Animus Facit Nobilem, Chpt 2
Happy Thanksgibbons, y'all.
Title: Animus Facit Nobilem
Chapter: II. Frustration & Resignation
Author: Camudekyu
Rating: M, for subsequent chapters
Pairing: Lenalee/Lavi
Length: 4 pages
Warnings: No spoilers. And TWT?
Summary: When a series of bizarre events prompts the Black Order to dispatch exorcists, Lenalee and Lavi find that there is more going on in this small village on Malta than anyone could have expected. To make matters worse, the truth is going to hit just a touch too close to home for our Bookman cum Exorcist.
A/N: While the town of Qrendi, Malta, is not made up, St. Matthias Parish Church is. It is based very loosely on this church. This chapter introduces some of Lavi's feelings toward the Church, too. No offense intended, but I imagine someone who's been around as much as Lavi has has quite an opinion of organizations that big and powerful--origins divine or otherwise.
II. Frustration & Resignation Police greeted them on the wharf as soon as they stepped off the second, smaller ferry that had picked them up. The first ferry had run aground and was quickly rolling farther and farther onto its side as the tide ebbed. A small flock of journalists met them as well, and both Lavi and Lenalee made an effort to avoid the questions and flashbulbs. It was, after all, the policy of Black Order field agents to keep a low profile, and Lenalee imagined her brother would not appreciate learning about the accident by seeing her pale, drawn face on the front page of a Maltese newspaper. She was sporting a pretty nice shiner, too, and all that seemed like a the perfect combination to give Komui an aneurism.
Lavi seemed ready to stop and chat when a tall, blonde woman with a pretty smile and a tablet in her hand tried to wave them down, but Lenalee grabbed his sleeve and dragged him toward the Immigration Office. They walked with the rest of the passengers, pilly, grey blankets like mantels and luggage in hand. Lavi divested of his own blanket rather quickly―it was, after all, a balmy August day on the Mediterranean―but Lenalee hung on to hers a bit longer.
The sun hung low and swollen in the enameled-blue sky when they found seats on a bench outside a cafe, each holding a black bean and fish taco wrapped in waxed paper. They had wasted more than two hours after the wreck, waiting for the crew to organize enough to call for a rescue ferry. Then it had taken even longer to get passengers off the gradually capsizing ship―Lavi and Lenalee had, of course, simply leapt from one deck to another, but the other passengers had required all manner of slides and ladders and assistance. And now, so far behind schedule that Lenalee had crumpled up their itinerary and tossed it into her suitcase, they resigned themselves to the comfort of street food while they regrouped.
“We've got to catch a ride to Qrendi on the southern shore. There are two finders waiting to rendezvous with us at St. Matthias Parish Church,” Lenalee paused to wipe savory juice off her chin. “Brother told me one of the finders has been here for a little while now, and he'll set up lodging for us.” She shrugged and added. “No one at HQ can speak Maltese, so we're pretty much at this guy's mercy.”
“So, step one,” Lavi said before he popped the last bite of soft taco into his mouth, “We've got to find a ride to Qrendi.”
Easier said than done, it would seem. There were no trains on an island so small. Hailing a cab was simple enough once Lavi realized that he had to fling himself into the street before the horse, but trying to explain to the driver where they needed to go was almost impossible. When they did find someone with a working grasp of English, the driver pulled a face at the fistful of francs Lavi produced and drove away before the two foreigners could figure out how to explain themselves. The ten miles to their destination were, if it came to it, walkable, but Lenalee was not sure which packed, dusty road to take.
Just as Lenalee was resigning herself to finding them a church floor to sleep on and trying again in the morning―the sun was sinking lower and lower toward hilly western horizon―Lavi trotted up to a group of men loading crates into a covered cart. From the bench where she sat, Lenalee watched her assignment partner attempt communication with a combination of big, elaborate gestures and the few Maltese words he'd picked up over their long, disappointing afternoon.
It must have worked, however, because it wasn't long before Lavi was moving crates along side the swarthy men to whom he had been speaking and flailing.
“They didn't want our money,” Lavi grunted over the edge of a crate in his arms, “So I offered to help them load up in trade for a ride.” How he had communicated something this complex, Lenalee didn't know, but she was grateful nonetheless. She also was quite tickled to see Lavi, who was all wire and height, struggle with the same crates that the stout, broad Maltese men lifted with ease. She earned herself quite a sincere, one-eyed glare when Lavi noticed her tittering behind her hand.
The sky was peach and fire when the cart was fully loaded. In the few open feet of space at the rear of the bed, Lavi, Lenalee, and three men crowded. Another man climbed into the driver's perch at the front, gathered up the reins on two, heavy-looking donkeys, and pointed them south.
As they trundled away from the sea, the three men in the cart bed with them chatted loudly and cheerfully, occasionally gesturing at the two funny-looking kids across from them. The two of them couldn't have looked more like tourists, Lavi thought as he glanced between Lenalee and himself: his partner was pale as fondant compared to these leathery Maltese men; his red hair probably looked like some kind of mutation to the locals; and Lavi didn't think he saw one other person dumb enough to wear anything long-sleeved, black, or wool.
Lavi did his best to converse with the Maltese men, but when one of the men pointed at Lenalee, waggled his dark brows, and said something that sounded like it had a suggestive question mark on the end, Lavi redirected his attention onto his assignment partner. He made a show, Lenalee noticed, of cramming her farther into a corner between the side of the cart and a crate and sprawling himself out as far as he could.
“I can take care of myself, thank you,” Lenalee whispered at him as though their cart-mates might overhear and take offense.
“Yeah, well, that guy looked ready to take care of you, too, so just humor me,” Lavi muttered back. He noticed how dark that black eye was getting when he leaned in close to speak to her, and he quickly looked away.
The road began to slope up. The climb was gradual at first, but as the donkeys plodded on, Lavi and Lenalee had to brace themselves from bumping right out the back of the cart. All the crates were tied down, and the three Maltese men seemed almost unaware of the precarious slant to the cart. They went of talking and laughing in big, careless voices while Lenalee clung to the straps holding in the crates and Lavi clung to Lenalee. When the cart went over a particularly sharp bump, Lavi had the reflexes to slam his heel down on Lenalee's suitcase before it bounced right out of the cart.
At last, the ground leveled out―Lenalee could feel the lightness in her breath compared to the thick, salt-heavy air by the sea―and they rumbled to a stop. They heard the driver call out, “San Mattia?” from the head of the cart, and Lenalee knew this was their stop. Lavi scooted out first, pausing to shake hands and exchange pointless words with the men. He set their luggage on the packed earth of the street and then, thinking of that black eye, helped Lenalee down from the cart.
“Would you quit it?” Lenalee asked, swatting his hands on her waist. “I'm not going to break.”
Lavi didn't respond. He gathered their things, said his goodbyes to the driver, and moved out of the street.
They were now in a rather weather-worn town, the last vestiges of day fading out along the western horizon. The buildings were all about the same height and width, all crammed together, squarish, and whitewashed with unembellished windows and entrances. Lanterns burned in sconces on most of the storefronts, all designated with long, flat signs over the doors. There were no streetlamps, making the light inconsistent. Lenalee and Lavi were alone on the street now that the cart had trundled off around a turn in the road
Across the street from them, however, was the biggest structure as far as they could see down the three roads that intersected where they stood. Tall, iron lampposts flanked the heavy, oak doors of St. Matthias Parish Church, which stood imposing and pale over the squat buildings at her feet. Beyond the atrium, two sharp bell towers and a spined, red cupola rose high into the velvety night sky, and live, flickering lamps burned high in the towers. The light from the lamps illuminated the white face of the church and spilled over the cobblestone courtyard before the entrance, making it look rather like a sort of unwelcoming beacon in the heart of town.
“I told you this wasn't a vacation,” Lenalee said.
There were no signs of the finders who were supposed to meet them, which Lenalee had expected. They were, after all, almost four hours late. “Let's go inside,” Lavi said, rubbing his rear. “I want to put my ass in a chair that isn't capsizing, shaking violently, or otherwise trying to jettison me.”
That seemed as good a plan as any, so Lenalee lead the way toward the church. It took all of her strength and some of Lavi's to get the heavy door open, and together they slipped into the dim, quiet atrium. The walls were a dark, rich red color, old and flaking in the corners, and stylized images of St. Matthias and his cohorts hung on every wall, waited in every alcove, stared down from the low ceiling.
At the rear of the atrium, elaborate wrought iron gates rose out of the tiled floor, with three doorways opening into a short arcade, lamps tucked high in the pale, stone arches. And beyond the arcade, the ceiling climbed to dizzying height and the chapel yawned outward, long and narrow.
Lavi opened his mouth to holler out a “Anybody home?” but Lenalee clapped her hand over his mouth and pressed a finger to her lips when he glared down over her fingers.
“Vespers,” she hissed and jabbed her finger toward the few backs they could see in the pews that stretched out ahead of them. At the head of the nave, the chancel was demarcated by a low, wooden railing. Cream-colored pillar candles illuminated the altar and the backdrop of ornate arches abutting one another, housing austere-looking icons. “Let's find a nun or something. Maybe the finders left us a message,” Lenalee said, her hand still covering Lavi's mouth.
He managed to wrench away, still glaring. “Fine. We'll do it your way,” he whispered. Something about the dark gathered in the corners, the tranquil, bowed faces, the muted shuffle of feet seemed to compel Lenalee to silence, but it had the opposite effect on Lavi. He would much rather fill all that hushed space with something. He fought the urge to whistle, knowing from the weary, strained look on Lenalee's face that he probably get a Dark Boot to the scrotum if he didn't watch himself.
They crept down the nave, casting about for someone who looked like they might work there. Lenalee realized that she was beginning to hunker down as the walked, the effect of the sheers walls, the long, lit alcoves, and the tall, peaceful statues of saints.
As they drew up to the chancel, a short, dark-haired woman in a plain, grey dress approached them. She certainly didn't look like a nun, but she had an air of belonging about her.
“Good evening,” the woman said in a soft voice, her words thick with her exotic-sounding accent.
Lavi was more than a little relieved to find someone they wouldn't need to play charades with.
“Hello,” Lenalee said, bowing her head a little. “My name is Lenalee, and this is Lavi, and we were supposed to meet a couple friends here. Do you know if anyone left a message here for us?”
“I'm sorry, no,” the woman explained slowly, working the words around her mouth. “Two men waited here earlier, but I believe they left an hour or so ago.”
Lenalee's shoulders slumped. “Oh,” she said and looked over her shoulder at Lavi. He shrugged. “In that case, do you know of a good inn?”
The woman put a hand over her mouth and laughed quietly. “I'm sorry, no,” she said, smiling.
“No?” Lenalee blurted, louder than she meant to. She cringed apologetically when her voice seemed to reverberate off the chapel walls.
“No,” the woman went on, “In two days is the Feast of the Ascension of Our Lady in Heaven. You will find no inn with vacancies in Qrendi.”
“The Feast of Who?” Lavi asked over Lenalee's shoulder. She looked back at him with a frown that let him know that she was not in the mood for his off-color humor. He dropped it. “You got a Plan B?” he asked. “I'm okay with a barn somewhere, but I know you don't do that.”
Lenalee sighed. “We just need to find a floor for the night,” she grumbled. “Why didn't those dumb finders wait for us?”
“Please excuse me,” the woman said. Lenalee turned back to her. “We have rooms for travelers here. It is not an inn, but there is a loft you may use.” She looked past Lenalee at Lavi. “Your friend, however... we do not have room for him.”
“What? Why?” Lavi demanded as well as he could with his voice lowered.
The woman put up her hands. She, of course, had not meant any offense. “There is only one open room,” she explained, “The Bishop would not approve.”
Lenalee didn't immediately understand, and only when Lavi looped an arm around her shoulders, tucked her close to his side, and leaned toward the woman did she get it. “Can't share a room with my own wife?” he asked through a big grin.
Lenalee's spine got very straight, and her shoulders went rigid under Lavi's arm. She felt the mingled sensations of her burning face and cold, heavy ire in her stomach.
“Oh, please excuse me,” the woman said, smiling apologetically and putting up her palms once more. “I did not realize. Of course.” She laughed quietly and put a hand to her chest.
Lavi laughed and rubbed the back of his head with free hand. “We're honeymooning!” he announced and gave Lenalee a squeeze and a shake, “Right, hon?”
She stared up at him, none of the sunny, marital bliss from Lavi's face mirrored on her own. “Right,” Lenalee replied through gritted teeth.
Title: Animus Facit Nobilem
Chapter: II. Frustration & Resignation
Author: Camudekyu
Rating: M, for subsequent chapters
Pairing: Lenalee/Lavi
Length: 4 pages
Warnings: No spoilers. And TWT?
Summary: When a series of bizarre events prompts the Black Order to dispatch exorcists, Lenalee and Lavi find that there is more going on in this small village on Malta than anyone could have expected. To make matters worse, the truth is going to hit just a touch too close to home for our Bookman cum Exorcist.
A/N: While the town of Qrendi, Malta, is not made up, St. Matthias Parish Church is. It is based very loosely on this church. This chapter introduces some of Lavi's feelings toward the Church, too. No offense intended, but I imagine someone who's been around as much as Lavi has has quite an opinion of organizations that big and powerful--origins divine or otherwise.
II. Frustration & Resignation Police greeted them on the wharf as soon as they stepped off the second, smaller ferry that had picked them up. The first ferry had run aground and was quickly rolling farther and farther onto its side as the tide ebbed. A small flock of journalists met them as well, and both Lavi and Lenalee made an effort to avoid the questions and flashbulbs. It was, after all, the policy of Black Order field agents to keep a low profile, and Lenalee imagined her brother would not appreciate learning about the accident by seeing her pale, drawn face on the front page of a Maltese newspaper. She was sporting a pretty nice shiner, too, and all that seemed like a the perfect combination to give Komui an aneurism.
Lavi seemed ready to stop and chat when a tall, blonde woman with a pretty smile and a tablet in her hand tried to wave them down, but Lenalee grabbed his sleeve and dragged him toward the Immigration Office. They walked with the rest of the passengers, pilly, grey blankets like mantels and luggage in hand. Lavi divested of his own blanket rather quickly―it was, after all, a balmy August day on the Mediterranean―but Lenalee hung on to hers a bit longer.
The sun hung low and swollen in the enameled-blue sky when they found seats on a bench outside a cafe, each holding a black bean and fish taco wrapped in waxed paper. They had wasted more than two hours after the wreck, waiting for the crew to organize enough to call for a rescue ferry. Then it had taken even longer to get passengers off the gradually capsizing ship―Lavi and Lenalee had, of course, simply leapt from one deck to another, but the other passengers had required all manner of slides and ladders and assistance. And now, so far behind schedule that Lenalee had crumpled up their itinerary and tossed it into her suitcase, they resigned themselves to the comfort of street food while they regrouped.
“We've got to catch a ride to Qrendi on the southern shore. There are two finders waiting to rendezvous with us at St. Matthias Parish Church,” Lenalee paused to wipe savory juice off her chin. “Brother told me one of the finders has been here for a little while now, and he'll set up lodging for us.” She shrugged and added. “No one at HQ can speak Maltese, so we're pretty much at this guy's mercy.”
“So, step one,” Lavi said before he popped the last bite of soft taco into his mouth, “We've got to find a ride to Qrendi.”
Easier said than done, it would seem. There were no trains on an island so small. Hailing a cab was simple enough once Lavi realized that he had to fling himself into the street before the horse, but trying to explain to the driver where they needed to go was almost impossible. When they did find someone with a working grasp of English, the driver pulled a face at the fistful of francs Lavi produced and drove away before the two foreigners could figure out how to explain themselves. The ten miles to their destination were, if it came to it, walkable, but Lenalee was not sure which packed, dusty road to take.
Just as Lenalee was resigning herself to finding them a church floor to sleep on and trying again in the morning―the sun was sinking lower and lower toward hilly western horizon―Lavi trotted up to a group of men loading crates into a covered cart. From the bench where she sat, Lenalee watched her assignment partner attempt communication with a combination of big, elaborate gestures and the few Maltese words he'd picked up over their long, disappointing afternoon.
It must have worked, however, because it wasn't long before Lavi was moving crates along side the swarthy men to whom he had been speaking and flailing.
“They didn't want our money,” Lavi grunted over the edge of a crate in his arms, “So I offered to help them load up in trade for a ride.” How he had communicated something this complex, Lenalee didn't know, but she was grateful nonetheless. She also was quite tickled to see Lavi, who was all wire and height, struggle with the same crates that the stout, broad Maltese men lifted with ease. She earned herself quite a sincere, one-eyed glare when Lavi noticed her tittering behind her hand.
The sky was peach and fire when the cart was fully loaded. In the few open feet of space at the rear of the bed, Lavi, Lenalee, and three men crowded. Another man climbed into the driver's perch at the front, gathered up the reins on two, heavy-looking donkeys, and pointed them south.
As they trundled away from the sea, the three men in the cart bed with them chatted loudly and cheerfully, occasionally gesturing at the two funny-looking kids across from them. The two of them couldn't have looked more like tourists, Lavi thought as he glanced between Lenalee and himself: his partner was pale as fondant compared to these leathery Maltese men; his red hair probably looked like some kind of mutation to the locals; and Lavi didn't think he saw one other person dumb enough to wear anything long-sleeved, black, or wool.
Lavi did his best to converse with the Maltese men, but when one of the men pointed at Lenalee, waggled his dark brows, and said something that sounded like it had a suggestive question mark on the end, Lavi redirected his attention onto his assignment partner. He made a show, Lenalee noticed, of cramming her farther into a corner between the side of the cart and a crate and sprawling himself out as far as he could.
“I can take care of myself, thank you,” Lenalee whispered at him as though their cart-mates might overhear and take offense.
“Yeah, well, that guy looked ready to take care of you, too, so just humor me,” Lavi muttered back. He noticed how dark that black eye was getting when he leaned in close to speak to her, and he quickly looked away.
The road began to slope up. The climb was gradual at first, but as the donkeys plodded on, Lavi and Lenalee had to brace themselves from bumping right out the back of the cart. All the crates were tied down, and the three Maltese men seemed almost unaware of the precarious slant to the cart. They went of talking and laughing in big, careless voices while Lenalee clung to the straps holding in the crates and Lavi clung to Lenalee. When the cart went over a particularly sharp bump, Lavi had the reflexes to slam his heel down on Lenalee's suitcase before it bounced right out of the cart.
At last, the ground leveled out―Lenalee could feel the lightness in her breath compared to the thick, salt-heavy air by the sea―and they rumbled to a stop. They heard the driver call out, “San Mattia?” from the head of the cart, and Lenalee knew this was their stop. Lavi scooted out first, pausing to shake hands and exchange pointless words with the men. He set their luggage on the packed earth of the street and then, thinking of that black eye, helped Lenalee down from the cart.
“Would you quit it?” Lenalee asked, swatting his hands on her waist. “I'm not going to break.”
Lavi didn't respond. He gathered their things, said his goodbyes to the driver, and moved out of the street.
They were now in a rather weather-worn town, the last vestiges of day fading out along the western horizon. The buildings were all about the same height and width, all crammed together, squarish, and whitewashed with unembellished windows and entrances. Lanterns burned in sconces on most of the storefronts, all designated with long, flat signs over the doors. There were no streetlamps, making the light inconsistent. Lenalee and Lavi were alone on the street now that the cart had trundled off around a turn in the road
Across the street from them, however, was the biggest structure as far as they could see down the three roads that intersected where they stood. Tall, iron lampposts flanked the heavy, oak doors of St. Matthias Parish Church, which stood imposing and pale over the squat buildings at her feet. Beyond the atrium, two sharp bell towers and a spined, red cupola rose high into the velvety night sky, and live, flickering lamps burned high in the towers. The light from the lamps illuminated the white face of the church and spilled over the cobblestone courtyard before the entrance, making it look rather like a sort of unwelcoming beacon in the heart of town.
“I told you this wasn't a vacation,” Lenalee said.
There were no signs of the finders who were supposed to meet them, which Lenalee had expected. They were, after all, almost four hours late. “Let's go inside,” Lavi said, rubbing his rear. “I want to put my ass in a chair that isn't capsizing, shaking violently, or otherwise trying to jettison me.”
That seemed as good a plan as any, so Lenalee lead the way toward the church. It took all of her strength and some of Lavi's to get the heavy door open, and together they slipped into the dim, quiet atrium. The walls were a dark, rich red color, old and flaking in the corners, and stylized images of St. Matthias and his cohorts hung on every wall, waited in every alcove, stared down from the low ceiling.
At the rear of the atrium, elaborate wrought iron gates rose out of the tiled floor, with three doorways opening into a short arcade, lamps tucked high in the pale, stone arches. And beyond the arcade, the ceiling climbed to dizzying height and the chapel yawned outward, long and narrow.
Lavi opened his mouth to holler out a “Anybody home?” but Lenalee clapped her hand over his mouth and pressed a finger to her lips when he glared down over her fingers.
“Vespers,” she hissed and jabbed her finger toward the few backs they could see in the pews that stretched out ahead of them. At the head of the nave, the chancel was demarcated by a low, wooden railing. Cream-colored pillar candles illuminated the altar and the backdrop of ornate arches abutting one another, housing austere-looking icons. “Let's find a nun or something. Maybe the finders left us a message,” Lenalee said, her hand still covering Lavi's mouth.
He managed to wrench away, still glaring. “Fine. We'll do it your way,” he whispered. Something about the dark gathered in the corners, the tranquil, bowed faces, the muted shuffle of feet seemed to compel Lenalee to silence, but it had the opposite effect on Lavi. He would much rather fill all that hushed space with something. He fought the urge to whistle, knowing from the weary, strained look on Lenalee's face that he probably get a Dark Boot to the scrotum if he didn't watch himself.
They crept down the nave, casting about for someone who looked like they might work there. Lenalee realized that she was beginning to hunker down as the walked, the effect of the sheers walls, the long, lit alcoves, and the tall, peaceful statues of saints.
As they drew up to the chancel, a short, dark-haired woman in a plain, grey dress approached them. She certainly didn't look like a nun, but she had an air of belonging about her.
“Good evening,” the woman said in a soft voice, her words thick with her exotic-sounding accent.
Lavi was more than a little relieved to find someone they wouldn't need to play charades with.
“Hello,” Lenalee said, bowing her head a little. “My name is Lenalee, and this is Lavi, and we were supposed to meet a couple friends here. Do you know if anyone left a message here for us?”
“I'm sorry, no,” the woman explained slowly, working the words around her mouth. “Two men waited here earlier, but I believe they left an hour or so ago.”
Lenalee's shoulders slumped. “Oh,” she said and looked over her shoulder at Lavi. He shrugged. “In that case, do you know of a good inn?”
The woman put a hand over her mouth and laughed quietly. “I'm sorry, no,” she said, smiling.
“No?” Lenalee blurted, louder than she meant to. She cringed apologetically when her voice seemed to reverberate off the chapel walls.
“No,” the woman went on, “In two days is the Feast of the Ascension of Our Lady in Heaven. You will find no inn with vacancies in Qrendi.”
“The Feast of Who?” Lavi asked over Lenalee's shoulder. She looked back at him with a frown that let him know that she was not in the mood for his off-color humor. He dropped it. “You got a Plan B?” he asked. “I'm okay with a barn somewhere, but I know you don't do that.”
Lenalee sighed. “We just need to find a floor for the night,” she grumbled. “Why didn't those dumb finders wait for us?”
“Please excuse me,” the woman said. Lenalee turned back to her. “We have rooms for travelers here. It is not an inn, but there is a loft you may use.” She looked past Lenalee at Lavi. “Your friend, however... we do not have room for him.”
“What? Why?” Lavi demanded as well as he could with his voice lowered.
The woman put up her hands. She, of course, had not meant any offense. “There is only one open room,” she explained, “The Bishop would not approve.”
Lenalee didn't immediately understand, and only when Lavi looped an arm around her shoulders, tucked her close to his side, and leaned toward the woman did she get it. “Can't share a room with my own wife?” he asked through a big grin.
Lenalee's spine got very straight, and her shoulders went rigid under Lavi's arm. She felt the mingled sensations of her burning face and cold, heavy ire in her stomach.
“Oh, please excuse me,” the woman said, smiling apologetically and putting up her palms once more. “I did not realize. Of course.” She laughed quietly and put a hand to her chest.
Lavi laughed and rubbed the back of his head with free hand. “We're honeymooning!” he announced and gave Lenalee a squeeze and a shake, “Right, hon?”
She stared up at him, none of the sunny, marital bliss from Lavi's face mirrored on her own. “Right,” Lenalee replied through gritted teeth.