Disclaimer: I do not own Trinity Blood and its characters.
Warning: This will develop into a TresxAbel fiction. You have been warned.
(O0—There are meanings for the words with this sign in the end of the chapter you’ve seen it.)
The ambulance came over fast. Abel boarded it with Esther. He sat silently, peering over her injuries with a weary look in his eyes—this is entirely his fault. Tres said that it would be too dangerous for her; and that there were things that the Vatican is there to figure out if they were real. The zombies couldn’t have been more dead than alive; they were walking carcasses, too dumb and too brain-dead to know any better than to contain their bloodlust. The cyborg also reasoned that the mission was only intended for the two male AX Agents and ‘the Cardinal would not approve with Sister Blanchett to join their (our) company’. He didn’t listen and ‘tricked’ Tres into bringing Esther along.
“She’s going to be alright.” comforted the nurse, as if she could see his inner battering. He thought of the many women that he had met right then and there, imagining them in Esther’s position. He fed his guilt even more. But, not even a shred of concern for the fully-capable priest the ambulance had already left behind.
Tres Iqus, Gunslinger, Gunmetal Hound owned by the Woman of Steel was gripping his Jericho M13s too tightly; in his case, it meant a “malfunction” had occurred. He could not escape the foreboding dread that the gathering rain clouds fathomed. Tres shouldn’t have been bothered by the oppressing weather but—something was off.
“Gunslinger to Iron Maiden: requesting assistance for transport to the Palazzio Spada, Vatican City, Rome. Cardinal Caterina Sforza might be in jeopardy.”
How come he didn’t take care of the Cardinal first?
“Iron Maiden to Gunslinger: request confirmed and sanctioned. Assistance will be there in Rome searching for the Cardinal and will make sure to care for Her Eminence. You will board 300 seconds from now. Iron Maiden, over and out.”
There was a malfunction. Tres could sense it. That’s exactly the problem—he should’ve known it, not sense it. There were three things that weren’t deem fit for the cyborg’s systematic unit functions that week. One was he forgot to take care of the Duchess of Milan. She was supposed to be top priority; he’d give up any mission to rescue her, and now—she was going to have an ill-fare because he failed to register the note he made earlier that week.
Tres Iqus was striding down the Vatican hallways surrounded by a beautiful plush garden on the outside, with twittering mockingbirds of the early spring to wig the air of a gallant placate to the outside world, and a lavish ornate wall decorated by an occasional portrait that leaned with philosophy as well as art. But, Tres simply didn’t care for such, and ignored all of it. He was headed for the Cardinal’s office in Palazzio Spada—and nothing, not even a five-meter brick wall could’ve stopped him.
With her cardinal red robes, she spun on her heels for the nth time, not minding her visitor’s quite frightened gaze—maybe she was wigging out. After all, even the Woman of Steel had weaknesses. Especially, when it was about matters that concerned her personal favorites. Her elderly guest had just given her news about a rumor spreading in the Vatican. She was thinking of something to say to Father William W. Wordsworth that didn’t sound so brash and that it would not unnerve the Professor too much—not as much as the ‘news’ has riddled her brain. She would remain calm—after all, the news was an isolated case. Only William knew of the true facts behind everything. Right?
“Are you sure that ‘that’ happened?” Caterina Sforza, Duchess of Milan, Minister of Foreign Affairs asked the priest calmly. She would assess the situation as calmly as—aw, cow.
William could practically taste her unbridled shock and threatening sanity’s brink in her voice.
“Yes. I am certain that it really happened between the two. But I have to say, I do not understand why he let him do ‘that’ to him.”
Caterina took in every word like a lifeline. “But how could Tres just do that—I mean—he’s not built for those things, right?” her voice as calm as it would go at this point.
Said Father should’ve, could’ve entered the room at that statement but hesitated. He grounded in on the potential information being belatedly given out. This wasn’t regulatory—eavesdropping on the Cardinal herself. But, this was something that concerned him, something that is disconcerting the Cardinal. She won’t say it to Tres person-to-person, so, he concluded to best listen closely as Cardinal Sforza had hysterics.
“Hearing ability up to 50 percent.” Tres said several volumes lower than that of his normal speech pattern.
“Caterina, you know as well as I do that the Vatican makes sure to treat all—even Tres—like equals of any other. We did give him every man’s needs as close as possible not to interfere with his efficiency in missions?” Father Wordsworth said the last statement like it wasn’t even a question. It was a fact. It was a fact that he experimented on Tres to upgrade him. He was a challenge to the Professor. To procure the last of the Killing Dolls as close as human as possible was a real invigorating work-exercise. It was also a fact that Tres looked like a handsome young man, in and out of Vatican robes—even without robes or clothes… Tres undeniably has a good body-shape—well-tanned, and lean but muscular.
He could’ve just said all the facts, but Professor could only smile sheepishly at his superior whose furrow knitted even further into confusion, shock, and worry all at the same time.
If she was any other female, she would’ve looked like a walking O0Moro-moro—but she was the Woman of Steel. Cardinal Sforza just looked like an ordinary stern woman who was thinking of something deep while turning on her heels every five steps. She was refined; “a more refined woman could not be found elsewhere”, a thought that would grace you in her presence. This was precisely the reason why she paced gently in her office, as steadily as in a high crisis situation. She could handle this… She would handle this…
Father Wordsworth is an intelligent man but a clueless moron when it came to situations like this—with a woman who had never gone over the edge. He shouldn’t have said, “You know, by needs, it doesn’t mean he has an urge to do it, but—I don’t know about the other one. But, there are systems in Tres that simulate a human reaction, as to a certain situation, a program wi—Caterina?”
The Duchess of Milan, Lady Caterina Sforza stopped dead in her tracks. She had handled assassins head-on, madmen trying to assassinate the pope—things bigger than what normal Terran men would accept responsibility to and what they would normally back away from the responsibility of—so, she can handle this. She can handle this. It’s just two of her Agents—doing who-knows-what a week before. She can handle this.
She was slowly being reduced to a wreck—give her any time of the day to wake to this, but not as literally as jabbing the information down her throat in such a beautiful Vatican morning, just after her sleep. Two of her agents have been rumored to have slept together. Father Wordsworth had already dismissed the rumor as a hoax and there’s no possible way that it was true. That was a half-lie, half-true campaign to get the nuns and priests to stop talking about it. William told Caterina about Tres’ latest check-up—he said to her that there had been semeniferous fluids found on the cyborg and inside his posterior cavity; there were also marks on the Doll’s body that signed a ‘good night’; there was also the sign of use to an appendage Tres really didn’t use. This wasn’t the type of news that hit her ears frequently in Palazzio Spada very early in the morning. Her office is like her personal sanctuary—it might be the office that lead the Department of Foreign Affairs’ business of the world’s leading power, but it made her feel her element more than any other room in the Vatican. She knew what she was doing when she entered this room. That was why this room was perfect for the news. The office of the Woman of Steel might be dead-center to the world’s affairs, but it also was the most secure place Caterina held dear. No one entered without a real reason and everybody played deaf.
How would she tell Abel?
“Father William?”
“Yes?”
“Call in Father Abel Nightroad a week from now. My health might be held firmly in danger’s hands by then.”
“You look like your not functioning correctly right now.” concern was laced in the sentence, but mildly.
Tres didn’t do concern.
Father Tres Iqus entered the Cardinal’s office in Palazzio Spada with both of his Jericho M13s held steady to fire in any direction.
“Tres!” both exclaimed but muddled by a—
“Cardinal Sforza, damage report. I’ve heard Father Wordsworth break a disturbance in the room concerning your well-being.” Tres inquired.
“I… I… I will be fine,” Caterina whisked. “in a week…” she trailed off, mumbling the last words to herself.
Surely Gunslinger would not eavesdrop on her? He just heard William’s last comment, correct?
Tres couldn’t sense Father Wordsworth’s worry as he could practically hear the whirring of Caterina’s wheels inside her forehead. Tres couldn’t hear what he heard either. He just made a note to himself to be there next week. He did protection—the protection of the Duchess of Milan.
Author’s notes:
Moro-moro—a kind of play in the Hispanic Era in the Philippines; it was kind of like a farce about the political issues between the Muslims and the Christians.
Sorry… in advance. This is my first fiction so… please be nice; only constructive criticism can build a good spirit out of any one. NO FLAMERS. It will result in a troll war—if someone’s stupid enough to combat you, flamers.
____________________________________________________________________Insanely me ;)
0 comments:
Post a Comment