13th_crusader | ✞4th Wall Day ☦ Part Duae✞

[An Iscariot-issue pistol is already in his hand: The hammer cocked before he squeezed a round into the Cardinal's shoulder.]

UNHAND ARCHBISHOP MAXWELL!

[A short burst of pain, and he whips around growling, dropping the Bishop faster than a sack of potatoes.]

HOW DARE YOU..!

[And he tumbles and splats unceremoniously upon the alter... Who is that and why does he know his name?!

WHATEVER he seems far less insane than this brazen Cardinal, so he takes his chance and bolts down the aisle-way towards the cleric-clad gunslinger.]

I don't know who you are, but don't think, just run, NOW!

Edited 2010-05-17 06:48 (UTC)

[SERIOUZ BUSINEZZ. Oh, he's pissed now.]

[Ask me the question, Bridge Keeper! I'm not afraid! Twirls the trigger-guard around his finger, walking towards the Cardinal, rather than away until he had the barrel nearly inches from his face.]

Kindly remove your presence here...Or I'm afraid I may have to put another bullet in you.

Ehi...

[Seems no one was listening to him today... or any day... what did he do to be so ignored!?]

Aha, padre.. please, we needn't be starting wars with other dioceses, sì, no, sì?

[There's a tug at the cleric's fire-arm, however the archbishop is clearly using him as a human shield, keeping him placed between he and the Cardinal.]

[Fine. You win. This time. But don't think I'll go so easily on you next time.]

....

[And he's sweeping past them, murder in his eyes.]

[Only once the red-clad mammoth departed did he lower his weapon, letting the safety click back into place.]

Ah. Arcivescovo...Forgive me. I was forced to disobey your order, under the circumstances that you were rather...Spooked.

[He's not going to say you were afraid. Hurhurhur.]

I do apologize for upsetting you, but I felt it was more important to protect you.

[O...oh...

Who are you and where have you been all his life?

The Archbishop is stunned into silence for a few moments, bleary eyes glance over his shoulder to make sure that the Cardinal was really gone... before straightening himself and slicking a meticulous hand through his hair.]

You have keen judgment, crociato.

I'm rather ashamed I do not know your face as well as you seem to know mine.

Do not thank me, Your Grace.~ As a fellow Iscariot, we must band together and help one another in these trying times, do we not?

[And have a squiggly-lipped smile for your trouble paired with those strangely drooping green eyes, the gun loosened and handed over.]

You'll be needing this in the near future, I'm afraid. The Macedonian silver should put down most, if not all, cretins.

No, Grazie.

Grazie mille~

[Taking the weapon graciously, he admired it's craftsmanship... It looked like something beyond his years, a true work of art.. and with it's markings.. a trademark Vatican issue he had never seen before...]

How strange... I thought I knew of all who came into my faction.

Were you anointed at the Reconquest in Midian?

[So many had come under his wing when war was declared, he was sure to have missed someone... Yet it seemed ever so unlikely.]

Please I insist. You needn't bother...

[Oh yes. It was of beautiful make, to be sure.]

...A-ah...N-not exactly, no. I-I'm sorry....I do not mean to keep myself such an enigma, I just hardly think that I could be interesting to someone of your caliber.

Merely a Servant of the Section. That is all.

Oh, no.

No no no no, that will not do.

[Slipping up to him like a cobra, cold retractiles touch the stranger's chin to lift it up till his sharp gaze meets those languid eyelids.]

What is your name, Servitore~?

[Wiry bangs frizzing out like a pair of antennae, cheeks aglow with all the spark of small Roman candles.]

A-ah! I pray you...

[Paralyzed under that gaze, he was pleased of course that the other should desire to know his name.]

...M'quve.

[Mouthing the name in a leisurely lush purr.]

[The gelid pad of his thumb runs over the jawline he clutches, brushing the very base of that deep scar, before slowly drawing it away.]

Edited 2010-05-17 08:49 (UTC)

[Left with only a sense of yearning the timid Patriarch shrinks, unflinching yet undoubtedly unable to suppress a bout of shivering.]

As is my own.

[Fluidly as the waves of his mane, he bows cordially, flitting that dark gaze up to him. Such fealty.

Such meekness.

If only his most well known subordinates were like this...

Speaking of which, a quick glance behind M'quve would tell him, his certain oaf of a servant was still out cold and as useless to him as ever.]

Il'crociato M'queve.

[Turning then with a vibrant sweep of gold tresses, he raises his hand with a graceful gesture to follow him.]

Come with me, we'll procure you a glass of tea and let you settle. . . You've had a long journey away from Rome.

[Oh...Oh my. Maxwell. Such finesse. See those cheeks darkening just about now.

As for the third party, he was blissfully unaware, considering he had no knowledge of another's presence.

Looking all the while like a lost little school boy M'quve took no more than a fleeting second to meet him, a little more tentative than he wanted to be around this...Regal Prince.]

A-ah...T-that's hardly necessary...I'm sure you're quite tired yourself.....

[From earlier.]

Tè di mandorle...

[A short pause in his step. Swift enough to allow the flustered fanatic to nearly slam into him, Maxwell halted at the threshold of his quarters in the back behind the alter. A smooth smile etched his viperous mouth.]

...Helps me to relax.

[Those wintry eyes bid M'quve no refusal as he left him cautiously inside. Within those stone walls was a room nearly baren, save for the bed, make-shift desk, and table in the middle. The kettle was off to the side, nearly always kept lit as much as they could manage with the wood Anderson would supply.]

You must excuse how Medieval things are here. We're in times of tribulation, one might say.

[Which he promptly did with a soft squeak, scarred visage all aflutter as he instantly backed away.]

M-mi scusi, Arcivescovo!

[His voice climbed in pitch and he skittered back several feet as though he might have offended the other by mere touch alone, however incidental. Given the expression on his face one would have thought he had performed an offense on God himself.]

A-a....Tè di mandorle...I-I have n-not tried it....

[The timid creature stammered and slowly trailed behind, careful not to disturb what surely must have been Sacred Ground. Maxwell's chambers . . .]

It is . . . Perfect.

[Simplistic, yet refined. Clean...Orderly. Everything he would have attributed to the meticulous personality of the Section XIII Bureau's founder.]

T-that is...O-of course...You deserve only the finest...

Well, we are men of poverty, as it were. I have no place to lament.

[A longing sigh left him, absolutely taken by the servant's humble and tremulous demeanor as he filled two chipped porcelain cups and fished into a small hole in a drawer where he hid a few of his little pleasantries he could pilfer.]

Yet I admit.. I long for Rome like no other.

[A piece of himself was left there, he was sure... he wondered grimly if even his ashes had been brought back to St. Peter's... or had his body been left to rot in Midian and be swallowed by that Hellbeast.

A small shudder tingled his slender shoulders as he set the two diluting cups down on the table and wafted his amiably towards the seat across from himself.]

Sit.

I insist it, soldato mio~

Edited 2010-05-18 05:14 (UTC)

[An Italian's hospitality was said to be greatly warming to a person, were they blessed with the fortune to receive it. As per the general belief, once one became a guest in the house of such a man, it was said that the familiarity he would gain would rival even that of family. Of course, given the bounds M'quve already shared with Maxwell, that wasn't all that far off.

And so he would sit opposite the other with legs crossed, hands folded politely over his lap.

Gloved fingers outstretched to graciously receive the cup and bow his head, murmuring a soft blessing over the steaming liquid. The smell wafting was delicious. No doubt he'd chosen the very best quality for this very occasion.]

A-ah....Almond....Was it?

[He took a tiny sip, thoroughly looking surprised.]

O-oh....I-it's......Very.....Delicious.

Mmn~

[A soft sound of regard rippled the steam from his own cup, half-lidded eyes sinking in disinterest for the drink itself as he took a morsel-full. There was a sense of peace in this sanctum he hadn't quite felt before. As if all in the world had come full circle, and he was staring right at the bright curved path before him.]

M'Quve.

[The cup clinked like a little chime as he set it down, and lifted thick black lashes above misty viridian irises.]

When.. did you say you joined Iscariot?

[The refreshment tickled the tongue with pleasant aftershocks, offering a full-bodied flavor almost bordering on saccharine...The Archbishop certainly had good taste, even if he was forced to endure a perpetual state of poverty.

A minor flick of deep green and he finds his head is swimming under that gaze, finger coiling around a warping bang.]

Ah, Amico mio...

[An almost sorrowful look darkened his kindly features and he thought out his next words carefully, reaching out to gently touch his familiar's hand.]

....I...T-thirty years....Post-Midian.

[The pads of his fingertips stiffened so hard beneath that graze that the table shuddered with a small clatter of their cup and saucers.

So.

The presage this man gave off was true. 30 years his senior.. or was that the other way around now? Looking to M'Quve with a deadpan as cold as the long forgotten corpse he was in his time, he uttered just as breathlessly.]

Capisco. I see. . . and. .

. . .Your position, caro a~mi~co?

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