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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That sounded fascinating and far over Armand's head, though he nodded as if he understood. "Why is he a bear then?" It seemed a reasonable question.

Truthfully, Bridget had never really thought to question Roger's apperance or name or anything. They had always just been facts about him.

He smiled warmly and held Roger up slightly. "Because he was made to be a friendly companion. And I like how he looks. Some of the robots where I'm from aren't so friendly looking..."

Robo-Ky came to mind... freaky robot guy.

"Were you very young when you acquired Roger?" That made the most sense to Armand. His endless questions were less to satisfy his real curiousity than to ekep the subject safely on Bridget and his unusual companion than on his own history.

Bridget nodded. "Yes," he said. "When my brother went off to boarding school for the first time and I was left at home, my father gave Roger to me so that I could have a friend."

"So you are also a younger brother?" Armand smiled at that, a real smile at finding something in common with this strangely delicate boy. "I was raised by my older sister, Marguerite, when we were orphaned."

Bridget smiled happily. "She must be really kind to have raised such a nice man like you, Mr. Armand."

Bridget's older brother was kind as well, though since he was being groomed to take over the family, Bridget didn't get to see him as often as they both would have liked.

"She was remarkable. Is remarkable." He wasn't going to allow himself to slip into the thinking that she was dead. "She's married now to a rich Englishman. I want nothing more than for her to be happy."

Still, that was getting too close to dangerous ground, so Armand tried to divert the subject again. "Is that all in your family, you and your brother?'." Parents were assumed.

"She must miss you a lot." Bridget offered a warm smile.

"Yup. Just my brother and myself," he said. "We're twins! I'm the younger one though, so he'll inherit our family's wealth and lands."

"I hope she misses me. My wife too." He looked away, blinking again at the strong rush of longing.

"Do you mind? One hears of resentment over such things, silly as it would seem."

"Oh, no. I don't mind." Bridget smiled. "I don't have to worry about supporting myself, even if I didn't work another day in my life." He sat up a bit straighter, looking proud. "But I'm a bounty hunter now, and that's a lot more interesting than learning the family business."

He tilted his head. "I'm sure your wife misses you too Mr. Armand. She must be a great lady."

"My wife, Jeanne, was an actress. She's a treasure of wit and cheer." And far more than he deserved. He hoped she wasn't suffering from his absence.

"A bounty hunter, eh? How did you get into such a dangerous profession so young?"

"An actress?" Bridget looked quite impressed. "I've never met an actress before. She must be beautiful!"

He played with one of Roger's arms. "I wanted to prove to my family that I could take care of myself, and that even though I'm a boy, that I wasn't bad luck like everyone says. So, Roger and I left the estate and decided to become bounty hunters." He smiled. "Roger even upgraded himself to help me."

"I find that kind of decisiveness in a young man very admirable. I fear I'm still not to that level of bravery myself and I'm near enough a decade older than you."

Armand tried very hard not to picture Jeanne's tiny, heart-shaped face. Brown eyes and masses of brown curls, and the scent of narcissi. "She was quite the toast of Paris before I stole her away to England."

"Not many people take me seriously though," he said with a light laugh. "I don't look very intimidating after all."

Bridget tried to picture Armand's wife. "She sounds lovely. Um... May I ask you something, Mr. Armand?"

"I don't see why adults don't take youths seriously. It always frustrated me."

But Bridget's question gave him pause, and he swallowed, considering carefully before answering. "You may. It would be churlish to refuse."

Bridget smiled. "When are you from, Mr. Armand?"

Another swallow. He looked down at the floor. The answer when it came was barely above a whisper. "1794... why do you wish to know?"

Bridget frowned and scooted over, placing Roger in Armand's lap and wrapping his arms around the other man lightly in a hug.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to upset you Mr. Armand."

Armand patted Bridget awkwardly. "It isn't you. I find it very hard to imagine ever getting home again from a place like this." Not to mention the books and what some people seemed to think about that.

"I think that if you can be here," Bridget said, pulling away. "Then you are able to get home." He smiled slightly.

"I'm from a long way away from this time too," he said. "But I know I will get home."

On an impulse, Armand asked, "Has anyone written a book about you?" As soon as he said it, he realized what a bad idea it was to ask, but he hoped to learn something by it. So he didn't try to take the question back.

Bridget thought about it then shook his head. "No, not that I know of. Why do you ask?"

That was the trap of the question. "I had heard some patients have run into this problem, so I wondered." It was only a lie by omission, not pointing out that he was one of the patients so troubled.

"When you say books written about them, do you mean fiction or non-fiction?" He'd read something like this on the bulliton board before.

"I haven't seen anything like that before."

"I'm not sure. Some say it is fiction." He would like to believe otherwise. History or biography perhaps. "I only heard a few things myself."

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