05-14-2007, 07:52 PM
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Your pants. Take them off.
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Finding a Life, Unintentionally. (Duke of Clubs)
“This is fairly simple,” Deceit said, waving a lock of his orange hair out of his face. “I’m not sure why Master took the job though. You know how he feels about helping people for cash only. I’m not complaining though. It’s about damn time he stopped being so selfish.”
“Mm-hmm,” Lament replied, wiping her scalpel off on a red rag. She dropped the rag on her latest “pet’s” face, which resembled a smashed cherry pie by now, and followed her fellow homunculus up the basement stairs.
The two passed Mockery on their way to Master’s study. She was writing another one of her stories about people that she didn’t really know. Probably another Gorin-Sin yaoi, or some kind of romance story in which she inserted herself into a relationship with either of the dark gods. To put it bluntly, she was their biggest, and probably only fan.
Deceit walked on the far side of the hallway. It was no secret that Mockery frightened him, despite the fact that he was several hundred years her senior. Lament couldn’t help but admit that she was a little frightened of the psychotic little girl as well, though not enough to avoid her like the plague. (Which Deceit always managed to do.)
She ruffled her big sister’s hair whilst walking past. It was something that, despite the fact that Mockery loved it, Deceit was afraid to do. He had nightmares of attempting to do so, and having his sister’s head split open and consume his hand.
The two continued on their way, leaving the pink-haired homunculus behind. Their next stop would be the large oak doors at the end of the hallway. Pushing past them, as they’d done so many times before, they entered Master’s study.
Inside was a familiar sight. Master was sitting at his desk in the middle of the room, his silver hair covering his eyes, and drumming his fingers on his desk. Despair was at his usual place by Master’s side, two slips of paper clasped in his sausage sized fingers.
“Ah,” Master said, nodding to Despair. “I found you a job, it seems. It’s a classic case of, ‘Evil king who needs to be killed in order for a good king to succeed the throne’, etc. However, it appears that there are homunculi involved. Homunculi that I have nothing to do with.”
Despair strode around Master’s desk and handed the papers to Lament. Both were pictures, apparently. One was that of a greasy bald man with a crown wedged on his potato of a head. The other was of a man that seemed somehow familiar to the homunculus, even though she’d never met him in her life.
“The bald man is the guy who’s got the homunculi security,” Master said, “and the other guy is a regicide that your employer already hired for the job. Your employer wanted the best of both worlds: Somebody who knew how to kill kings, and somebody who knew how to kill homunculi.”
“Okay,” Lament replied, stuffing the pictures into her robe. “Where am I supposed to go?”
“The regicide should be waiting for you in the Archfound bar, in Tybalt. Your employer is there as well.”
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