damned_institute | Day 29: Chapel

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Day 29: Chapel

Hiei didn't give a damn about religious services, meditation, or pretending to be social. The always sudden waking after night put him in a bad mood, this one particularly so. Even with Kurikara licking him like some perverted moron, the warmth the dragon provided was welcome in Hiei's bed, and missing when he woke, giving the surrounding air a greater sense of chill.

But the perfect thing to relieve his anger might just be making an appearance that morning, and that at least gave Hiei hope for a decent day.

Hopefully Kurikara and Kurama both would be clever enough to figure it out for themselves. Without hesitation, Hiei demanded to be led to the temple, taking a seat in one of the rear pews. Humans had a way of overdoing things, and this place wasn't really much exception to that. Granted Hiei's limited knowledge prevented him from realizing there were much more outrageous churches, but to the demon, the colored pieces of glass and polished wood seemed to be much.

It didn't matter, however. Either could be turned into weapons, perfect objects to slice into that damned head doctor's throat or bash in his skull. That was a thought worth grinning about.

[Feel free to pester. Just, uh, be aware that he's not exactly nice.]

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Bridget heard the man shift beside him, but it wasn't until he heard the choked sob that he opened his eyes and turned to him. Placing a light hand on the larger man's shoulder, he frowned worriedly.

"Sir? What is it?" He wanted to help. He always did. Roger would have scolded him, but right now...

The touch startled him. He blinked at the small girl. "Pardon... I didn't mean to disturb you." He wasn't quite crying yet, and he wasn't about to fall apart on a child if he could help it. "Don't mind me, mademoiselle. I'm... homesick." The lie was plausible enough.

It was certainly easier to explain than the despair that was tightening around him. Last night was more horrific than any that had gone before. After his complete inability to help Anthy--even letting that masked child hurt her--he had no right to call himself a man.

Armand had the hardest time putting the feelings aside. Now that they was free, they didn't seem to fit back into the tight corner where he'd kept them locked away from his conscious mind.

Bridget offered a warm smile. "Come on Mister," he said, reaching down to pick up Roger and holding out his other hand for the man to take. "Let's go sit down so we're not in anybody's way."

For nearly five heartbeats, Armand stared at the hand. Then he took it, using the slight counterbalance to rise to his feet. "Yes, I do not want to keep anyone else for praying." Other people probably had a much better relationship with God than he'd ever had.

It had been popular at the beginning of the revolution to denounce religion as superstition. He and Marguerite had joined in the fashionable practice. It seemed to cause no harm, though he suspected his departure from faith had gone much deeper than hers had. And having strayed, what right did he have to expect mercy from God? Not here. Not anywhere.

There were benches nearby, and he moved to take one off to the side, so their voices would not disturb others. Having to move, having to think kept his tears at bay, for the moment. He suspected he only had a moment longer of respite and resolved to use it.

"You needn't worry about me," he said, trying again to warn the child away.

Bridget went with the man and sat down beside him despite his words, settling Roger on his lap.

"When you're sad," he said, looking at the bear and fiddling with an ear. "having someone around can help. Even if it's a stanger, at least you're not alone and you know that someone wants to listen to you and help."

He looked up and smiled warmly again. "Even if you don't want to talk, I'm going to sit right here with you. As company."

"That's very kind of you." As long as he wasn't alone, he couldn't cry. He wouldn't let himself, no matter how much his eyes burned and his heart squeezed tighter and tighter with his fear and worry.

He couldn't smile, even though it was polite. "I'm Armand. Who's your friend there?" He nodded to the bear.

Bridget smiled and held up Roger. "This is Roger. He's been my best friend for as long as I can remember. Well, besides my brother." He laughed softly. "And I'm Bridget. It's very nice to meet you Mr. Armand."

He thought for a moment, then held the bear out. "Would you like to hold Roger? He's very soft and he makes me feel better sometimes."

Armand shook his head. "I won't take your Roger from you, Mlle. Bridget. You truly are a generous little girl."

Her generosity shamed him. Beyond all words, it shamed him.

Bridget smiled and shook his head. "I'm not a little girl," he said, placing Roger back in his lap. "I'm fifteen years old..." He looked down at Roger for a moment. "And I'm a boy."

Sometimes, people weren't as friendly after he'd told them that.

Armand blinked, shocked. "I didn't realize that... monsieur. Please forgive my presumption."

At least he now had something else to worry about. "I don't want to trouble you... or anyone, really." He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

Bridget smiled warmly and shook his head, looking back up at Armand. "That's alright. I get that alot really." He watched Armand for a moment, then sighed.

"You aren't troubling me at all," he said. "After all, I'm the one sitting here, bothering you." He smiled again. "You shouldn't be so worried about bothering people though. You're a nice man and I'll bet you have a lot of friends and people who like you and care about you."

"I don't. Have a lot of friends. I mean." He shook his head again. "I haven't been here long, but even back home--" Thinking about that brought his shames and guilts to the surface. "Even there, not so many people cared to call me friend." He'd been tolerated by Percy's friends, especially during the most recent months. The horror welled up again, bringing burning tears to his eyes. "I'm not the sort of person a good boy like you should be around."

Bridget shook his head. "You're a lot better than some of my friends back home Mr. Armand, and I only have one, maybe two friends here." And he meant that in a strange way. Armand didn't seem like a pirate, a human war-machine, or even a Gear and they were all his friends at home.

He was quiet for a moment then nodded to himself. "Since I think of you as my friend now, you can think of both Roger and myself as your friends." He smiled happily. "And even if you don't, you're still ours."

He wiped his shameful tears onto the back of his hand. "Again, that is very kind, but... I'm sure you'd rather have a more honorable friend than I can be." He didn't mean to explain it to the boy. He didn't want to have to lie to someone so young. He wasn't very good at lies.

"I would be proud to be your friend, but it is something I do not deserve."

"Nonsense," Bridget said. "Eveyone deserves friends." He scooted slightly closer to Armand and gave him a breif, one-armed hug. "You are exactly the kind of person I like as a friend Mr. Armand and I would love to be called your friend." He glanced down at Roger. "We both would."

More tears, the flow increasing with a spasm of inward pain. "You don't know, and... I cannot tell you. I cannot bear to speak of it."

But was he so bad compared to others here? He'd been obsessed with worry that others would despise his weakness, and yet people did seem to trust him. Citan. Anthy. They didn't know, but did it matter? Of course, it does. Armand had to conceal his shameful past from as many as possible.

But why couldn't he start fresh? He was in a Chapel. He'd prayed, and this boy had come.

"Then I accept the honor, and hope I can live up to your trust. Is there aught I can do for you?"

Something inside him unfurled, reaching hopeful tendrils toward the light.

"Nope," Bridget said, shaking his head. "You can just be yourself, and if you need anything, I'm here and happy to help. That's how friendship works, right?" He smiled happily. "I'm so glad I met you today Mr. Armand."

Despite everything, Armand couldn't help smiling. "I'm glad I met you, too, Monsieur Bridget, and Roger." He reached out to pat the bear on the head.

Bridget beamed and waved Roger's paw at Armand. "He is honored to meet you as well. Or," he frowned slightly and looked down at the bear. "I know he will be when he's operational again. This place shut him down and I can't get him working again."

Now that was just odd enough to draw Armand out of his misery. Surely Roger was only a stuffed toy. "Working? What does he do normally?"

Looking up with a bright smile, Bridget held up Roger's arms. "He's my partner," he said cheerfully. "I'm a bounty hunter and he helps me out, keeping track of my bounty lists, helping me catch them, things like that." He looked down at Roger, slightly sad.

"He's been my friend since I was little, and this is the first time he hasn't even talked to me."

His eyebrows went up in surprise. But he didn't disbelief him, because life was that odd here, and even more odd elsewhere if he were to believe the bulletin board. "I didn't know that bears talked. How odd that he's quiet here, when you might need him the most."

"Most don't," he explained. "Roger's the only one I've ever met that did. But he's one of the best AI robots out there now." Bridget squeezed the bear to his chest tightly. "I think this place shut him down though, that's why he's not working."

He smiled at Armand. "But I have friends like you here now, so I'm not lonely or sad anymore."

"I am glad to help in that sense."

Bridget had said 'robot.' That was a word that Armand didn't quite understand although he thought perhaps he'd heard or read it here.

"Pardon, Bridget, but what is a robot?"

Bridget brightened, happy to talk about one of his favorite subjects. "A robot is an artificial being. It's usually got a human-ish shape to it, but not always, and when it moves, it seems to have a mind of it's own. A regular robot doesn't really think for itself, but Roger has AI, or artificial intelligence. He can think and learn just like a person can."

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