Sven was baking a cake. It always kind of disturbed Train, seeing a grown man run around in aprons. Guys just don't do that. It was weird. He certainly didn't mind the cake, though. Maybe aprons improved cooking skill or something.
Eve sat on the counter, staring down at the oven. Her deadpan look was intended to will the oven into making the confection faster, as it had willed many opponents into submission before. Alas, though, the cake was invulnerable to Eve's deathglare, it cooked at normal speed.
This was always the hardest part to endure in any sort of cooking expedition: the time in-between "well it's not done yet, let's sample it" batter phase, and the "Holy yay it's done, let's chow down!" cake phase. Eve was on edge. Train was on edge. Sven was reclining on the couch, watching a soap opera.
The man had just lifted the remote when the doorbell rang. Eve and Train jumped up, "Is it done yet?" yelled Train, preemptively.
"No," Simple, toneless. It was that sort of thing parents say to overexcited kids, in that same sort of voice. He rose from the couch. Striding over to the door, Sven checked the peephole. He could see some sort of black cloth. Perplexed, and against his better judgement, Sven opened the door.
Standing before the green-haired man was a mess. A complete, total, literal mess of a man. Matted blond hair hung down from under a black top hat, a pair of silver-rimmed sunglasses cracked in several places. Dark red splotches discolored the strands here and there, dried blood. The small portion of his face that was visible was bruised. The remains of a long black coat hung around the man's thin body, rent with tears and rips.
It was unmistakably Charden Flamberge, but as Sven had never seen the man before. Beaten. Feeble. Charden leaned heavily on the doorframe, pushing himself up with one arm, the other hanging at his side, limply. Thin fingers clad in white silk splayed over the painted wood, gripping tightly at the frame. The Blood Taoist's face a mask of pain, he said slowly and deliberately,"I ...fought Chronos. Lost. Don't want to ...die. Don't tell... Kyoko. Apolo...gies if I'm... imposing," his words punctuated by coughs. Sven could see tiny pinpricks of blood on the back of Charden's glove, after he coughed into it each time.
The man squeezed tightly onto the frame again, then relinquished his grip and his hold on consciousness. He pitched forward as he fell.
Easily, Sven caught the man, easing him to the ground. He felt too light, like he wasn't all there. Not healthy.
He called to Train, his voice grave and commanding. The household moved as a unit, Eve picked up the phone while the two men hefted Charden over to the couch Sven had so recently vacated.
Eve's quiet words broke the deathly silence that had descended over the room, calm, quiet, almost afraid."Hello? Yes, it's Eve. Um, we... We need help. Here. No, no hospital. Absolutely not. Okay. Thank you."
And then, all three waited, Sven and Train looming over the other male, Eve watching quietly from the phone.
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AN: So I'm changing the format a tad. I wasn't struck by any lyrics, so there are none. It gives the page a better flow, no? Right into the story, I guess. 33
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