry blue eyes and for the first time, Esther sensed that he’d been where she was now, in that dark place where there was nothing left but the rage and the pain.

He understood it only all too well.

What Esther remembered most were those simple words from him – Because I am your friend and I will always be on your side – and he’d given her something to hold on to simply by being there.

There were other amazing things that happened on that seemingly long, endless night but it was at that moment that Esther finally began to rediscover something that she thought she would never find again – her hope and her faith.

I am your friend. I will always be on your side.

On that long train ride back to Rome, Abel was the one who comforted her as she told him her story and held her through her tears and made her laugh with his jokes and gentle teasing, which included, among other things, remarks about her height. Or lack, thereof. Oh, how annoyed she’d been!

And that was when she began to really take stock of things that she hadn’t really noticed before about this particular man. Like how unusual he looked – that long, silvery hair which wasn’t the sort of color one saw most often on any person. His height – he slouched but he towered easily over everyone else in that train station.

The fact that he’d somehow managed to take the Marquis’ rather vicious swordthrust and throw him across the room when the Marquis had beaten him easily just a few minutes ago. The fact that she had heard the rustling of what sounded like wings when Abel had stood behind her, defending her from the Marquis. Esther could not turn to see what that was, not with that desperate task that she had to concentrate on – trying to stop the Star of Sorrow from wreaking more destruction, not that her efforts had helped in the end. She could almost see those wings from the corner of her eye.

And then, she’d noticed that when he wasn’t wearing that silly smile, when he looked grave and serious, Abel Nightroad was in fact, a rather beautiful man…

Falling in love had been the absolute last thing on Esther’s mind.

In the beginning, she had quietly dismissed it as a simple crush, nothing more. She had never been the sort of girl to sigh or simper or do any of the inane silly things girls her age did when around the objects of their affection. By the time she started training as an AX agent, Esther thought that she would get over her tiny little crush, which more than likely had a touch of hero worship in it as well.

She thought to be content with being nothing more than Abel’s friend and colleague and kept the proper and correct distance by simply addressing him as “Father Nightroad.” She only had to look at poor Sister Noelle to steel her heart against the trap of unrequited love. Although to be fair, Abel was simply quite oblivious to all that attention and had never led any woman to think otherwise.

Their friendship had easily settled into a routine of sorts. Although he was her superior and could be counted on in any life or death situation, when it came to the little ordinary things, Abel could be scatterbrained beyond belief. Esther had lost track of the number of times the sugar ran out in the office supply (him and his penchant for 13 sugars in his tea!), Abel misplacing his ID, spilling tea on his reports, or various items being knocked over or broken by his clumsiness – not to mention the fact that Abel seemed to be perpetually broke, mainly because of the astonishing quantity of food that he could consume. And of course, he never ever gained a single pound – weird Crusnik metabolism, as the Professor liked to say.

Esther would scold and fuss and Lord help her, it seemed that he positively enjoyed the attention! She sometimes had the sneaking suspicion that he did it to deliberately annoy her.

She in turn enjoyed the mystery about him, the way that even though he could act the silly fool around all of them, there was that indefinable something that set him apart. She was curious, she couldn’t help that and it seemed that word – Crusnik – his codename, had something to do about it.

Crusnik - she’d looked the word up and it was Slavic in origin, referring to a shamanistic warrior who used magical powers to fight vampires. Interesting that this was chosen to be his codename and it was even more interesting that everyone else in AX were reluctant to speak to Esther about it, even Sister Noelle.

It seemed that they held their silence out of respect for Abel and Esther knew she would have to take her cues from them.

It was much, much later that she found out what Crusnik truly was.

Esther had thought that this was how Death would find her, on a filthy street in Cartago, holding a dead or dying Methuselah boy in her arms, protecting him

(and oh, the irony of that – stubborn, proud Ion, the vampire boy who became her friend)

with nothing more than her pitifully fragile body. Not much defense against a war machine with more than enough power to level the entire city but it was all she had at that moment. And yet, somehow, she’d stubbornly held to that tiny shred of hope – that Abel would somehow miraculously come through for them, just as he had somehow done for her with the Marquis and several other times since.

And so she called out for him, “Father Nightroad…”

That was when she finally understood about those wings,

(angel)

and the reason why the Marquis of Hungary, a powerful Methuselah, had somehow been slashed into pieces by a seemingly helpless and clumsy priest

(Crusnik)

and the reason why the members of AX had held their silence about Father Abel Nightroad and what he truly was…

She had not known that she was already praying silently when the Crusnik had finally descended from the sky, scythe still held aloft and approached them. All she could think of was Ion and how his spilled blood had somehow been absorbed by the creature who had just taken out one of the most powerful war machines in the Inquisition’s arsenal and three of its battleships. And she’d cried out for him to stop…

No… you’re wrong…

The real horror of it was that she could still see Abel in the Crusnik’s blood-red eyes, saw his anguish and his pain and he’d cried out in that harsh, nearly unrecognizable metallic voice and she heard him.

I am sorry… what you saw, that was the mark…the mark of my sins…

When it was all over, he’d apologized to her and for once, there was not a trace of her sweet, silly friend and she finally comprehended how he could speak to her about the emptiness of vengeance and understand about real pain and bitterness and rage…

Oh, how she wanted to tell him that she was the one who was sorry, that she felt she’d failed him somehow but she could not find the words for once, to comfort him as he’d once comforted her. He had become distant from her during that long journey to the Empire, accompanying Ion and it was with sheer relief that somewhere during that journey, he’d reverted to being the silly clown again. So she’d fussed and scolded, hoping that he could hear in her voice, her words, her own silent apology.

It hadn’t lasted for long. Abel had become distant again when they returned to Rome and more, he was uncharacteristically grim, his mood dark and brooding. What had happened to make him that way, she had no idea. And there was no way for her to ask and truly, why should she care so much, when she’d already known that they must be friends, colleagues, no more and no less.

That first night back in Rome, Esther had been unable to sleep and groaned silently when she checked the time and realized it was close to dawn. Deciding that there was no help for it, she’d dressed, tucked her rosary into her pocket and gone down to one of the chapels to pray and perhaps sort out her thoughts.

And that was when she heard the singing.

It was a Mass in the old archaic Latin, sung with a fervor and beauty that she had never heard before. Something told her not to walk openly right into that chapel in that moment, like any other person would in order to hear Mass. She just knew that she had to quietly venture inside and stay hidden in the shadows.

She saw the angel standing all alone at the altar, dark wings outstretched, singing the prayers and the responses of the Mass, lamenting in the prayers for forgiveness, rejoicing in the hymns of praise and his face was alight with serenity and peace. It was the most glorious sight Esther had ever seen.

It was Abel.

And something in Esther shattered in that moment and all because of him and she realized that she could no longer deny what was in her heart all along…

There was a familiar red gleam in the shadows and Esther recognized the familiar silhouette of Father Tres Iquus. She and the android regarded each other in silent understanding and Esther slipped away, knowing that she must not be seen, that Abel would not have wished for her to know…

2.The Present

Esther had known that Abel would be awake.

The others had already fallen asleep – even Methuselahs needed their rest, after that entire debacle in Drakovia. Ion had insisted that they travel back in a private train car this time and all of them simply were too tired to spare the patience for credulous people who would spit dracul and mutter imprecations against vampires. Even Father Tres was on standby mode in the room that he was supposed to share with Abel and Ion.

But Abel was not in his own bunk – even then it was a tight fit for his rather tall frame and he’d chosen just to stay in one of the compartments and stare out the window, watching the scenery blurring by.

Esther had stood watching him just for a moment, content just to see him sit there and breathe…

She knew it was silly of her to think so but there was a part of her that had believed him invincible and when he’d suddenly disappeared… when she saw Samael slash that knife across his throat… when she saw him fall, seemingly lifeless, into that coffin…

The tears would start again and she would try to stifle her cries into her blanket or her pillow and she would wake up, red-faced and puffy-eyed.

Abel had now taken one look at her face and he’d wordlessly beckoned her into his arms. She settled quite nicely on his lap, laid her head on his shoulder and smiled when he pressed a kiss into her hair.

She had never expected that things would be like this between them – she knew that she would always love him but she’d never truly expected that love to be returned, to find that out in a shack in the middle of nowhere, in the midst of a raging snowstorm and to have it affirmed in the Colosseum of Rome, of all places…

But then, she’d never expected to see the sights she’d seen – the dark angel who had defended her with such ferocity and the one she’d seen celebrating the Mass in an empty chapel, with no witnesses other than God and a nun and an android priest hiding in its shadows.

There were still so many things about Abel that she did not yet know, things about himself and his past that he was reluctant to talk about and she only hoped that he would tell her his story one day. Till then, she would be patient and let him comfort her. It was what she needed right now – the warmth and comfort of his presence and she was well aware that he himself took solace in that too, because when they were together like this, she could see the sadness fade from his eyes and he would look almost as much as he did when he sang in that chapel…

Softly, he began to sing to her, a gentle lullaby, in that wonderful, glorious voice of his and she hid her face in his shoulder to hide the sudden tears.

“Here, now, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he murmured, lifting her face up to his and brushing away her tears with gentle fingers.

“No, don’t stop singing – your voice is so beautiful,” she whispered back.

He gave her that rare, gentle smile that was quite unlike his usual silly ones. “Just don’t tell anyone else, please. I’d rather not have anyone know about that.”

She found a smile for him too, aware that Abel hated seeing her cry and understanding that he really hated calling attention to himself, especially for things that marked him out as different – even for such a talent as this. Still, she couldn’t resist gently teasing: “Just think, you could always find a career for yourself as a singer, maybe in the opera…”

He chuckled lightly. “Oh Lord, no – I don’t think I can take the stage fright.”

She made a show of thinking about it. “On second thought, you’re right, maybe you shouldn’t. I absolutely refuse to share you with the raving fangirls. I’m happy to have you all to myself.”

He’d removed his glasses so he could gently press his forehead against hers and they were nose to nose. “All to yourself, hmm?”

So close like this, her breath caught and she flushed and she knew that he was quite aware of how he was affecting her. Still, she held on to what was left of her wits and answered fiercely, “Mine.”

The kiss, when it came, was just as fierce and possessive and faintly, she was reminded that they were both supposed to be at least chaste, up to a certain point but rapidly not beginning to care in the least…

But Abel had been the one to end it this time, nuzzling her gently and whispering in her ear, “Do you think you can sleep now?”

She caressed his cheek. “Would you sing for me, please?”

“As you wish.” Softly, he began to sing to her again.

Esther laid her head back on his shoulder, thinking about all the amazing wonderful things she’d seen with this man but perhaps it all came down to this very simple thing, that he’d begun to let her in, let her know a little of who he was and the secrets he kept, let her love him and amazingly enough, love her in return.

An ordinary miracle indeed.

Esther closed her eyes and let him sing her into sleep, knowing that he would keep her safe, even in her dreams.

-end-

All I Wish Is To Dream Again

darthstitch — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 03:22:24 +0000

All I Wish Is To Dream Again
A Trinity Blood Fan Fiction
by Darth Stitch

DISCLAIMER: Trinity Blood was created by Yoshida Sunao (R.I.P.) and is now an anime directed by Tomohiro Hirata and produced by the studio GONZO. I’m just a poor schmuck who wanted to see more romance amongst the all the high adventure, action and intrigue. Again, although this is not a songfic, the title is taken from the song “Nemo” by the band Nightwish. I was inspired by that video I spotted on YouTube – “Mark of My Sins” by Dr. Raven productions. Check it out – it’s pretty cool, actually.

The Revenants and their concept is actually all mine. This is what I get when I realize I have Massive Plot on my hands and I realize that my original fictional universe can actually seamlessly merge with Trinity Blood.

AUTHOR’S WARNINGS/NOTES: Again, for those new to the anime/manga series, Trinity Blood is set in a post-apocalyptic world where the Roman Catholic Church/the Vatican is portrayed as a military power as well as a spiritual one. The series also strongly implies major and controversial changes in the Church, such as women being bishops and cardinals as well as romantic relationships and quite possibly marriage between members of the clergy. If this disturbs you, do not read any further.

To my male officemates/readers who’re reading this – er, don’t worry, there WILL be blood and gore ahead, just bear with us ladies as we like our romantic schmoop, okay? XP

DEDICATION: Aside from my wonderful officemates, this story is also dedicated to you all you great reviewers out there, especially to Arallion, who just put up the latest chapter of her wonderful Trinity Blood story “In the Name of Power” – check it out, it’s right here on FF Dot Net – and inspired me to get a move on with the Massive Plot in my own story. This is also dedicated to Perhelediel (Lauren), who drew a wonderful piece of fan art for Beautiful Disaster – wheeeeee! Check it out here:

http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/49935481/

Oh how I wish for soothing rain,
All I wish is to dream again,
My loving heart lost in the dark
For hope Id give my everything
Oh how I wish for soothing rain,
Oh how I wish to dream again…

- “Nemo” by Nightwish

Abel Nightroad was most assuredly not jealous of Ion Fortuna.

Puppy love – that was all it was, really and it was rather good for the young, proud Count of Memphis to completely forget his dignity for the moment as he and Esther talked animatedly together, catching up on things as they whiled away the hours on this long train ride. How could he blame Ion for having that worshipful, adoring expression for Esther when Abel knew perfectly well that he probably had that look on his face as well?

Abel fervently hoped he wasn’t too obvious about it as Ion was though.

And it was hard not to like the young Imperial nobleman and it wasn’t because he was one of the best and the brightest in the New Human Empire, with one of the purest and strongest Methuselah bloodlines. Ion was technically an adult, albeit young by Methuselah standards but he still looked like a young boy, if a rather beautiful one (which annoyed Ion to no end), between 13-15 years old.

It was easy to like Ion simply because he was, for all his pride and occasional blustering, basically kind, good-hearted and honorable and in his own way, still an innocent about the world, despite suffering betrayal and near-death at the hands of the man he’d called his best friend and brother in all but blood. And if Abel was perfectly honest with himself, he knew quite well that the real reason he was feeling…er… “not-exactly-jealous” was because Ion did not carry the weight of sin and regret that Abel did. Ion was, in a sense, “untainted” and even if Methuselah-Terran relationships were frowned upon, there was a tiny part of Abel that thought Ion would be a far better match for Esther than he ever could be.

Ion was very much like Esther, in fact, which probably explained why they got on so well together.

Esther herself put it rather better: “He’s awfully sweet, rather like you, Abel.”

Okay, so Abel did not melt inside at her comment.

Oh Lord, she had him wrapped around her tiny fingers and well she knew it.

Abel ruefully remembered that last scene in Caterina’s office when they’d gone to her for the debriefing after the incident with the werewolves in the Colosseum. The lady Cardinal had taken one look at them as soon as they walked through her door and then exclaimed:

“Well, it was about bloody damn time!”

Abel knew perfectly well that it was useless to hide things from his dearest friend and so he simply settled for saying plaintively, “Are we that obvious?”

He was really rather curious because really, it wasn’t as if the two of them had walked in there exchanging lovestruck syrupy glances and holding hands, for Heaven’s sake. And Esther couldn’t say a word for once; she was too busy blushing and giggling behind her hands.

Caterina had lifted an eyebrow ironically and answered, “I rather commend you both on your discretion but might I ask what is your hair ribbon doing wrapped around Sister Esther’s wrist?”

Abel’s hand automatically went to his long silver hair and sure enough, it was still hanging loosely down his back, still slightly damp from his bath. He’d completely forgotten about that!

He leveled a mock-glare at the little red-haired nun and said in his best stern tones, “Sister Esther!”

Dark blue eyes blinked innocently up at him. “Yes, Father Nightroad?”

“May I please have my ribbon back? I did keep my word to you about that tea, didn’t I?”

Esther made a show of thinking about it. “Why yes, you did. I had a very nice time, in fact.”

Abel held out his hand to her. “My hair ribbon?”

She pouted. “But I like it when you have your hair down.”

“Eh?!”

Caterina snorted. “Apparently you two are a match made in heaven, God help us all. Now if we could all get down to business…?”

Esther began to relate the events in the Colosseum as Abel tied his hair back up. He spoke only to add or augment what she was saying and he did not like the way Caterina’s eyes grew graver as they continued their story.

“So they have finally come here,” Caterina said thoughtfully.

“You’re starting to make me very nervous,” Abel remarked. “You already know about this?”

The lady Cardinal took up a file from her desk and began to look through it. “I was looking for you before you both had your little run-in with those werewolves. Sister Kate has just given me several reports about werewolf attacks on both Terrans and Methuselahs here in our part of Europe and I’ve also received intelligence of the same thing happening in the New Human Empire. This arrived from the Empress today.”

“Seth-chan!” exclaimed Esther.

Caterina smiled. “Her Imperial Majesty sends her fondest regards to you, Sister Esther and to her and I quote, ‘dear sweet silly older brother Abel.’”

Abel sighed. He was aware that his youngest sister missed him and made a mental note to himself to contact her as soon as possible.

Caterina handed the file to Esther for both of them to look at and so Abel had stood up, adjusting his spectacles so he could read over Esther’s shoulder.

“As you can see,” Caterina continued. “We’ve both tracked all this activity even as far away as Drakovia and it is suspected that this may be the source of all of this.”

“Or a good place to start,” Esther remarked. “Drakovia’s quite close to Transylvania and that’s almost ironic, considering what role Transylvania plays in ‘vampire’ literature and folklore.”

“Oh Lord, I do hope we’re not going to traipse about in Dracula’s castle, waking the vampire from his coffin,” Abel sighed.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have backup,” Caterina said dryly. “This will be a joint mission with the Empire and Her Imperial Majesty will be sending Ion Fortuna, Count of Memphis and Astharoshe Asran, the Duchess of Kiev to work with us. I will also be sending Gunslinger with you. You will all be going to Drakovia to investigate this matter.”

“Oh, it will be good to see Ion and Lady Astha again,” said Esther happily.

“Ion?” Abel looked at her quizzically, knowing quite well that Esther, ever polite, insisted on using the proper titles and only ever made that exception for a very few people which included his sister Seth, which had scandalized most of the Imperial court.

Esther shrugged. “He insisted and he said Seth-chan wouldn’t let me call her ‘Empress’ anyway so who was he to not follow the example of his Empress?”

“Ah.” Abel wasn’t sure what he wanted to think about that and he really did not feel the first unpleasant prickling of jealousy at that point. No, really.

“Speaking of Her Imperial Majesty Empress Augusta Vradica, she did make a rather interesting announcement at her court,” Caterina said, her eyes sparkling with barely-suppressed mirth. “I understand that she’s rather caused quite a stir among her nobles.”

“What has Seth done now?” Abel asked, feeling a deep sense of foreboding.

“She has announced to the Imperial Court that she is pleased to welcome home her dear brother, His Imperial Highness Prince Artorius Elric Vradica.”

Abel fell over, landing precisely at Esther’s feet. “Eh?!”

“Does that mean I have to call you ‘Your Imperial Highness’ now?” Esther teased, looking down at his prone form.

“Eh?!” Abel knew he should say something, anything, at this point but he just couldn’t find the words. What was it about the women in his life who took all such a delight in rendering him incoherent? God help him if Caterina, Esther and Seth all took it into their heads to band together – he was probably not going to survive that most unholy coalition of his best friend, beloved and sister!

He was so going to get Seth for this. What the hell was she thinking?!

“In a more private message, our little Empress has informed me that she hasn’t said anything about her dear brother being just a simple priest currently living in the Vatican but she thought that mentioning his existence would discourage any of her other ‘children’ with imperial ambitions. Although he may be required to come to the Empire at some point and…er… be ‘introduced’ to the Court in some fashion,” Caterina said, shaking her head. “If she can figure out something that wouldn’t let you get caught between Rome and Byzantium, I don’t see why you shouldn’t pay your sister a visit later on. She must miss you dearly.”

“I’m still going to get her for this,” Abel growled, leaning up on his elbows.

“I’m just curious about the name she chose for you,” Esther said. “Artorius Elric?”

“Seth is terribly addicted to high fantasy and romantic literature,” Abel sweatdropped. “Not to mention a flair for the theatrical.”

“She is your sister after all,” Esther reminded him, helping him get to his feet. “And I seem to remember you hamming it up with the best of them several times when we were there.”

“Hey! I really thought I was dying at that point! Who knew food poisoning could be so life-threatening!” Abel protested. And in the back of his mind, he could hear Professor Wordsworth in his role as Abel’s Father Confessor cackling evilly.

“You’re absolutely hopeless, do you know that?” Esther said in exasperation.

“Ahem,” Caterina cleared her throat. “You two lovebirds might like to get ready for that journey instead of billing and cooing in my office? Some of us aren’t so lucky…”

They had left her office with severe blushes that probably matched the color of the good Cardinal’s robes.

Transylvania was called the “Land Beyond The Forest” with good reason and it was fortunate that it had escaped the ravages of Armageddon mostly unscathed. It still mostly looked as it might have done to a nineteenth-century Victorian gentleman solicitor – a wild, untamed country of mountains and lush forests, where wild wolves still hunted and where the legends of vampires as terrifying creatures of the night still thrived.

Of course, the two Methuselahs with them weren’t too happy about the suspicious looks they were getting from the local Terrans, from the moment they’d all met each other at the train station and during the entire journey. An old woman on the train passed them by, looked suspiciously at Ion and Astharoshe, made the sign against the evil eye and muttered something about “dracul.” Abel silently admitted that it was slightly gratifying to see the old lady do a double take when she saw the two priests and the nun sitting with them.

And at that the Duchess of Kiev had glared at her old partner and said:

“The first person to make Dracula jokes, tovarishch, I will make very sorry!”

Abel held up his hands in a warding off gesture. “Eh?! I’m not saying anything Miss Astha! What about you, Tres? Help me out here…” He looked beseechingly at his android AX partner, who was sitting across from them, next to Esther and Ion.

“My programming does not include the ability to engage in jest, Father Nightroad,” Father Tres Iquus returned. He cocked his head thoughtfully to the side. “Although I am capable of understanding their concern as the historical Dracula has been said to have performed atrocities that would lead the superstitious to conclude he is a vampire…”

“Ridiculous notion – like I would demean myself by tearing into these Terrans’ throats. And their blood is too thin anyways! Bah!” Astharoshe huffed.

Abel sweatdropped. “Miss Astha, I don’t think they heard that thing about you biting people’s necks all the way in Istvan…”

“They also have tales about a legendary ‘vampire’ prince in Drakovia, you know,” Ion volunteered, wincing over the use of the word “vampire” which no self-respecting Methuselah would ever use to refer to themselves.

“Really? Do tell,” Esther asked.

“Well,” Ion said, smiling sweetly at her. “He wasn’t anything like Vlad Dracula though – the stories portray him as good, noble and heroic.”

“Prince Charming with fangs, eh?” Abel remarked.

“You could say that, Father Nightroad,” the blond-haired Count answered. “It was said that he came under a terrible curse in order to save his people and thus, used his vampiric powers to protect and defend Drakovia. They name him the Lord of Winter, the Black Dragon and Drakovia’s ancient name is said to be Dragons’ Lair.”

“But how did the story end?” Esther asked.

Ion shook his head. “That part of the legend has been lost to the ages, I’m afraid. But there was a princess in that story so perhaps, in the end, he married her and lived happily ever after.” Again, Ion gave her that sweet smile, with that soft, tender look in those rather unusual cinnamon-colored eyes.

“Ah… the young ones are rather sweet together, aren’t they, tovarishch?” Astharoshe murmured, patting his shoulder.

“Er… I suppose,” Abel mumbled, suppressing the urge to bare his own fangs, grab Esther and snarl Mine! at the young Count.

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. He had to stop being so silly, for Heaven’s sake. If Esther found out, she was going to kill him…

Astharoshe was staring at him oddly, almost as if she could figure out what he was thinking…uh-oh. Abel pushed his spectacles up over the bridge of his nose and gave her his best innocent look.

And then, the Duchess of Kiev smirked at him and then suddenly smacked him on the shoulder which made Abel fall out of his seat. She muttered something in Romanian about fools in love. Abel pretended not to understand that, just as he did the last time she’d muttered uncomplimentary Romanian phrases about his supposed lack of intelligence.

“Father Nightroad!” Esther exclaimed as Abel fell over.

“Status report, Father Nightroad,” Tres asked, catching him just in the nick of time. The android’s eyes gleamed with that faint red light that was the only warning most people got if he was about to go into “Gunslinger” mode.

“Eheheh… I’m okay, Father Tres,” Abel said sheepishly. “Miss Astha doesn’t know her own strength, that’s all.”

“You’re too skinny, is what you are, tovarishch,” Astharoshe said jovially, patting him on the shoulders and chest. “Which is strange considering that you are such a bottomless pit when it comes to food…”

“Hey!”

Ion snickered. “Isn’t gluttony one of the capital sins, Father?”

Astharoshe slung an arm over Abel’s shoulder – she was being awfully clingy for some reason which made every last alarm bell go off in Abel’s head. “What our dear innocent Father Nightroad needs is the love of a good woman, I think!” She pinched his cheek. “That would put some meat on these bones! Eh?”

“ACK!” What the hell was Astharoshe doing?

And then, Abel happened to glance at Esther, who was watching him with narrowed eyes and he was suddenly sure that he was quite doomed.

It was Abel’s turn to get the odd looks from people when they had finally arrived in Drakovia. He wasn’t sure why a simple traveling Vatican priest would elicit such a reaction – surely priests were a common sight in this little country, which was known to be staunchly Catholic or Orthodox. In any case, religious iconography and crucifixes were a common sight wherever they looked.

Abel was acutely aware of the startled glances and the whispers and he gave Astharoshe a quizzical glance, wondering if there was some sort of cultural thing going on that he wasn’t aware of.

“Don’t look at me, tovarishch,” she said, shrugging. “I’m rather glad that Ion and I aren’t the center of attention anymore.”They arrived at the Steward’s Palace where they were met by Marik Radivoi, the Steward of Drakovia himself. This was the title given to the little country’s Head of State, as the throne of its royal Prince had been empty for more than two thousand years. The Steward was a distinguished-looking man in his fifties, with dark hair shot through with silver strands and bright gray eyes. He too had also been taken aback when he first met Abel.

“Forgive me, Father, your appearance… it’s rather startling,” said the Steward Radivoi, regarding him with an expression that was somewhere between awe and reverence.

Abel blinked owlishly behind his spectacles. “Eh?!” Honestly, it wasn’t as if he’d suddenly walked in there in his Crusnik form, glaring red eyes, wings, fangs and all.

Esther sighed. “Honestly, is that all you have to say for yourself, Father Nightroad?”

“I would like to say that I’m very confused and would appreciate it if someone would give an explanation for all this,” Abel said plaintively.

“I think you will all understand it better if I show you,” said the Steward. And he led them all to the large portrait that hung in the Great Hall of the Steward’s palace.

“Good Lord,” Abel murmured, as they all stood before the portrait.

It was the painting of a handsome young man with long silvery hair, dressed in rich robes of black and gold. Bright, laughing green eyes regarded them, even as both his hands rested casually on the pommel of a great broadsword that oddly enough, had a pure black blade. The artist had captured his likeness so skillfully that it seemed almost as if the young man in the portrait could just step out from the frame and welcome them.

He also looked exactly like Abel, even more than Abel’s twin brother Cain did, ironically enough, all except for those bright green eyes.

“This is our Prince – Kyrys Ivan Alexander Alyardi, the Lord of Winter, the Black Dragon of Drakovia. Our legends say that he has never died and that he only lies sleeping, to return in our hour of greatest need. Which is why I and those before me have ruled as Steward, not prince, for the last two thousand years,” said Radivoi with reverence and pride.

“The resemblance to Father Nightroad is remarkable,” Tres commented.

“Amazing,” whispered Esther.

“So you must forgive our astonishment, Father Nightroad. It’s almost as if we are watching a legend come to life before our very eyes,” the Steward said, looking at him carefully.

“The legendary Prince of Drakovia,” murmured Ion and gave Abel an odd, speculative look.

“I’m not a prince,” Abel muttered, intensely uncomfortable with everyone’s eyes on him. It was uncanny how the Prince looked like him but there was something else in those green eyes that seemed oddly familiar. He shot a telling look at Esther and glanced at the two Imperial Methuselah noblemen meaningfully. Seth had never announced their kinship in front of Ion and Astharoshe, during that time he and Esther had escorted Ion back to the Empire and helped to foil that assassination attempt on Seth. However, it was probably quite clear to the two Imperial nobles that Seth and Abel knew each other, especially since the two of them had taken the opportunity for long talks together, having a great deal of catching up to do before Abel and Esther finally had to return to Rome.

Seth had wanted Abel to stay with her, to help her rule her Empire, but it wasn’t a life Abel knew he would be able to lead, as much as he did love his sister. And he was still going to have a very long discussion with her about that whole business of declaring him as an Imperial prince, of all things…

“Perhaps your ancestors were this prince’s descendants, eh, tovarishch?” Astharoshe said thoughtfully. “Royalty in disguise… sounds like the very best of fairy tales!”

“I highly doubt it,” said Abel wryly. All of the Crusniks – Lilith, Abel and his siblings – were test tube babies, created in laboratories by scientists with delusions of godhood in them. It was more the stuff of science fiction than fairy tales.

The Duchess of Kiev again casually slung an arm over his shoulders and plucked his glasses off his nose. “Oh, don’t be so modest. If you would only get rid of these ridiculous spectacles and that silly ponytail, you’d even make a passably handsome specimen of the male species, one I would find most attractive, even if you are a Terran. A very fitting Prince Charming, eh, Ion?”

Ion sweatdropped – he wasn’t too sure of what was going on either and what his fellow Imperial noble was up to.

“Eh?!” Abel’s eyes bugged out, feeling just as lost as Ion was at the moment. And Tres, of course, was no help at all, merely regarding the humans with a quizzical expression that meant he was just processing and storing everything with his perfect android’s memory.

Esther simply glared at them both and grabbed Ion’s hand, asking the Steward if he could tell them more legends about the Prince. The Steward was only too happy to lead them to his library. Ion was startled but was evidently pleased to be dragged along in her wake.

Abel wasn’t sure what he’d done to offend his beloved but he quickly disentangled himself from the Duchess of Kiev, took back his spectacles and hurried to catch up with them.

“Lady Astharoshe,” Tres spoke then. “I require an explanation as to why you are treating Father Nightroad with such familiarity. It seems that your actions are causing Sister Esther great distress.”

Astharoshe smirked. “Am I?”

“My programming parameters include seeing to the well-being of my colleagues,” Tres said flatly.

“Don’t worry about it, Father Tin Man,” Astharoshe said cheerfully. “I am merely amusing myself on this mission of ours and I swear to you that your comrades will come to no harm. My word on it.”

“Acceptable.”

It was during that discussion in the library that the Steward briefed them about the werewolf activity in Drakovia. They were already aware that the werewolves claimed to serve an entity or a person they called “The Mother” and were apparently driven to destroy both Terran and Methuselah, bringing about an apocalypse that would cleanse the very earth from the so-called “abominations.” What they did not know was that the werewolves also claimed to be in the service of the Lord of Winter, the long-lost Prince Alyardi and were preparing for his return.

Drakovia was rich in supernatural and magical traditions and the Steward said that the werewolves and their legend had existed even before the Armageddon and so was not connected in the least to the later wars between the Methuselahs and Terrans. But it was only in these times that the werewolves had finally come out in the open.

The werewolves had last been seen lurking in the ruins of the ancient Alyardi Castle, high up in the mountains. The Steward had promised that he would send a guide with them to that area tomorrow.

In the meantime, Abel found that he was quite unable to sleep and found himself alone in the Great Hall, staring up at the Prince’s portrait once more. To the Drakovians, this man was not a legend and had, in fact, been so well-loved that his memory had endured for more than two thousand years.

Abel couldn’t help but wonder about the flesh-and-blood person this Prince who bore his face had been. The green eyes that stared back at him were hardly the eyes of an “accursed vampire” but were kind and gentle.

And suddenly, it hit Abel. The Prince’s eyes were Seth’s eyes, full of warmth and good humor.

“Who are you?” Abel whispered and thought that perhaps he would actually receive an answer…

A soft step behind him made Abel look around, only to see Esther clad in her nightgown and dressing robe. She twitched nervously, almost guiltily, when she saw him.

Now what was that all about?

“Couldn’t sleep?” Abel asked her gently.

“Too many things to think about, I suppose,” Esther answered. She gave him a wan smile. “Fairy tales and accursed princes… they’ll all probably end up in my dreams tonight!”

“As long as you’re well rested for tomorrow…” Abel said, trailing off. He felt awkward around her suddenly and wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.

“It’s amazing how much he looks like you,” Esther murmured, looking up at the portrait and then at him, obviously comparing the two of them.

“Miss Astha is probably not going to let me live this whole prince business down!” He said with a rueful laugh.

Somehow, mentioning her name was a mistake as Esther drew back and not-quite-pouted. “Lady Astha cares about you a great deal, doesn’t she?”

“She is my friend – it’s just her way of showing that she cares, I think,” Abel said carefully, realizing he was treading across a verbal minefield right at that moment and not quite sure why that was so.

At that, Esther sighed. “Goodnight, Father Nightroad. I’m off for bed.”

She looked so downcast and Abel didn’t really know what was going on but he couldn’t let her walk away like that. He took a step towards her. “Esther, love, what is it?”

And at that, she was suddenly in his arms, having buried her face in the front of his robes. “I’m sorry, Abel. I’m being very, very silly, aren’t I?”

He nuzzled into the soft red strands of her hair, an almost instinctive reaction. “I thought I was supposed to be the silly one here.”

She giggled, a rueful little sound and looked up at him. “I think I’m allowed to be silly too. At least once a year would be enough.”

And at that, Abel finally figured out exactly what was going on and quite cheerfully swept Esther up for a kiss. Esther made a delightful little squeak but was otherwise quite content to kiss him back, her hands caressing the back of his neck and tangling into his hair, letting it loose from its ponytail.

“My Prince,” she said, a little breathlessly, her cheeks flushed and looking quite delightfully dizzy.

“Yours,” he agreed contentedly, his lips shaping the word against her own mouth before he kissed her again.

When they’d all gathered together for breakfast the next day, Astharoshe had taken one long, meaningful look at Abel and Esther and then was quite obvious in trying to hide her smirk behind her teacup.

Feeling a sense of déjà vu, Abel’s hand abruptly went to his head and he realized with dismay that he’d forgotten to put up his hair in its customary ponytail yet again. Wordlessly, he simply glanced at Esther who ever-so-nonchalantly unwound the ribbon from her wrist and handed it back to him.

Astharoshe snickered.

Thankfully, Ion was completely unaware of the byplay, intent as he was on breakfast and a stack of old books from the Steward’s library. He did, however, wrest his attention away from those two very important things long enough to greet Esther and positively beamed when Esther affectionately ruffled his hair.

Somebody growled and everyone was startled at the sound.

“Did you hear that?” Ion frowned.

“Yes, where… who was that?” Esther wondered.

“I didn’t hear anything – you two must be imagining things,” Astharoshe said very casually, trying not to look in a certain direction.

Abel was quietly sipping his tea, fervently praying that nobody noticed the very faint blush staining his cheeks. He was being ridiculous and he knew it but he just couldn’t seem to stop himself. Really, this sudden possessive streak he was developing was quite disconcerting!

Astharoshe, bless her, was trying to change the subject. She had picked up one of Ion’s books and whistled. “Well, no wonder your imagination’s gone wild! ‘The Tale of the Revenant Prince’ – what is this you’re reading, Ion?”

“It’s the story of the Prince Alyardi, of course,” Ion answered. “I thought that we might find something of use in here and now I know why those werewolves want to bring him back to life.”

“Didn’t the Steward say that he was a master sorcerer as well as a vampire?” Abel asked. “He would be a very formidable figure to contend with.”

“Don’t forget the ‘accursed’ part in that description,” Astharoshe put in, scowling. “Superstitious Terrans…”

“He wasn’t just any ordinary vampire,” Ion said, obviously warming up to his subject. “They called him the ‘Revenant Prince’ and the real nature of his so-called curse didn’t just have something to do with him being a vampire. The Prince Alyardi was a vampire who fed on other vampires.”

Abel promptly choked on his tea.

“Father Nightroad! I warned you about all those sugars in your tea!” Esther scolded him, patting him on the back and handing him a glass of water. Their eyes locked together for a moment and they understood each other perfectly, both having the exact same thoughts running through their heads and not wanting to mention them to either Astharoshe or Ion.

Prince Kyrys Ivan Alexander Alyardi – a legendary Prince who was not only Abel’s almost mirror-image but was also a vampire who fed on other vampires’ blood? Revenant or Crusnik, there were just way too many coincidences for Abel’s liking.

“Interesting,” Astharoshe said slowly. “If those werewolves wanted to unleash hell on both Methuselahs and Terrans, what better weapon could they find, eh?”

“Indeed,” Abel murmured, feeling chills running down his spine. The last thing he wanted was a mad Crusnik-like creature running loose – it was bad enough that they all had to worry about Cain and the Rosen Kreuz Orden.

Abel’s musings were interrupted by Tres, who had come in to announce that everything was set for their journey to Castle Alyardi. Abel ruefully remembered making that joke about traipsing about in a haunted castle, trying not to awaken the vampire from his tomb and it looked like they had come to Drakovia to do precisely that.

Naturally, Castle Alyardi was one of those impenetrable, impossible mountain fortresses that could only be reached on horseback. It would be a two-day journey up the mountains and through the forest and although it was still late autumn, it would be very cold. The Steward had insisted that the Vatican/Imperial group be accompanied by at least one dozen of his best soldiers, aside from the guide who would lead them through the trail.

The guide was a middle-aged shepherd named Gavril whose thick brown hair and beard was shot through with white and was a solid, no-nonsense, down-to-earth sort who apparently didn’t hold with the locals’ fear of the werewolves or of getting too near the castle ruins. He said that he had often pastured his sheep in the castle’s shadow and that he’d never seen or sensed anything odd about the place. On the contrary, it was quiet and peaceful – perhaps the spirit of the lost Prince still watched over it benignly.

“Feh – he’s not the bloody Impaler anyway. He was a good man, our Prince,” Gavril had said.

Esther was in a bit of a quandary as she was the only one in their group who had never ridden a horse in her life. She was simply too nervous to be trusted to ride alone and so had ended up riding pillion with Abel. Ion had scowled, which made Esther intensely uncomfortable. She was fond of Ion, only not in the way he might want her to be. Lady Astharoshe had smirked and teased the young nobleman out of his sulking while Father Tres, thankfully, remained his usual impassive self.

It was rather nice to be held in Abel’s arms like this but looking up at him, Esther noted that he was looking quite uncharacteristically grave and serious. She knew why – he’d been troubled over what they had just learned over breakfast and he’d been rather quiet since the beginning of their journey.

But there was good thing out of being in close quarters like this and Esther was resolved to make the most of it and do just a little bit of gentle teasing…

“Poor Ion,” Esther sighed, angling her head so that she could peek over Abel’s shoulder and figure out what their companions were up to. The young man and Lady Astharoshe behind them and were quite engrossed in talking with Gavril, who knew quite a lot about the other Drakovian legends and folk tales and even now was narrating a tale about some sorceress child, a magical little girl who never aged.

Esther also saw that Father Tres was also busy scanning the area for any danger, just as the soldiers with them were relaxed but alert.

“Poor Ion?” Abel asked absent-mindedly.

“At least he’s not sulking now,” Esther remarked, resting her head against his shoulder and looking up at him. “And at least you’ve got nothing to be jealous about anymore.”

As expected, Abel’s blue eyes went comically wide behind those round frames. “Jealous? Me?!”

“Yes, you,” Esther said archly, taking care to lower her voice so that the others would not hear. “I can’t believe you’re jealous of Ion, of all people.”

“I am not jealous!” Abel protested.

“He’s my best friend, for Heaven’s sake – almost like my little brother.”

“Well, yes, he is – I noticed,” Abel said, quite obviously flailing for words. “And really, why would I be jealous about that? I’m glad you two are friends.”

Esther raised a brow. “You’re really being ridiculous about this, you know.”

“You’re imagining things. I swear, I’m not jealous, honestly.”

“Really? I know it was you who growled during breakfast and that wasn’t your stomach!”

“Hey!”

“And lying will get you ten Our Fathers for penance,” Esther continued blithely, enjoying the fact that she’d gotten him out of his dark mood. “Actually, you’re really cute when you’re like this…”

Then, she meeped when Abel finally did growl, bent his head and gave her a rather heated kiss.

“I. Am. Not. Jealous,” he whispered darkly against her mouth and there was just the faintest tinge of red in those icy blue eyes.

Esther gently caressed his cheek and answered, in a meek little voice: “No, of course you’re not.”

He sighed and pressed his forehead against hers just for a second before looking up again. “I’m sorry, love. I know I’m being very silly about this.”

She giggled. “You are supposed to be the silly one in this relationship, remember?”

He chuckled. “Minx.”

And then, it was his turn to meep when Lady Astharoshe suddenly caught up to them and said, “And what are you two lovebirds billing and cooing about, eh, tovarishch?”

Ion choked, hearing the exchange going on in front of him. “Lovebirds?!”

Esther promptly squeaked and hid her red face in Abel’s shoulder, feeling a sense of déjà vu. Lady Astharoshe even used the same expression Lady Caterina did to describe them!

“Lovebirds? Us? Ahahahaha,” Abel said innocently and knowing him, he probably had that silly sheepish grin on his face. “Why, Sister Esther was quite tired and she’s fallen asleep. Shhh! We mustn’t wake her.”

Esther made a soft little sigh, pretending that she was deep into dreamland.

Unexpectedly, Father Tres came to their rescue. “Sister Esther is not used to long hours on horseback. Perhaps we should let her rest.”

God bless Father Tres. Esther was going to make sure she’d mention that at least thrice in her prayers tonight.

Lady Astharoshe muttered some few choice words in Romanian before apparently pulling back her horse and letting them go ahead. Esther didn’t even want to know how Ion looked. Oh dear, oh dear…

However, it was nice being tucked against Abel like this – he smelled soap-and-water clean, even with the hours they had spent riding, with that faint hint of incense that always clung to his cassock and she nuzzled against him quite contentedly…

“Esther,” Abel said in a voice that was not quite strangled, “Don’t do that…”

She blushed again. “Sorry.”

“It’s nice but if you don’t stop we might end up scandalizing our companions,” Abel murmured, his cheeks stained just a little bit pink.

“Oh.”

“Although I’m distinctly not beginning to care what they think at this point…”

“Abel!” She didn’t know whether she ought to be embarrassed or delighted.

“Shhh, you’re supposed to be asleep, remember?” He was not quite smirking at her.

“Hmph,” she grumbled. But she leaned against him again and found herself closing her eyes, knowing she would be quite safe up here, completely forgetting that she had never been on a horse before…

The moon was full and bright when the werewolves came.

Despite all their precautions, the sheer numbers of their attackers were too much for them. They appeared as if by magic from the shadows of the trees and Father Tres had been the only one to detect their presence and give warning just a few scant seconds before the werewolves rushed their campsite.

The soldiers with them were armed with silver bullets but they simply were no match for the werewolves’ speed and strength. In seconds, most of them were already dead or bleeding out on the ground.

Gavril the shepherd was nowhere in sight – Esther could only pray that he’d managed to hide himself somewhere.

Father Tres was now blasting away at the werewolves, one eye gleaming red as his targeting systems tracked each lightning-fast attack, the guns in his hands almost a blur as he shot at them. Lady Astharoshe was fighting near him, using her own staff to send blue bolts of energy at the creatures.

“Esther! Ion! Take shelter up in those trees!” Abel ordered.

“What about you?” Ion shouted.

“I’ll be fine – you two will be safer up there and you’ll have a better chance to get those werewolves!”

He had a point – both she and Ion had a better vantage point to shoot at the creatures from up there. She and Ion ran for it, Ion covering for her with his own gun – the short sword which was his usual weapon was useless for this kind of fight, even with Ion’s Methuselah strength and reflexes. She was just about to climb up when Ion grabbed her around the waist and leapt for the topmost branch, just missing being narrowly slashed at by another werewolf.

Esther was able to shoot it in the forehead and she tried not to wince at the blood and gore that spattered on the ground.

“Good shot,” Ion said approvingly, helping her find a safe perch among the branches. He frowned as he saw Abel ducking and rolling on the ground, shooting at the creatures with his own gun and moving just as fast as Lady Astharoshe was. “I didn’t know Father Nightroad could move that fast.”

“He told us he would be fine and those werewolves are too fast, even for us,” Esther said, remembering what happened the last time she didn’t follow Abel’s orders with a wince and knowing she would not be so foolish again. Abel might normally play the clumsy fool but she knew that there was no better person to count on in a life or death situation than him.

Two more large wolves appeared from the shadows and reached for them with claws and fangs – Esther and Ion took them out together.

Esther could already feel the faint electricity in the air that warned her Abel would be shifting into his Crusnik form. She knew that he did not wish to reveal his abilities in such a fashion but he had no choice.

Nanomachine Crusnik 02. Release of restrictions to 80 percent. Approved.

“What the hell?!” Ion exclaimed and Esther abruptly remembered that Ion had never seen Abel in his Crusnik form before.

Black wings unfurled and the great red scythe that was the Crusnik’s main weapon appeared in Abel’s hands. The wintry blue eyes were now blood red and he bared his fangs at the werewolves in challenge.

And then, Esther recognized the large gray alpha werewolf that they had faced earlier in the Colosseum at Rome. The werewolf’s form blurred and shifted until they saw a wild-haired man with feral amber eyes, dressed in gray, furred robes.

“Night Lord, we are pleased that thou hast returned to thy home,” the man spoke. “I am Samael, thy servant.”

“I gave that name up a long time ago,” the Crusnik rasped in that harsh, deep, metallic voice. “And this is not my home. What do you want of us?”

The man – Samael? – merely smiled, baring sharp white teeth. “We only wish our Lord restored to us and to wreak the Mother’s vengeance upon those that pollute this very earth.”

“I will not allow that to happen.”

Samael turned a predatory glance towards Esther and Ion, still high up in their tree. “You travel in poor company, Night Lord.” He raised a hand and then, there was a bright light –

With horror, Esther knew that they would not be able to get out of the way. She thought she would have enough time for a quick prayer.

Oh love, I’m sorry…

“NO!”

Abel was suddenly there in front of them, black wings outstretched to shield them from the blast –

And then, he was gone, black feathers floating gently in the breeze.

Samael and the other werewolves were suddenly nowhere to be found as well.

“No! Abel!” Esther screamed. Somehow, she’d made it down from the tree and she was kneeling on the ground where Abel had been standing on just a few seconds earlier. Something dark fluttered on the ground and she reached for it and found that she was holding his hair ribbon. Right next to that were his glasses.

“Esther! Look out!” Ion had cried out in warning but Esther could only turn tear-blurred eyes at the wounded werewolf who had raised himself to make one last attempt to tear out her throat.

Blood flowed and spattered on her face and her habit and Esther saw another werewolf – a white one, take down her attacker. The white werewolf’s form blurred and shifted to become Gavril, the shepherd.

His eyes were the same amber color as Samael’s but they were grimly determined. “This was not meant to happen, Lady. You will all need to come with me.”

Ion had already leapt down from the tree and stood in front of Esther, having drawn his sword. “Why should we trust you?” he snarled.

“Samael and those who are with him are outcast from our pack. He wants power and he hides it with fancy words about the Prince and the will of the Mother but you’ll just have to take my word for that.”

“Status report, Sister Esther,” Father Tres helped her up, offering an arm to steady her. She was trembling but her mind felt oddly clear at that moment.

“I’m fine,” she whispered.

“What did you do to Father Nightroad?” Astharoshe growled at Gavril.

“He’s not dead, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Gavril answered. “Samael would not harm our Prince.”

“Abel Nightroad is a priest of the Roman Catholic Church,” Father Tres stated flatly. “He is not your Prince.”

“And Roman Catholic priests are known to turn into black-winged Revenants, eh? Where are your wings, Father?”

“Abel Nightroad is a Crusnik,” Esther said then, knowing precisely what they needed to do now. She had to be calm. She had to pull herself together. There would be enough time for tears but Abel was still alive out there and they were going to get him back. “But maybe that is the same thing for you, isn’t it? We want answers and we want them now.”

The white werewolf looked at her approvingly and with respect. “You will have your answers. But first, we must leave this place. Please – my lady, come with me.”

“Esther, we don’t know if we can trust him,” Ion warned.

“He saved my life,” Esther said quietly. “And we don’t have any other options as of this moment.”

“Werewolf,” Astharoshe said with soft menace, “I will rip out your throat if you are lying.”

“And I will finish what she begins,” added Father Tres with a definite threatening chill in his usual monotone.

Gavril offered them a crooked smile. “Samael was wrong. Our Prince does travel in very good company indeed.” He shifted back into his werewolf form and trotted a little ways from them, looking back over his shoulder. “Follow me.”

Esther had just finished tying Abel’s ribbon around her wrist. She then wrapped his glasses in her handkerchief and tucked it into her pocket. The others looked at her, evidently waiting for her to take the lead.

She followed after the werewolf.

Listen. This is the tale as the Storyteller told it to me.

It begins, as it always does, with the Prince, who we name the Lord of Winter, the Black Dragon of Drakovia – the one who came to the Tower of the Revenant Lord in order to defeat him once and for all.

The Lord of Revenants styled himself the greatest among the vampire lords – he who saw both mortals and his own kind as his rightful prey, to rule over and do with as he pleased. There were others like him as well – Revenants all, but even they bent the knee in obeisance to him.

The Prince had traveled with two other trusted companions on his quest – the Lady who was his beloved and the Sorceress Child, the eternal little girl who was his dearest friend. And together, they both fought by his side against the enemies that came against them.

In their travels, they came to befriend the Great Wolves, the lords of the forest and they swore fealty to the Prince, pledging to him their eternal loyalty and service. They too would fight at the Prince’s side in very many battles.

But in the end, it was the Prince alone who faced the Lord of the Revenants and destroyed him.

The Tower fell, the other Revenants were scattered to the four corners of the earth and the Prince was left in its ruins, forever changed. His dark hair had become the color of frost and his eyes were bright with the hunger for blood that came with being a Revenant. The wind howled and the storm came, for the Prince had called down the ice and snow in his anguish and rage.

For that was the Revenant Lord’s final, bitter vengeance – that he who should dare to strike down a Revenant should become one in his turn.

The Lady and the Child would not leave his side, accursed though he was and they too were touched by it in their turn as well. And so, throughout the centuries they existed, all three of them, together with the Great Wolves, bound by blood and love and ties of friendship and fealty, to protect this land and to find and destroy the remaining Revenants.

The day did come when the last of the original evil coven fell and only the three of them were left and they thought that their tale was done and finished at long last…

Abel Nightroad came awake to the sound of a child singing.

It was the most beautiful and sorrowful sound he had ever heard. In her voice was loss and pain and anger and he wanted to reach out to the singer, to offer comfort and understanding, for he too knew all these things…

“Awake at last?” inquired a solicitous voice.

Abel tried to move because he knew that voice but he was bound tight, his arms, legs and wings held back by some sort of force that he couldn’t get free of.

So he settled for snarling, “Kampfer.”

“My lord Abel,” Isaak Fernand von Kampfer, Panzer Magier of the Rosen Kreuz Orden sketched him a mocking bow. “We really should stop meeting in this fashion.”

“Well, I would appreciate it very much if you would kindly let me loose and maybe I can give you a proper welcome,” Abel said sarcastically.

Kampfer chuckled lightly. “You don’t really think I would fall for that, do you?” He made a point of circling around Abel – they were both in some sort of stone chamber, which was covered in all sorts of strange occult symbols, some of which Abel recognized somewhat from his own studies in the priesthood. While the occult was not necessarily something most Roman Catholic priests were taught, the nature of Abel’s work did take him towards a more supernatural direction at times and so he’d had to make a study of these things.

The room was also noteworthy for the three portraits hanging on its walls – one painting was recognizably that of the Prince. The one on his right depicted a beautiful, golden-haired woman and the other was a laughing, black-haired, blue-eyed little girl who looked extraordinarily like Seth.

“The Prince, his Lady Elora and Isabel, the one they call the Sorceress Child,” remarked Kampfer. “Interesting names for your ancestors, isn’t it?”

“My ancestors?”

“Come, now, surely you see the resemblance?” Kampfer purred. “And isn’t it interesting that they are vampires who actually prey on other vampires? Had the Crusnik nanomachines already made it to earth even in those ancient superstition-ridden times?”

“No, really? I think this is getting to be a really boring subject,” Abel returned, trying not to struggle too visibly. Why couldn’t he get free?

“Don’t bother – you’re not going to break free of that, even with your Crusnik strength,” Kampfer told him. “We are dealing with magic and sorcery, here, the ancient knowledge that has long been lost to this dull little world. Our host has been gracious enough to allow me access to his library and I have found a lot of fascinating reading…”

“Wonderful – so what do I need to do to get a library card around here?” Damn and blast – he just knew exactly why Kampfer would be interested in this. Cain would be no doubt delighted…

“You’re not here to read, my lord Abel, but try and make yourself comfortable. Tonight you’ll be participating in a very special show…”

Haunted castle. Check. Mad werewolf lord who possessed supernatural powers. Check. Evil vampire mage pulling the strings from behind the scenes. Check. Damsel in distress who needed rescuing – okay, so maybe Abel didn’t exactly qualify for that role but he sure as hell needed rescuing right about now.

Samael, in the tradition of evil villains everywhere, informed Abel exactly what he intended to do – use Abel’s blood in a magical ritual intended to resurrect the long-dead Prince Alyardi. The werewolves had all gathered in that chamber while Kampfer was simply an audience member in one corner, all too obviously interested in committing every nuance of the ritual to memory for future use.

Abel could now feel the power that was somehow holding him bound and helpless and he snarled helplessly as six werewolves in human form brought in a stone casket. The lid was lifted away and Abel saw what or rather who lay within.

Prince Kyrys Ivan Alexander Alyardi, the long-dead Prince, whose body had somehow lain uncorrupted for all these long centuries.

Once again, Abel could hear the unseen child’s song, lifting her voice almost as if in defiance of Samael’s chanting of his spells. And then, Samael’s knife flashed and Abel saw himself bleeding from his wrists and throat. He saw his blood trickling down into that casket, staining the Prince’s smooth, ivory skin, seeping into his dead flesh…

The Prince’s eyes opened.

The last thing Abel heard, just before he lost consciousness, was Esther screaming. Esther and the others had finally arrived, just a few seconds too late…

The afterlife seemed to be a place of pure, blinding white, almost as white as the space station Abel had spent the beginning of his life in. He looked around, half-wondering if he was dreaming and if he would actually see Lilith again…

But in that moment, what he saw, most vividly, was Esther’s face, her dark blue eyes filled with tears.

Oh, love…

“Let the dead bury their dead,” Abel whispered and realized, finally, that he had to get out of here. Perhaps he had not fully forgiven herself, perhaps he never truly would but he had to come back, because Esther was waiting for him…

“You are right, you know,” came an unfamiliar voice.

Abel whirled around and saw the Prince standing before him.

Abel was no stranger to seeing someone else wearing his face – he was a twin after all. But this was different from looking at Cain. The Prince’s green eyes were kind and understanding and he’d lifted a curious hand to gently and briefly touch Abel’s cheek.

“You are of my blood, are you not?” the Prince asked him.

Abel opened his mouth to say No but found himself answering Yes and realizing or finally admitting to himself that it was true. This Prince was his father in a sense, the being who had been the source or was one of the sources that provided the genetic material that created Abel and his siblings. The Prince wore his face and had Seth’s eyes and perhaps was the reason why Abel and the others were the only ones whose bodies could accept the Crusnik nanomachines.

“We were taken – all three of us – Elora, Isabel and I,” the Prince told him. “We were not the only Revenants they had found but they said we were most excellent ‘specimens.’” His voice had a tinge of bitterness to it that Abel understood all too well. “They stole our blood, our flesh from us… to create you and others like you. I died trying to protect Elora and Isabel. The wolves too are my people – they too were taken for those experiments and now they are as you see them.”

“I am sorry,” Abel said, feeling the old resentment and rage rise up in him again, the very same things that had once led him to become, like his brother, Contra Mundi, the Enemy of the World. And in the end, it had brought him nothing but despair and ruin and the loss of her…

“Don’t be sorry,” the Prince told him, smiling at him. “You have your mother’s eyes, I see.”

Abel blinked. “My mother?”

“It is her voice that you hear singing.”

Abel’s eyes went wide. “The child… the little girl?”

“Isabel is the last of us. She still lives. But she is no longer here. You must find her. The other wolves believe that they carry out her will but they are mistaken. She may want justice but she does not believe in vengeance.”

“I will find her,” Abel promised. “But I don’t know how to get out of here.”

The Prince drew a line against his throat with one long-nailed finger. Bright blood welled along that cut and he beckoned Abel to him. “Drink from me – take my strength and my memories, all that you need to know. My gift to you, Abel Nightroad…my son.”

Abel hesitated. “I can’t… I can’t do that.”

“I’m already dead,” the Prince told him. “My tale is done; my story told. It is your turn to pick up the threads and carry it on.”

The Prince stepped forward and held Abel close to him, almost in a fatherly fashion, one hand gently guiding Abel’s head down to the wound in his neck, bidding him to drink.

Destroy my body, leave nothing of my flesh or my blood behind for others to steal. Find Isabel, the Child, your mother. Swear to me.

I swear. I promise.

Esther had thought that the worst moment of her life was the day she saw the Reverend Mother, the woman she’d thought of as her own mother, die.

Now she saw Samael draw that knife across Abel’s throat and knew exactly what it meant to shatter into a million, tiny pieces.

But somehow, she’d found the strength to raise her gun and shoot the werewolf down.

“Esther!”

It was Ion who’d shielded her from the enraged attack of one of Samael’s followers. Ion who looked at her with eyes shining with hopeless love and sorrow and understanding.

“You love him very much, don’t you?” Ion had asked her as they were hurrying to Castle Alyardi.

She couldn’t lie, not to him – he was her friend, even if she was painfully aware that he wished it to be more. “Yes,” she had admitted.

“And he loves you – he might as well shout it from the highest tower, with the way he looks at you,” the young Methuselah said ruefully.

Esther had blushed – were they really that obvious?

But Ion had touched her shoulder and said softly, “We will bring him back alive – you can be sure of it.”

“Esther, it’s not yet over,” Ion was telling her now. Samael was still alive and it was now a pitched battle between him and Gavril, between the werewolves who served Samael and those on Gavril’s side. Father Tres and Lady Astharoshe were also engaged in battle – the Vatican’s Gunslinger and the Duchess of Kiev fighting side by side as if they’d been doing it for years.

Gavril had brought them all to the secret dens in the woods where he and his own pack had dwelled. He told them the true tale of the Prince Alyardi and of his people – of the ancient battles that had been fought all throughout the centuries, until the modern ages, when the Prince, his beloved wife and his dearest friend had thought that their never-ending war was finally over. But somehow, they had not escaped the attention of a certain faction of scientists and scholars who had been making a study of the Revenants for centuries.

The three of them had been taken, along with some of the Great Wolves, imprisoned and turned into experimental subjects. The Prince and the Lady Elora had both died in the destruction of the laboratory they were imprisoned in, trying to escape. Isabel – the Child – had been the one to finish the job and with the werewolves’ help, she had brought the bodies of the Prince and his Lady to the Castle. And then, heartsick and grieving, she too had lain in sleep and the werewolves guarded the Castle and their tombs for several hundred years.

But Armageddon happened and the Mars Returners had come back to Earth and they were changed by the bacilli in their blood into the new breed of vampires. And the Crusniks had come among them – Cain, Abel, Lilith and Seth, the three Nightlord siblings siding with the Methuselahs while Lilith alone defended the Terrans. The ancient stories and legends of the Prince and his companions were once again reawakened in Drakovia and were twisted by those like Samael, who thought that this was a sign that the hour of vengeance had come.

So Samael and those who followed him broke away from the pack, firmly convinced that it was Isabel’s will that the world be cleansed of the Methuselahs and Terrans who had wrought so much destruction. The world would be given a chance to start anew and the werewolves would finally be free to come out of its shadows, to roam and hunt in the empty cities and forests.

But Isabel, the Child, the Mother, seeks justice, not vengeance, Gavril had told them.

“Where have you hidden the Mother, Gavril?” Samael snarled, staggering from the wounds inflicted by Esther’s gun and Gavril’s claws. “The Prince awakens and they should be together!”

“You will not find her – she is safe, far from you and your madness!” The white werewolf snarled back in turn.

Samael gestured and in his hand appeared the black sword that had once belonged to the Prince. He was too weakened by blood loss to change back into wolf form but he could still fight. He leapt at Gavril, sword held high.

Esther looked at Ion – the werewolves were engrossed in their own battle now. “Help me get to Abel.”

Ion nodded.

The two of them started for the stone coffin in the middle of the room. When the ritual had finished, Abel had fallen inside. She had no idea whether he was still alive or not but she was not going to leave him here…

“Oh no, little ones, not another step,” Isaak Fernand von Kampfer purred, suddenly gliding in front of them.

“Get out of our way!” Ion warned him, brandishing his sword.

“Stay and play with me a little while, Count of Memphis,” Kampfer answered mockingly. “You and your little redhaired friend will find me interesting company.”

He spoke strange words and then, several horned things that Esther could only describe as demons appeared around him. They attacked.

Esther and Ion stood back to back – Esther with her gun, Ion with his sword. She fired; Ion slashed away at one demon and then –

The other demons exploded in a burst of blue fire.

Esther turned to see Abel hovering above the coffin, black wings spread wide, holding the body of the Prince against him with one arm while the other held his scythe. The Crusnik’s red eyes shifted to a brilliant green for just a moment.

Samael and Gavril paused in their battle.

“My Prince,” Samael whispered.

The Prince’s body suddenly dissolved into ash.

Samael howled in fury and loss. He raised his sword and struck with a bolt of blazing white lightning.

This time, it bounced harmlessly away from the Crusnik who simply looked at Samael and said, “That sword is not yours to wield.”

The black sword flew out of Samael’s hands and was driven deep into the far wall.

“Oh dear,” Kampfer said then. “Perhaps it’s time to leave this party.”

The Panzer Magier disappeared into the shadows.

Abel now faced the angry werewolf pack leader. “This was not the Prince’s wish nor is it my mother’s. You know that perfectly well. Give it up, Samael – it’s over.”

Samael laughed mirthlessly. And then, he thrust one clawed hand into Gavril’s chest and took out his heart.

The white werewolf fell, shifting back into his human form.

Tres’ guns blazed and it was Samael’s turn to fall, his chest blasted open by gunshot wounds.

Abel roared and his great black wings seemed to extend even further. Glass shattered and the ground rumbled and some of the werewolves were caught by the blaze of blue energy and burst into flames. It had suddenly become bitterly cold and it was as if a snowstorm had begun to rage right in the chamber for the wind was howling and there was snow and frost forming on the stones.

Esther ran to him, heedless of the danger, crying out his name. “Abel! No! Stop it!” She didn’t care if Samael was dead – she only regretted that she hadn’t been able to finish the job, at least before she could prevent him from killing Gavril. A part of her knew that wasn’t quite the way she had been taught to see things but right now she had other concerns. That impossible, seemingly magical snowstorm was still raging and she knew Abel would never forgive himself if he managed to get out of control and bring the room down upon their heads. Her tears for Gavril were already freezing on her cheeks.

Abel had fallen to his knees next to Gavril, the scythe dropping from his hand to clatter on the ground and disappear a second later. Esther was at his side in a few moments, kneeling right next to him. Abel’s lips moved silently and she knew he was quietly reciting the prayers for the dying. She too added her own silent prayers.

Gavril looked up at them both – impossible as it was, he was still alive. The old werewolf’s amber eyes regarded them both and he smiled.

“My lord and lady,” he whispered.

And then, he died.

The sun was rising when they had finally made their weary way out of the Castle. The wind blew and the first snowflakes had begun to fall – whether or not Abel had managed to call it up somehow in those last few moments, it seemed that winter had come at last to the land of the Lord of Winter.

Abel had the Prince’s sword with him – it was now slung across his back in its scabbard. Somehow he knew he wasn’t meant to leave that particular weapon behind.

Gavril’s werewolves carried the remains of their pack leader with them. They would choose a new leader among themselves and they would stay in Drakovia quietly defending and protecting its people as their beloved Prince had always done.

“I can hear someone singing,” Astharoshe said wonderingly. “A child, a little girl…”

“Negative. My audio receptors are not receiving anything, Lady Astharoshe,” said Father Tres.

“Then your audio receptors must be malfunctioning because I’m hearing it too,” Ion said.

“Hn.”

“It’s Isabel’s voice you’re hearing,” Abel told them quietly. He had already shifted back to normal. “The last of the Revenants. The Sorceress Child. My mother and Seth’s too, I believe.” He thought of that painting and knew that there wasn’t a doubt about that – the girl in that portrait looked too much like Seth to have any doubt.

“Well, where is this Sorceress Child now?” Ion asked. “Gavril was being awfully cryptic and the werewolves won’t say anything either.”

“They can’t say anything. Apparently, Gavril had her taken away when this whole mess with Samael began but he was the only one who knows where she’s been hidden,” Abel answered. “But I promised that I would find her.”

He knew that he had to – God only knew what would happen if Kampfer or any of Cain’s people had gotten hold of her.

“Well, anyway, I think we’ve been terribly remiss,” Astharoshe said, looking at Abel thoughtfully. She sketched him a graceful courtesy. “My lord Prince Artorius Elric Vradica, I’m glad you’re safe and well.”

“Your Imperial Highness,” Ion said, bowing as well, cinnamon eyes bright with mischief.

“Eh?!” Abel was nonplussed.

“Well, we’re not dense, tovarishch – after that little display you did back there, it’s not as if we can doubt who you actually are!” Astharoshe said with exasperation. “And you are just like your sister – you’re both terribly fond of traipsing about incognito!”

“Lady Astharoshe!” Ion exclaimed with mock-horror. “We have to show our Prince Artorius more respect!”

“Please stop calling me that – it’s not even my name,” Abel begged. “Seth just made it all up! Tres, help me out here!”

“I am not programmed to mediate in petty squabbles,” the android said. One brown eye gleamed red. “My lord Prince.”

“Tres!” Abel then turned his attention to Esther, who was being uncharacteristically quiet. “Esther, at least you’re on my side here, right?”

He was startled when she stepped into his arms and buried her face in his shoulder. He could feel the warm wetness of her tears sinking into the cloth.

“Oh, love,” he whispered into her hair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the others had gone a little off to the side, giving them both a little privacy.

“I thought I’d lost you – first when Samael had taken you away and then when he – your throat – there was so much blood…” she sobbed. “And Gavril – poor Gavril…”

“Gavril’s death was not your fault.”

“And all I could think of was how I had to get to you and I thought I was too late…”

He held her tighter. “All I could think of was how I had to come back to you.”

“And so you did,” she answered, sniffling. “I’m so silly – I shouldn’t be crying, I promised myself I wouldn’t cry and you’re still here.”

Abel slid a finger underneath her chin and tilted her face up so that he could gently brush away her tears. “I thought we’d agreed that I was supposed to be the silly one here, remember?”

At last, he was rewarded with a tremulous smile. “I’m not supposed to be silly for at least another year, I think,” Esther murmured.

“Precisely.” Still cupping her face in his hands, Abel bent to kiss her – a long, leisurely kiss where he could still taste the salt of her tears and when he drew back, he pressed kisses to both her palms, noting with pleasure the becoming blush on her cheeks and her kiss-reddened mouth. Now she looked ever so much better.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Esther took a cloth-wrapped bundle out of her pocket, unfolded it and handed him his spectacles. “You dropped these.”

He slid them back on, realizing that she also had one other item that belonged to him and that was his hair ribbon, which was still wrapped around her right wrist. “You still have my hair ribbon.”

“I know,” she answered archly.

“I won’t ask for it back. At least not yet.”

“Good,” she said fiercely. And he laughed.

-end-

They Think That They See Flowers

darthstitch — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 01:11:07 +0000

They Think That They See Flowers
A Trinity Blood Fan Fiction
by Darth Stitch

DISCLAIMER: Trinity Blood was created by Yoshida Sunao (R.I.P.) and is now an anime directed by Tomohiro Hirata and produced by the studio GONZO. I’m just a poor schmuck who wanted to see more romance amongst the all the high adventure, action and intrigue. Heh. Again, although this is not a songfic, the title is taken from the first stanza of the song “Let Me Hear” from the Trinity Blood OST.

DEDICATION: This is dedicated with much affection to my officemates – Star, Ella, Mommy Erica, Granny, JP, Ces, Aya, Jian, April, Amiel, Lemuel, Gracie and Bianca who read or patiently listened to me as I came up with these stories, laughing at the antics of Abel and Esther in Milk Tea & Thirteen Sugars and then all of them wondering what the heck was going to happen next which spawned Beautiful Disaster. They also offered their insights which helped create this fic. Also much thanks to Tantan who indulgently lent me pen and scratch paper when the Muse hit and allowed me to finish the story during our off hours – hail to thee, O Patron of the Art of Fan Fiction. Everyone here who’s reviewing at FF Dot Net have them to thank for the latest installment in what looks like a rapidly growing fic series. Oi vei!

A Four Dinar Tour

Contrary to popular opinion, Abel Nightroad was not, as Cardinal Caterina Sforza had so colorfully put it, a “featherbrain.”

He just found it easier to deal with people, most especially his colleagues, in that way. Most of them had already seen one way or the other, the real reason why he was codenamed “Crusnik” even as he took great care to ensure that few people knew about his unusual abilities. Now seeing one’s colleague turn into a lethal black-winged Angel of Death generally tended to freak people out. Abel had long ago figured that they found it easier to forget THAT part of his nature by playing the role of a sugar-addicted, bumbling, clumsy, absent-minded idiot.

All right, so he did love sweet things (he thanked God every day for granting mankind the genius to create candy and chocolate) and those 13 sugars in his tea. The rest was pure acting talent (honest!) which helped him out a lot, especially when it came to one Sister Esther Blanchett.

The memory of her frightened, tear-filled blue eyes when she finally saw him in the more terrifying aspect of his Crusnik form had haunted him for many nights. When he’d apologized to her, he had sadly told her that the monstrous creature that she’d seen was the mark of his sins and even as part of him hoped that she would finally get over what he’d sensed was a growing infatuation for him on her part, he was also afraid of her rejection. Which was one of the reasons why he played at being the clown more than usual when they’d accompanied young Ion Fortuna back to the New Human Empire…er, other than the wicked delight he took in interrupting the young Count’s attempts to woo Esther.

Which reminded him – he still hadn’t confessed that to the good Father William Walter Wordsworth a.k.a. “The Professor” yet. That would probably be worth a thousand Our Fathers and Hail Marys for penance, if he was lucky.

So maybe Esther had surprised him (or maybe he surprised himself) with what was now humorously referred to around AX as the “Infamous Romantic Snowstorm Incident” and Abel still cringed at the memory of what he’d managed to confess to Cardinal Caterina Sforza.

Abel scowled at his computer screen. He was supposed to turn in the formal written report from their last case today and he was getting distracted by thoughts of a certain little red-haired nun.

It was really unnerving how incredibly protective he was of Esther. Normally, Abel preferred to handle things without having to shift into his Crusnik form at all. If people thought him weak, then it was all the better, because he really wasn’t into this business to win any ego contests anyway. If pushed, he normally approved the activation of the nanomachines in his body to 40% capacity which was usually more than a match for most Methuselahs.

If Esther was around, his first, instinctive reaction, in much the same way as he’d done when they’d first met, was to amp things up to 80%. In a nutshell, that meant sporting those great black wings and generating enough destructive power to level Rome if he felt like it and treading the edge of a very, very fragile line between sanity and madness. Not a very good idea. Lord knew that he’d come close enough to that when he’d faced the poor mad Marquis of Hungary who had been intent on killing Esther at the time and Abel had only held himself back by sheer willpower and by focusing on what he was supposed to actually do at that moment, which was to save lives, not take them.

This only spoke volumes about what he really felt for Esther.

Oh Lord, Caterina was not going to let him live this down. Not to mention that the good Professor W was going to keep on giving him that smug, irritating know-it-all smirk for the next two or three weeks!

Okay, so maybe Abel was strongly tempted to summon his scythe and snarl at poor Professor W with fangs bared. He knew that this was going to blow his meek and mild-mannered persona to smithereens but it was almost worth it.

Well, Abel always had a temper. It was, in fact, his worst sin. He’d just gotten better at controlling that admittedly short fuse of his over the years. However, he knew that he still had buttons that could be pushed to get it going quite easily and he did have enemies who knew how to take advantage of that weakness.

This was not the time to think about them – he had to focus on his report! Abel fought the urge to bang his head against the keyboard and just pushed his spectacles up over the bridge of his nose, trying to concentrate. Today just really wasn’t one of his better days.

“We’re out of sugar again!” Esther wailed out loud in their office.

Father Leon snorted. “Don’t look at me, Sister Red – we all know who’s the sugar addict around here.”

Abel normally would have protested his innocence at that point but he was really too preoccupied with his report to care at the moment.

Naturally, Esther turned on Abel then and started nattering something about his health and a need for him to cultivate some sense of consideration for others and Abel found himself closing his eyes for a moment because, truth be told, the sound of her voice was very soothing to him, especially since he’d been wrestling with the written word – and in Latin, no less – for the past two hours.

And doing that was a huge mistake because his fine-tuned Crusnik senses also made him very aware of her sweet scent, which had traces of the mildly floral bath soap that she used.

So perhaps Abel couldn’t be blamed if his tongue parted ways from what was normally his very healthy common sense and he found himself answering her:

“Yes, love, I know.”

And then, everyone fell silent and when Abel opened his eyes, he was greeted by the delightful spectacle of Esther turning into this most adorable shade of pink. Mentally, he replayed the last few seconds and found himself stifling a sharp curse, not to mention feeling that slow hot flush of embarrassment creeping over his own cheeks.

Father Leon crowed. “Ha! I knew I was right about you two! Pay up, Professor W!”

“That’s all right, Dandelion,” the traitorous Professor said magnanimously. “I’ll just collect what I owe from Lady Caterina.”

Esther, bless her, was the one who recovered first. “Are you people actually betting on us?!”

“Hell, yeah!” Father Leon said boisterously. “We gotta have something to do with…er… all the lack of excitement…uh… around here… c’mon, Professor, help me out.”

The Albionian priest was carefully not looking in Abel’s direction, muttering something about not wanting to annoy vampires who had other vampires for dinner.

Okay, perhaps there was just the faintest tinge of Crusnik red in Abel’s eyes as he glared at his two colleagues.

Esther didn’t notice that because she’d already thrown up her hands in exasperation, muttering, “Honestly! The nerve of some people!” And then, she flounced off in a flurry of red hair and white skirts.

Abel followed her out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. The apology died on his lips when Esther faced him with a heartbreakingly vulnerable expression in her eyes.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” she began steadily, “if you actually meant what you said a while ago.”

“I…” he began and fell silent, because he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. That he didn’t mean it? That he didn’t mean to give her any false hope?

That he didn’t mean it when he kissed her when they were stuck in that shack? That he hadn’t felt so whole or so at peace in that moment when he’d held her in his arms, against the cold? That just for a moment, he’d finally set aside his old grief for his lost Lilith and just saw Esther?

Because he knew he’d be lying through his teeth if he did. This was even worse than that last few moments he’d had with Sister Noelle, when he’d given an innocent affirmative answer to what seemed to him was just an ordinary question: “Do you like me?”

And he did. She was his friend. And he couldn’t bear to look at her, in her disappointment and know that he couldn’t really offer her anything more than his friendship. And then Noelle had been killed and he couldn’t even do that for her, to save her, to preserve that precious life of hers.

Abel knew that he couldn’t bear to look at Esther, in her own disappointment, unable to offer her what she needed, especially when he knew that against all common sense, despite what he was, what he’d done, who and what he’d been, and all the dangers that he faced, he wanted simply to say and to give to Esther what he never could to Noelle.

No, Abel and common sense had long since parted company in that moment when he had first kissed Esther in that shack.

Maybe he really was a featherbrain…

Esther’s blush had deepened. “Forget I said anything, Father Nightroad, you must think me very forward.” There was a world of hurt in that swift retreat to that familiar formality and he knew that he couldn’t let things just go at that. Not with that look in her eyes.

Good Lord, he was doomed, wasn’t he?

“Sister Esther, to make up for not leaving you any sugar packets and for saving me from another two hours of conjugating Latin, I’m treating you to tea,” he declared, taking her hand and quietly delighting in the look of startlement in those big blue eyes, which was much better than the pain he’d seen in them a while ago. Thank God that it was just after payday and he did have considerably more in his pocket than four lousy dinars.

And then, because he did have a mischievous streak in him a mile wide, he leaned very close to her, almost close enough to kiss, he gave her his best silly grin and said, “And yes, I did mean every word of what I said a few minutes ago. If you do actually want me to apologize for it, I would but you did say I didn’t need to if I meant it.”

Esther blinked. And then, he was pleased to see her slowly smile up at him. “You meant to call me by that word.”

“The proper term is ‘endearment’ and it does rather suit you, doesn’t it?” Abel said with his best angelic expression, which was about the only thing keeping him from sweeping her up in his arms and kissing her silly. Now that would probably scandalize the entire Vatican and probably end up with his fellow AX members collecting on a lot of bets.

Esther quickly reached up and pulled at the black ribbon holding up his hair. It came off quite easily and Abel could only watch with bemusement as Esther happily wrapped that ribbon around her wrist.

“Er… would you mind giving me my ribbon back?” Abel asked, knowing even then that it was a lost cause.

“I’m holding this hostage until you get me that tea,” she announced sunnily. “And it better be good as Sister Kate’s!”

Abel sighed in mock exasperation, knowing quite well he’d be prepared to give her anything, as long as he could see her smile like that. “Minx.”

“Is that another endearment, Father Nightroad?” she teased.

Keep smiling at me like that and I just might use up the entire dictionary, he thought and let her drag him off for that tea.

Things were just perfect.

Perhaps, they were a little too perfect. The café they’d gone to was a nice, cozy little place where the waitress was used to Abel’s sugar habit and had Esther’s favorite coffee cake as a dessert. And then, Esther mentioned that she never truly got the chance to see Rome at all, because she’d been training so hard and so, Abel took it upon himself to show her what he could in the few hours that they had left in the day.

Abel called it the “Four-Dinar Tour” which sent Esther into giggles and that was mostly what they were doing, laughing and joking like a pair of children. And just for those few precious hours, Abel allowed himself to forget about his mad twin brother Cain, the Rosen Kreuz Orden trying to take over the world, Vatican intrigues, terrorist activity, mad “vampires” on the rampage, ad nauseam.

The sun was beginning to set when Abel and Esther had snuck into the famous Colosseum. In the fading light, the sense of its long history was almost overwhelming and the two of them walked there in complete silence, hand in hand, unwilling to disturb the ancient edifice’s ghosts.

But then, Esther’s soft voice suddenly broke that quiet, “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Abel was also beginning to feel uneasy himself but he tried to cover that by giving her a look of mock-horror. “Esther! You really shouldn’t have said that!”

“Why?”

“It’s just asking for trouble,” Abel said, trying to make light of things even though all his instincts were suddenly screaming danger. “I think it’s time for us to leave.”

Esther gasped and then immediately reached for her gun. Abel saw why just a scant second later and also took out his own weapon.

Nine pairs of hellish feral eyes glared at them from the gloom. Nine massive wolf-like shapes emerged from the shadows, fangs bared and claws clicking softly on the stone.

Abel knew the old folktales, had also even heard of rumors of genetic experiments but whether this was legend come to life or science gone mad, he knew only one name to call these creatures.

Werewolves.

Then, the largest of the werewolves growled a word, somehow managing to make those massive jaws shape that single syllable.

“Thou.”

Despite everything, it was Esther who again first spoke, somehow managing to sound calm and steady even though her eyes were wide with fright, “What do you want?”

“Thou art an abomination – mortal and vampire alike. All are a pestilence on the face of this very earth. Our Mother hath made Her judgment and we are Her instruments. Thou shalt die this night.”

At that, one of the werewolves sprang and Abel could only appreciate how well she’d done in her training when he saw that she’d been able to shoot the thing down without missing a beat. But three more attacked, suddenly disappearing from sight, seeming to move faster than was physically possible and Abel knew at once that guns wielded with ordinary human reflexes, no matter how well trained, were going to be useless in this fight.

Nanomachine Crusnik 02. Release of restrictions to 80%. Approved.

With a snarl, Abel allowed his wings to unfurl and shield Esther from the attack while he lashed out with his scythe at the same time. Two more werewolves lay in pieces on the ground. He made sure to keep himself between the werewolves and Esther, knowing all too well that they would be able to catch her easily if he asked her to run for it. He pivoted to take care of the third wolf, only to be attacked by another coming from the other direction.

He heard Esther scream and everything went blood-red as he roared in fury.

There was nothing else but the rage and the blood and the savage song that his scythe made as it sliced through flesh and bone. He was heedless of the claws and the fangs that tore at his own robes and into his skin, the wounds healing too fast for him to register the pain. He continued to wield his scythe, to lash out with blue bursts of energy, only aware of the driving need to protect Esther, to keep her safe, no matter what.

And then, when the red haze lifted from his vision, he was left standing alone, blood and gore spattered across his robes, on his face and even in his hair. The Crusnik glared at the only werewolf remaining – the large alpha male who had spoken before.

“Night Lord.”

Abel stiffened at the use of a title he had not been addressed by in 900 years.

“Night Lord.” There seemed to be a touch of awe, even reverence in the werewolf’s voice. “Son of the Mother. Thou hast fought well this day. We shall meet again.”

Then, the alpha werewolf disappeared.

Abel heard a strangled sob from behind him and he only looked at Esther long enough to realize that she wasn’t hurt before he found himself sinking to his knees, still unable to shift back to normal, bloodlust and battle rage still singing in his very veins.

“Don’t look,” he rasped, closing his eyes, unable to bear the fear that would be in her eyes, not wanting to see her terror of him and the thing that he was. “Please. I don’t want you to see…”

The words were pathetically inane – she’d already seen everything, hadn’t she? It was already too late.

He shuddered as he felt her gently touch his cheek, tracing a line from his temple to his chin, felt her fingers thread through his long silver hair. He found himself nuzzling her palm and almost pulled her closer to him but stopped when he realized his hands were still taloned and diamond-hard.

Dark blue eyes gazed at him steadily, misty with tears but there was no fear or terror in them. Hesitantly, he touched the small hand that she still kept against his cheek and he found himself tracing the edges of the black silk ribbon she’d wrapped around her wrist.

His black silk ribbon.

“You’re all right?” Esther whispered tremulously.

“I should be asking you that,” he returned, his own voice still raspy and metallic.

And then, he gasped as she suddenly wrapped her arms around him and held him close, not caring in the least how monstrous or frightful he looked at the moment. He felt her tears slide down his hair as she rested her cheek against the soft strands.

There would be time enough to think about the alpha werewolf’s strange words, to ponder the implications of having these new players in the game they were all caught up in.

But for now, there was just the two of them here in this moment and he could only hold her in turn, but very gently as if she was the most fragile, precious thing in all the world.

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” she said softly, again echoing what he was thinking.

“Love,” Abel murmured and this time the word didn’t just come out on its own. It was all he had to say, all he needed to say at this very moment.

She pulled a little away from him then and smiled and then said the most wonderful thing he’d ever heard in 900 years.

“Yes.”

-end-

Beautiful Disaster

darthstitch — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 14:01:20 +0000

Beautiful Disaster
A Trinity Blood Fan Fiction
by Darth Stitch

DISCLAIMER: Trinity Blood was created by Yoshida Sunao (R.I.P.) and is now an anime directed by Tomohiro Hirata and produced by the studio GONZO. And yes, the title of this fic is taken from the Kelly Clarkson song. Although this is not my usual way of doing a songfic, I just realized that the lyrics fit a certain tall silly platinum-haired bespectacled priest perfectly. Heh.

: Such a beautiful disaster…

First Stanza: Drowning In Dreams

He drowns in his dreams,
An exquisite extreme I know.
He’s as damned as he seems,
And more heaven than a heart could hold…

- “Beautiful Disaster,” Kelly Clarkson

When Caterina Sforza was a little girl, she’d once thought that falling stars were actually angels descending from heaven to help humans on earth.

Her mother had only laughed and held her close when she’d told her the story. Her older brother Francesco had growled darkly about her telling heretical, blasphemous stories about God’s most holy messengers. Francesco was studying for the priesthood and it looked like that he would be one of those priests who, like a vampire, sucked out all the joy and hope from their faith.

Caterina had long decided that when she was older and was perhaps even a cardinal of the church, she would most definitely be not like her older brother.

A star fell on the night the vampires came.

Caterina had been watching the sky and as always, wondered about the angel who had come to earth this time. At thirteen, she knew that she was growing too old for fanciful tales and she was already aware of far too many things that the adults around her thought that she was too young to know about. But she was determined to hold on to those childish fancies for as long as she could – they were often far more comforting than the reality she lived in.

And then, her mother screamed and Caterina’s childhood ended in that moment when she saw her brutally murdered by the vampires who invaded their home.

In the years after that, Caterina could not remember how long she’d been running or how she’d made her way through the labyrinth of catacombs that lay beneath her ancestral home. She had no time to cry, no time to shed tears for her dead mother, for the rest of her family. The only thing she was sure of was that to stop would mean her death.

And then, she found the angel weeping in that ancient crypt, kneeling beside what seemed like a coffin made of steel and crystal. She’d only had the briefest glimpse of the woman inside – red hair, a pale beautiful face, before the angel looked at her with tear-filled blue eyes.

“Help me,” Caterina whispered, her heart thudding painfully in her chest, her shoulders heaving with every breath.

And then, the vampires found them.

The angel moved to stand protectively between her and them. A breeze teased the strands of his long silver hair, lifting them aloft although there was no way any wind could have gotten into that underground lair. Caterina could feel the strange energy gathering around them, an electric current of power that she could feel in her very bones.

She heard the angel speak, his voice low and raspy, as if he hadn’t used it in a very long time. He warned the vampires away. Naturally, they didn’t listen to him and raised their blades and bared their fangs in challenge.

Then, the angel told her to run.

She lingered long enough only to see him unfurl great black wings, to watch as his eyes began to glow red and to summon a blood-red scythe seemingly out of thin air. An Angel of Death, beautiful and terrible in his wrath.

And then, she did as she was told.

The night air was cool against her skin as she finally stumbled outside. She finally collapsed on the grass, in the shadow of an old, dead tree and it was then, and only then, that she allowed herself to weep.

That was how the angel had found her. There was blood on his long white robe, on his face and in his hair and his hand was outstretched, palm up, towards her. Caterina thought that perhaps the Angel of Death had now come to take her away to heaven, to finally be with her mother.

But then, the angel spoke and his eyes were not red this time, but blue and kind and sorrowful.

“I have sworn to protect humans now,” he told her then. “I will help you. I will protect you.”

Caterina stared up at him and hesitated but only for a moment. Then, she placed her tiny hand in his own.

Although she would learn later on that he in fact was not an angel but only a man, albeit an extraordinary one indeed, she could never forget how it seemed that she was a child again, that she was safe and that everything would be all right once more.

He told her a little of his story, that he’d been actually with the colonists sent to Mars, hundreds of years ago. That he was, in fact, a Crusnik – a vampire who fed on the blood of other vampires. But the very first thing he told her was his name.

Abel Nightroad.

Second Stanza: Magical Myth

He’s magic and myth
As strong as what I believe
A tragedy with more damage
Than a soul should see…

- “Beautiful Disaster,” Kelly Clarkson

It was happening again.

Caterina repressed a groan as the sighs and the whispers began, telling her that Abel had arrived. He moved as quietly as a cat and had startled her more times than she could count – laughing and apologizing when she yelled at him for it. But here on campus, it was damn near impossible for him to do that and it was simply because he attracted a lot of attention.

Female attention, that is. And maybe some of the males who leaned in that direction but at least they didn’t give Caterina the evil dagger looks that the other girls directed at her, whenever she was with Abel.

All right, to be fair, it wasn’t as if Abel was asking for the attention, no matter how dashing he looked in his black seminarian’s uniform. Lord knew it wasn’t as if he noticed it either. He was rather engrossed in his studies just as she was, having decided to go for the priesthood – a scant few years after he’d chosen to be baptized into the Roman Catholic faith and taken the Sacraments.

“I find it very comforting,” he had once told her. “I’m a very terrible sinner and this gives me great hope.”

Even after what she’d seen and even though she knew most of his story by this time, Caterina found it incredibly difficult to believe that the man she’d once thought of as an angel was, in his own words, a “terrible sinner.” In all the time she’d known him, she’d never seen him to be anything but kind and gentle, if rather quiet and grave which was why she’d allowed him his rare little jokes on her, yelling at him in mock anger, if only to get him to laugh, which he needed to do more often.

He also seemed to take his promise to protect her very seriously. Caterina was now the Duchess of Milan and ever since the vampires’ attack on her family, her father the Pope had ordered that security around her be tightened. Her numerous bodyguards did back off when they saw Abel with her and although they were unaware of what he really was, they did know he was quite capable of protecting her. So Abel normally escorted her around the university grounds and they were both often in the same classes. Half her female classmates were sure that he was her boyfriend (no matter how hard she tried to correct that impression) and the other half just wanted to kill her for snagging the “most beautiful man on campus,” as one envious girl had put it.

Today, Abel was frowning as he walked beside her, looking at the other students. “I really can’t understand why they’re scowling at you like that, Caterina – you’re really very nice, actually.”

The casual use of her given name made one trailing bodyguard scowl at the impropriety but Caterina actually didn’t care. She’d gotten enough of being “milady-ied” and observing court protocols and manners practically every waking hour. Instead, she just decided to finally inform Abel of “certain things” that he was apparently blissfully ignorant about ever since they both became university students.

“They hate me because I’m with you – it’s that simple,” she groused. “Please tell me you’ve actually noticed or if you’re just playing oblivious, so help me, I’ll – “

“Hey! That’s mean!” Abel exclaimed. He gave her his best wounded puppy-dog look, which elicited an “OMIGOD, that is sooooooooo cute….” from someone in the background. “I’m not doing anything wrong, am I? Because I really don’t want to make your life difficult…”

Oh God, the guilt trip. She had to stop that in its tracks right this instant. “Stop right there before you go all penitential on me. It’s not that you’re doing anything wrong, it’s just that – aaaaargh, Abel, you can’t be that dense!”

“Eh?!”

She facepalmed, hiding her face behind her hand because her cheeks were getting pink. It wasn’t as if she was pining away for love of him, because she had practically grown up with him and he’d been more of a big brother to her than her flesh-and-blood one actually was but still, she did have a good working set of eyes…

She took a deep breath and poked him in the chest, “Let me put this in short, simple words so you’ll understand. Girls. Adore. Gorgeous. Men. You. Are. Gorgeous. Therefore, they hate me because they think you’re my boyfriend and I’ve dashed all their hopes for you even as they probably get down on their knees every night and thank God the Church has made the celibacy vows optional. Now do you understand?”

Abel flushed. “Now that’s ridiculous.”

Caterina raised a brow. “Is it?” She batted her lashes and mock-simpered, “You know, whoever actually does get to snag you for a boyfriend would be a very lucky girl…”

“No,” The harsh, cold tone was one Caterina had never heard Abel use before and she stopped and stared at him in surprise. Hesitantly, she touched his sleeve.

“Abel…?”

He turned his head away from her and spoke softly, “I would not inflict myself on any woman, not in that way. I’m too damaged, too broken – I’m a monstrous creature – “

“Stop this,” she interrupted him, grabbing his arm, pulling him towards her. “Look at me, Abel.”

The wintry blue eyes that gazed back at her held just the faintest tinge of red.

Caterina held her ground. “You are not monstrous, do you hear me? You’re Abel Nightroad. You are my friend. And just because you’ve done things you regret, it doesn’t mean that you need to spend the rest of your life doing penance on your knees!”

“Even then it’s not going to be enough,” he murmured.

She wanted to shake him and no, her eyes were not stinging with tears. “You idiot. Despair is one of the worst sins we can commit, remember? Abel, you are allowed to hope – you’re allowed to be happy and I hope you will be, one day.”

He gently brushed away the moisture (which were not tears) on her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“She would want you to be happy,” Caterina said softly, not conscious of the other eyes on them, not at this moment.

“Perhaps,” he answered.

And then, from the peanut gallery: “Does that mean they’re not breaking up?”

“Lady Caterina’s a smart girl – would she want to let a gorgeous hunk like that go?”

Abel went beet-red and looked guiltily at Caterina, who was trying to restrain herself from saying, “I told you so” but her expression spoke volumes anyway.

It was from that point on that Abel began to act more… well, goofy was the only word Caterina could think of that fit. He’d taken to tying back his silver hair in a ponytail with a big black bow, which gave him a foppish air and hiding those blue eyes behind ridiculous, round-rimmed spectacles, claiming that all that studying had began to affect his eyesight. He slouched so that most people wouldn’t notice how very tall he actually was. He became absent-minded, mind-bogglingly scatterbrained at times and often tripped on his own feet. Although he still sometimes forgot to play “clumsy” and moved with his usual faultless grace.

Caterina just didn’t have the heart to tell him that all of that just added to his…er, “appeal.” With Abel, sometimes, it was just best to sit back and enjoy the show.

Third Stanza: Happy Hysterical

I’m longing for love and the logical
But he’s only happy hysterical
I’m waiting for some kind of miracle
Waited so long….so long

- “Beautiful Disaster,” Kelly Clarkson

Cardinal Caterina Sforza thought that she knew her enigmatic old friend quite well and although being a silly, sugar-addicted, absent-minded featherbrain was mostly an act on Abel’s part, he still could be charmingly naïve about some things. Especially when it came to women.

For example, practically everyone had known about the late Sister Noelle Bor’s hopeless crush on the man. In fact, the only one who had been completely unaware of what was going on was Abel himself. And that wasn’t much of surprise, considering that Abel had perfected obliviousness and cluelessness into what was practically an art form. It had become something of a running joke among the members of AX that their very own Father Abel Nightroad was something of a heartbreaker, just as he was when he was a young seminarian, studying at the University of Rome with Caterina. Father Leon Garcia de Asturias was often the one who complained the loudest about that.

To be fair, Caterina knew quite well why Abel, in all the time she’d known him, had never entertained any one of those advances thrown in his direction. He simply wasn’t the sort to indulge in a casual fling (notwithstanding the rules of conduct for Roman Catholic priests) and he was far too gentle-hearted to play with anyone’s feelings in that way. He could hug and play and laugh and joke and even cry with all of them but he always kept a certain distance that set him apart.

However, when Sister Esther Blanchett had joined their little group, things had started to change. And as always, everyone noticed how she affected a certain silver-haired bespectacled priest…

“So you and Little Sister Red spent that night alone together, huddled up in that shack in the middle of God-knows-where, looking all cozy like that and you’re telling us nothing happened?” Father Leon growled.

Abel waved his hands around frantically, his cheeks already stained pink. “Eh?! Of course nothing happened! It was just cold! I’m not a pervert!”

“Not like Dandelion here anyway,” Sister Kate muttered.

“Oi!” Father Leon protested. He then rounded on Father William. “Professor, you’re this nitwit’s confessor. We’ve seen them dancing around each other for ages! Can you believe this shit?”

“Language,” Caterina murmured, hiding her smile behind her teacup.

“Ah… you do remember that I am bound by the seal of the confessional,” said the Professor primly but with devilment twinkling in those green eyes.

“You’re not helping here!” Abel groaned.

Perhaps, Caterina thought, it was rather a good thing that Sister Esther was the only one who wasn’t around to witness this.

Father Leon snorted. “I still think it’s not fair that Father Nitwit over here keeps getting all the women. What on earth do you females see in him?”

“It has been my observation that Father Nightroad’s specs are both appealing and compatible with many females,” said Father Tres in his usual robotic monotone that still somehow sounded as if there were the barest hints of dry deadpan humor.

Everyone stared at the android in open astonishment while Abel sweatdropped.

“Well, I personally think they looked very sweet together and I have the pictures to prove it,” declared Sister Kate. The captain of the Iron Maiden took that opportunity to float right up and get into Abel’s face, shaking a warning finger, “You take care of Sister Esther or so help me I will personally make sure that you’ll be doing penance for your sins until Judgment Day! Understand?”

Abel squeaked. “It’s NOT like that!”

While it was interesting to watch Abel turn into a color that rivaled her cardinal’s red robes, Caterina decided it was time to put a stop to this. “I think that will be all for now. All of you may leave…”

And at that, Abel brightened visibly.

“…except for Father Abel here. I think he would appreciate finishing his debriefing without an audience,” Caterina continued mildly.

Abel deflated and sighed.

As always, Abel’s report was brief, concise and to the point. Caterina had propped up her chin on one hand and observed the skillful verbal acrobatics Abel had just performed in order to explain how he and Sister Esther had ended up in that shack in the middle of nowhere, in that raging snowstorm and how they’d been found in that rather interesting position – Esther held tightly in Abel’s arms, the latter having transformed partially into his Crusnik form, a dark angel with his wings folded protectively over her.

It made for a rather unforgettable and downright romantic mental image. Good thing Sister Kate had the sense to take pictures so that they would be preserved for all posterity.

Abel glared at her over the rims of his glasses. “Please stop giving me that look.”

She gave him her best innocent look – which she in fact had copied from Abel in the first place. “What look?”

“You look exactly like the cat who’d gotten a whole flock of canaries, plus a bowl of cream. It really isn’t what you think.”

“It isn’t?” Oh, Caterina was enjoying this. She’d never seen him so flustered.

“All the proprieties were observed,” Abel said primly, even if there was a rather becoming blush once again flooding his normally pale cheeks.

“And if you didn’t take the opportunity to at least kiss her, I’d be highly disappointed in you, Father Nightroad,” Caterina said wryly. “I would be prepared to overlook that but anything more would…”

“Have me on my knees praying ten thousand Our Fathers and Hail Marys until the Day of Judgement, I know,” Abel finished with the same wry tone.

“Oh no, my dear, bumbling featherbrain – I’d say it was about bloody damn time,” Caterina purred.

“Caterina!” Abel was scandalized.

“Didn’t I tell you once,” Caterina said carefully, “that you are allowed to be happy?”

Abel looked down at his hands, allowing the light to glint off the lenses of his spectacles and hiding his eyes. “You did. But you are aware that there are still…complications.”

“Those ‘complications,’ as you put it, will never really go away,” Caterina pointed out. “And I doubt Esther will wait until you’ve sorted out those so-called ‘complications.’”

There was a short bark of what could have been laughter from Abel, except that it was devoid of any humor. “She deserves much better. She’s young, she’s infatuated… it’s only natural…”

“She’s in love with you,” Caterina pointed out bluntly. “And I think you should stop wallowing in denial because you know quite well that Esther’s quite capable of knowing her own mind.”

“Oh Lord, she does at that,” Abel murmured, looking quite bemused. Caterina thought it must be some memory because it was making him smile in a way she’d never seen him do before.

She stood up from her desk and walked over to her old friend, giving him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Don’t keep her waiting for you too long, Abel. I highly doubt she’d let you get away with that.”

“Eh?!”

“If she’s sensible, she’d drag you back into that shack by the hair and not let you out until she’s wrung a confession out of you, my dear featherbrain. Perhaps I might suggest it to her…”

Abel sputtered. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Caterina smiled at him fondly, ignoring the mistiness in her eyes. Abel Nightroad had saved her life, in more ways than she could count, in all the years she’d known him. Perhaps he wasn’t truly an angel from heaven but he’d been one for her all the same and now it was her turn to return the favor. So she kept smiling at him and gave him the only answer she could give:

“Try me.”

Abel stood up, towering over her as usual and walked to the door. His hand was already on the knob but he turned back to look at her and there was a wicked glint in those normally guileless blue eyes. “I did kiss her, you know.”

It was Caterina’s turn to blush. But as always, she stood her ground and waited for him to continue.

“It was a very nice kiss. I find that I don’t regret it, not at all.”

And Abel opened the door.

It might have been the perfect exit except that Sister Esther was standing outside that door.

“There you are!” the little redheaded nun exclaimed. “Father Tres said that you’d be in here, Father Nightroad. Hello, Lady Caterina.” That last was said with a dimpled smile.

And that was when Caterina finally noticed two things which hadn’t really registered on her before. One, Abel’s long silver hair, which he normally put up in a ponytail, had actually been left to lie loosely on his shoulders and down his back. Two, the black ribbon which he used to tie his hair back was now wrapped around Sister Esther’s wrist.

Caterina stifled a grin. “I’m done with Father Featherbrain here so you can have him back now, Sister Esther. I do believe he’s in dire need of some milk tea.”

“With thirteen sugars,” Esther said sweetly.

Abel could only look in bemusement from one woman to the other. “Eh?”

The poor man was doomed. He didn’t stand a chance.

“Come on – I’d better feed you before you go rummaging around in trash cans and getting food poisoning again,” Esther said lightly, pulling at his arm and not quite dragging him out the door.

“Eh?!”

“And what weren’t you regretting…?”

“Don’t you know it’s rude to eavesdrop, Sister Esther?” Abel finally managed to rediscover his powers of speech.

Caterina didn’t wait to hear the other woman answer. She closed the door on them and finally, allowed herself to laugh.

- end -

Milk Tea & Thirteen Sugars Series – Dramatis Personae

darthstitch — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 13:32:05 +0000

This was originally created for my call center colleagues, all of whom ended up reading (and OMG – enjoying!) my fan fiction on its own merits without having seen the anime where it was based on. What do you know, they had fun with the whole thing and ended up looking for the anime and making me fan art.

And if you’re new to the anime and my fics, well, here’s your quick guide. Please note that some of the characters listed are technically Original Characters and not really part of the anime/manga series. Original Characters are in italics and boldface, to avoid confusion. Also, my characterizations of the canon cast are mostly based on the anime but I’ve now begun to implement what I’m seeing in the manga and the books, but fitting it in with the way my fan fiction series has developed. So I know I’m not strictly canon, but hey, that’s what fan fiction is for!

Abelcrombie, Crusnik 02 and a half

The Milk Tea & Thirteen Sugars Series: Dramatis Personae

Abel Nightroad (Nightlord) – Codename: Crusnik 02, Vatican priest, Enforcer for the Vatican’s Department of Ecclesiastical Affairs, which is also known as AX – “Arcanum cella ex dono dei” (Latin: Secret Chamber in virtue of the gift of God). Abel’s usually the sweetest, gentlest soul on God’s green earth and enjoys letting others think he’s nothing but a clumsy, sugar-addicted featherbrain. However, no featherbrain would make it working as a secret service agent for the Catholic Church, fighting against rogue vampires and sinister terrorist organizations. Aside from the obvious military/martial arts skills and his impressive technological savvy, Abel is a Crusnik, an immortal ageless and incredibly powerful being who feeds on the blood of vampires. Currently, he has been saddled with the alter ego of His Imperial Highness, Prince Artorius Elric Vradica, brother to the Empress of the New Human Empire, Augusta Vradica. He’s not too happy about that but those are the breaks. He is also hopelessly in love with Esther Blanchett, which was rather an unexpected happening for him.

Esther Blanchett – Vatican nun, member of AX, often partnered with Abel Nightroad on official missions. Her name also means “star” and it’s also probably drawn from the fact that she has a star-shaped birthmark on her body. She’s brave and impulsive, very perceptive, with impressive deductive skills – coming in handy for solving mysteries. In addition, Esther is also a damn good shot – not bad for a junior secret service agent. In person, Esther is generally good-hearted, sweet and kind, the kind of gal who sees the best in people and brings it out of them, as a certain Featherbrained priest and a certain Methuselah nobleman can attest. Falling in love with Abel Nightroad was also an unexpected happening on her part but she’s dealing with it in a slightly better fashion than he is.

Caterina Sforza – Head of AX, Cardinal Prince of the Roman Catholic Church, Duchess of Milan. Known as the Woman of Steel, Caterina is as tough and no-nonsense as they come, considering she’s riding herd over an order of priests and nuns who essentially function as vampire-slaying James Bonds or Jennifer Garner’s Sydney Bristow, from Alias. Caterina is also Abel’s best friend, which can get complicated as she’s his boss but they manage the line between friendship, almost-sibling closeness and the whole boss issue quite splendidly. She’s far more tolerant and open-minded than most of the peeps in the Church (read: her brother Francesco di Medici and the Inquisition) and strives to bring peace between the Church and the New Human Empire.

Tres Iquus – a.k.a. Gunslinger, Vatican priest, android, Enforcer for AX. Tres is THE bad-ass gun-kata guy in the AX team and the one Abel trusts to rein him in if (God forbid) his Crusnik side goes out of control. Tres shouldn’t be possessed of a sense of humor but apparently he does and it is believed that Abel should be blamed for that latest development.

Seth Nightlord – a.k.a. Augusta Vradica, Empress of the New Human Empire, Crusnik 03. Abel’s baby sister still looks like a little girl even after all these centuries but don’t let that fool you – she can and will kick serious ass if she has to. She’s warm, down-to-earth and quite mischievous. She adores her older brother and often wishes that they could live together as family again. In addition, she is in agreement with Caterina Sforza about bringing peace between Terrans and Methuselahs.

Astharoshe Asran – Duchess of Kiev, the Tigress of Odessa. The lady is definitely worthy of her name as she can be a ferocious fighter. Astharoshe is pretty direct and no-nonsense and has a mostly low opinion of ordinary humans, although her friendship with Abel has made her rethink some things on that score. She first met him on a joint mission between the Vatican and the Empire and came to accept him as her “tovarishch” or partner, realizing that he’s a pretty good man to have at one’s back.

Ion Fortuna - Count of Memphis. Ion’s the classic golden boy of Imperial nobility – so beautiful that he’s sometimes mistaken for a girl (which annoys him to no end), deceptively looks like a very young boy (although he’s already an adult), charming, gracious, proud, courageous and very impetuous. He has a serious crush on Esther but has woefully realized that her affections lie elsewhere. Alas, he can’t even hate Abel because he also looks up to the guy, even Abel’s featherbrained persona does leave him baffled at times.

Tatiana Nicolaeivna Romanov – Grand Duchess of Russia. The last of the Romanov dynasty from the 20th century, Tatiana survived the massacre of her family by the Bolsheviks and became a vampire in the classic sense. She now rules Russia and is a very serious contender for power in the New Human Empire, should she choose to take that up. Coldly elegant and beautiful, she has nonetheless brought peace and prosperity to the New Russian Empire and is well-loved by her people for it.

Grigory Efimovich Novykh – a.k.a. Rasputin, the Mad Monk. He now functions as Tatiana’s advisor, although he is quite aware that he is far from being the power behind the ancient and reclaimed Romanov throne. As always, he is strangely charismatic and compelling and it is said that he dabbles in the ancient and darkest arts of magic.

Petros Orcini – Il Ruinante, the Knight of Destruction. Head Inquisitor. Petros is brash, tough and fanatical in his devotion to Holy Mother Church and Her teachings. Naturally, he has no mercy for heretics and vampires. However, he is not as narrow-minded as he seems to be and has his own sort of honor.

Isaak Fernand von Kampfer – a.k.a. The Panzer Magier, a leading Member of the vampire terrorist organization Rosen Kreuz Orden, if not actually its second in command. Isaak has impressive magical ability and interest in the arcane and occult. Although something of a mystery, Isaak’s fanatical devotion to his Mein Herr and his desire to destroy and remake the world in the image they desire cannot be doubted.

Cain Knightlord – Crusnik 01, Contra Mundi, Mein Herr (and as Weaver refers to him – “The Teme”). Cain is Abel’s twin brother but his hair is golden, rather than silver and while he can seem to be as absent-minded, gentle and mild-mannered as Our Hero, Cain is completely and utterly insane. He will kill his enemies without a shred of pity, still keeping his sweet, empty smile. He is completely and unnaturally obsessed with his twin brother. He leads the Rosen Kreuz Orden and he dreams of bathing the world in fire and darkness, with his twin by his side or without him.

Dietrich von Lohengrin – a.k.a. the Puppetmaster or Marionettenspieler. Dietrich is beautiful and utterly heartless, with a taste for manipulating the people around him like toys – whether with his words and actions or with those strange, deadly strings he can wield to take possession of a person’s nervous system. He played the part of Esther Blanchett’s best friend and partner-in-crime, pretending to side with her in the rebellion they organized against Gyula Kadar, Marquis of Hungary but was in fact playing both sides of the field. Also a part of the Rosen Kreuz Orden, Dietrich is obsessed with Esther Blanchett and delights in finding opportunities to play her like a puppet, again and again.

Kyrys Alyardi – Before the Crusniks came to be, there were the Revenants and Kyrys Alyardi was their Prince and Lord. Kyrys became a Revenant after he slew the first Revenant Lord, defending his country from the Revenants’ onslaught. Much like Abel, Kyrys, together with his beloved Elora and best friend Isabel, would carry on this secret war of good vs. evil against the wicked Revenants for thousands of years and were victorious. Tragically, Kyrys, Elora and Isabel fell into the hands of a secret organization of scientists, who experimented upon them and would use their DNA to create the Nightlord siblings – Cain, Abel and Seth. Kyrys can technically be considered their “father.”

Lilith Sahl – Crusnik 04. The prototype for the Nightlord siblings, Lilith in turn was created from other Revenant DNA, not from Kyrys, Isabel or Elora. In the apocalyptic war between the humans and vampires 900 years ago, Lilith took the side of the humans, going up against the Nightlord siblings with great sorrow and regret. Like Caterina, Lilith believed in peaceful coexistence between the two sides. Lilith was Abel’s first love and because of this, she was able to bring Abel and eventually Seth, to the idea of ending the war and living in peace. Unfortunately, Cain killed her and thus caused the rift between him, Abel and Seth. Lilith had worked closely with the Roman Catholic Church and the Pope of that time, supposedly providing him with many prophecies. This and her death at Cain’s hands, made her a martyr in Catholic tradition. She was eventually canonized as one of its saints and is known as the Naia Sancta or “The Black Saint.”

Isabel – Isabel is now the last living Revenant, an incredibly powerful sorceress with the form of a little girl. Kyrys was her dearest friend and she considered Elora as her sister. Because of her great grief over their loss, Isabel lost her memories for a time and was indeed a simple four year old child named Bell before finally recalling her true identity. Isabel is known to cast spells using music and is a formidable swordswoman. She can in fact be considered “mother” to the Nightlord siblings. Currently, Isabel is staying in the form of a four year old though she is able to assume the older guise of a young girl the apparent age of Seth Nightlord if necessary.

Abelcrombie – Crusnik 02 and ½. An adorable stuffed toy turtle in the care of little “Bell.”

Milk Tea & Thirteen Sugars: A Trinity Blood fan fiction

darthstitch — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 12:55:49 +0000

The Milk Tea & Thirteen Sugars Series

Milk Tea & Thirteen Sugars
A Trinity Blood Fan Fiction Inspired by The Blanket Scenario Challenge
by Darth Stitch

DISCLAIMER: Trinity Blood was created by Yoshida Sunao (R.I.P.) and is now an anime directed by Tomohiro Hirata and produced by the studio GONZO. The Blanket Scenario Challenge is a fan fiction challenge originally created by Chelsea Deanne and her website is at http://www.mikomi.com/squittle/main.htm

I’m not directly connected to the fan fiction challenge itself, I do admit I was inspired by the idea of “two characters, one blanket, an isolated cabin and a raging snowstorm.” This began as a respectful tribute to that challenge and has now grown into a series of fan fics, which I am now trying to see if I can upload to WordPress, with pics – yay!

AUTHOR’S NOTES/WARNINGS: Trinity Blood is an anime which has a post-apocalyptic setting and portrays (among other things) the Roman Catholic Church/the Vatican as a major military power, as well as a spiritual one. Kind of like it was way back in the Middle Ages, except women can now hold positions as cardinals and bishops. Not only that, but if you watch the anime, one gets the impression that a lot of the rules we take for granted have been changed – i.e. the vows of celibacy for priests and nuns. I figure that if THAT vow was strictly in effect, I would NOT see a nun openly confessing her romantic feelings to her priest colleague. So if this kind of thing disturbs you, I suggest you stop reading now.

If there was one thing Father Abel Nightroad had learned in his years as a traveling priest, it was that God had a sense of humor.

And it was a wicked one at that, Lord forgive him.

Abel knew that he’d done things in his life that would most likely earn him several centuries in Purgatory but seriously, his penchant for getting into the most ridiculous situations must surely smack of Divine Meddling. Consider the predicament he and his young colleague, Sister Esther Blanchett were in now – trapped together in a tiny shack in the middle of nowhere, in the midst of a raging snowstorm and the only means of keeping warm was one single solitary blanket.

And Abel just knew that he had nothing more in his pocket other than four lousy dinars. Not that would get him the means to make fire, get another blanket or even buy him his favorite drink of milk tea with thirteen sugars. Esther had gagged when she had first heard him ask for that in a cafe and he’d just given her his typical silly smile and sheepishly pushed his round-rimmed glasses over the bridge of his nose. Professor Wordsworth had once opined that wanting thirteen sugars with his tea must be the result of Abel’s unique Crusnik physiology – sort of like why some vampires…er, Methuselahs, had extreme tastes in food and drink.

Whatever. Abel had just smiled and gotten the hell out of there before the Professor could take it into his head to talk Abel into participating in a “scientific experiment.”

Esther sneezed and Abel bent and wrapped the only blanket they had over her shoulders. As usual, she protested, “But what about you, Father Abel? You’ll catch your death in this cold!”

“It’s all right, I’ll manage,” he reassured her. He knew he appeared fairly harmless and often vulnerable when he wasn’t in Crusnik form but the nanomachines in his blood were always working and so, he had a longer tolerance for the elements than ordinary humans did. He sat back down and leaned against the wall, watching his colleague. Poor girl, her lips were blue from the cold…

She had a pretty mouth, did Esther, and Abel found himself noticing that a lot these days, especially when he gave her an excuse to scold him. He’d just stand there, wear his silly smile and watch her talk, not really paying attention to what she was saying and just letting the sound of her voice wash over him… and he’d better just cut that line of thought Right. This. Instant.

Maybe he was just really lucky that Roman Catholic priests these days weren’t really required to take that vow of celibacy.

At first, he thought he felt drawn to Esther because she reminded him of his lost Lilith in some ways – that beautiful red hair and that single-minded determination for justice, to make things right – things he’d understood all too well. And then, there was that endearing air of innocence that she still had about her, even though she was no stranger to murder, having killed a man to avenge the woman who’d been the closest thing to a mother she’d ever known. Esther wasn’t Lilith, of course and if he’d any lingering doubts about that, she had, in the time he’d known her, established quite firmly that it was more than enough that Esther was herself, unique and precious to him all the same.

Ah, Lord, he was really going to get it the next time he went to Confession, wasn’t he? The Professor would never let Abel live this one down and his penances would probably be dire indeed. He’d yet to confess what was really behind his clowning around, making overly dramatic deathbed requests, falling into fountains at the most inopportune moments, whenever he’d caught young Ion Fortuna, the Count of Memphis, making calf’s eyes at his Esther.

Somewhere Up There, the Good Lord was probably laughing His beard off.

Nine hundred years was a long time to mourn Lilith’s loss, a long time spent in penance and atonement. Abel had contented himself with simple human companionship – uncomplicated human friendships. A simple hug, a pat on the back, a comforting touch – nothing more and nothing less. Even then, it hurt to get even that close to these humans who were so much more fragile than he was and whose lives seemed to be over in just an eye blink. Abel had learnt however that he could not truly live if he completely closed off his heart – not as a priest or even just a simple man.

Abel shivered and it wasn’t from the cold.

Of course, Esther noticed that and naturally, misinterpreted it.

“This isn’t really going to do, Father Abel,” she said, managing to sound brisk and commanding despite chattering teeth. “We’re both going to freeze to death.” She scooted over right next to him and tried to throw that blanket over both of them but of course, it could barely cover his much larger frame.

“Stop, really, it’s quite all right,” he told her. “Can’t have both of us coming down with pneumonia, eh, Miss Esther?”

She scowled and he just didn’t think the word “adorable” in connection to her pretty downturned little mouth. “You really shouldn’t think about being gallant right now, Father Abel. Lady Caterina would be quite unhappy with me if I let you freeze to death out here.” And then, she looked thoughtful and Abel just knew she was coming up with one of her truly bright ideas…

She stood up and then settled herself quite comfortably on his lap and wrapped the blanket around both of them.

Abel meeped, his glasses fogging over and almost falling off his nose.

“There,” she said triumphantly. “Now we’ll both be warm.”

Abel struggled to say something coherent about observing proprieties, anything to get his mind off the warm, sweet weight of her on his lap, or her scent, or the way that she fit perfectly against him, just so and he could just feel the hot flush creeping over his normally pale cheeks and quite possibly the rest of his body.

Oh Lord, and she looked so innocent and trusting as she cuddled against him, the expression on her face worthy of a seraph.

“Ah… Miss Esther… this isn’t… very proper,” Oh, that was a masterpiece of eloquence, Abel Nightroad, it truly was…

“Of course it is,” Esther said primly, plucking Abel’s glasses off his nose and carefully wiping the lenses clean with her handkerchief. “I’m merely putting my training to use and improvising under very adverse circumstances.”

And that was when Abel caught the gleam of unholy mischief in her eyes and knew that he’d been had.

“Clever girl,” he breathed, his attention being drawn once more to her mouth, noting that her lips still had the faintest tinge of blue. And before his better sense could kick in, he found himself leaning down and gently brushing his lips against hers.

Well, she was cold after all.

He felt her gasp with delight and shivered as he felt her fingers on his skin, feather-light touches on his neck and his cheeks, loosening the black ribbon that held back his silver hair and running her hands through the silken strands. He’d been so long without that kind of touch and he never knew how starved he was for it…

And she tasted sweeter than milk tea with 13 sugars.

He felt and heard the rustling of his great black wings and knew that somehow he’d shifted partially to his Crusnik form without his conscious command. Alarmed, he drew back from her with a shuddering breath, steeling himself for the inevitable fear and rejection. The Crusnik who fed upon vampire blood was a terrifying sight for both Terran and Methuselah and he’d seen that terror in her eyes before.

Instead, she surprised him yet again.

“Beautiful,” she whispered, her blue eyes wide with wonder.

“No –“ he began in automatic denial, well aware of what he looked like, what he was but she’d put a single finger to his lips to stop him.

“Abel, I feel safe with you. I always will,” she said. And then, as if to end the conversation, she settled back against him comfortably and tucked her head beneath his chin, keeping his glasses in her small hands.

Bemused, Abel could only rest his cheek against the softness of her hair and noted, with fierce satisfaction, that her lips were rosy red from their kiss. He found himself smiling faintly and allowed his wings to close over them both, enfolding her in his embrace, safe from the cold.

Safe in his arms.

-end-