1

Boxer woke up feeling half-hot, half-freezing-cold. Smacking his slightly chapped lips he realized his mouth was particularly dry and foul-tasting, and—upon checking his breath on his palm—foul-smelling.
"Ah, piss!" he exclaimed in repulsion, rousing his bed-mate while he was at it.
Wait, "bed-mate"? His mind briefly swam in a murky haze as he glowered at the waking, beast of a woman beside him. His gaze hadn't lingered on her for long, and maybe that was for the better as she took her time in rousing. Boxer knew his expression was an ugly one then, so he cast his sight elsewhere as the fog in his head took its time clearing. The events of last night's endeavors came slowly back to him in recollection, and he groaned and murmured. Wallowing in self-pity, he laid eyes upon her again in his peripheral vision.
The bitch was a bleached-blonde, with a vaginal passage as vast and dry as the Sahara; the experience left Boxer with little to no satisfaction and he remembered having to jerk the nut on his own in the end. He could have sworn that he heard his younger brother's complaints in his ear, too, promoting further deflation.
Oh yeah, Boxer thought, that was last night, too... .
You see, reader, Boxer was contented to do it wherever, whenever, however (Socks—that is, the aforementioned younger brother—suspected his brother may have been an exhibitionist). While he was content to flaunt his latest sexual acquisition in public domain, he wasn't exactly... permitted to do so. With that being said, it came as no surprise that he had been ushered out of the living room, then out of the kitchen, then out of the bathroom—upon bringing the "bitch" in question home that night—until he realized his bedroom was right next to him at one point, so he happily hurried the Blondie in to get it on. What a disappointment she turned out to be! and after all that trouble in getting to that point...
It wouldn't have even been so bad if it wasn't for Socks's prissy, pompous, pretentious, know-it-all, loudmouthed ASS!... .
Boxer soon resigned to drag his own sorry, buck-naked ass out of bed, and toward the bathroom. He slammed the door in total disregard to his nightly companion, just as she had gotten to sit up and inquire about his well-being.

Boxer stepped straight into the shower, and gritted his teeth at the sudden sting of ice-cold water; sighing in satisfaction as it became gradually warmer. He leaned his shoulder against the tiled wall and he relieved himself. Briefly, he wondered what time it was, but figured he didn't much care to know either way.
Once he had finished his shower and brushed his teeth to get the rank out of his mouth, he pulled on a pair of shorts and figured he'd go for a jog. A little exercise should do him some good, right?
"Good morning, darling."
Oh shit.
"Yeah, hey, babe," Boxer forced a smile to greet the blonde he'd brought home to lay. Honestly? He could have sworn (again) she had been good-looking yesterday. Situated comfortably in his bed as she was, he noticed where her makeup was smeared and cracked. Her truer colors came clear in the coming light, and yes, there was dried cum sheen left over on her lip. She looked well enough to have been cast for backup in Michael Jackson's Thriller, at least, that's what Boxer thought to himself.
"Listen, I'm going to get some breakfast then go out for a run," he cracked his neck to relieve some pressure. "You can stay or you can go, but I don't know when I'll be back."
Boxer wondered if she'd take the hint? He tried appearing disinterested: Avoiding eye-contact, making it all the more apparent that his thoughts were elsewhere. In his peripherals he could make out a smile playing on her thin—once plump and kissable—cum-smeared lips. Looks like he would have to kick her out in the end. And honestly! She just happened to be dressed as a hooker, on the side of the street and smiling oh so coyly at every man that passed her by, back then. She was only begging for some stranger to pick her up to take her home to bone her in her blatant fuck-me-boots. And, normally, Boxer wouldn't have had the gall to pay for sex, but she looked that damned good at the time that he didn't mind dropping a few coins. If it had cost him at all (which it didn't). Maybe it was just because he had been that horny at the time, besides it was only supposed to have been a one-night stand... Maybe he shouldn't have said that she could stay if she wanted to. In the back of her mind she must have been thinking that one night was enough to win his heart with. Clearly there was some ulterior motive behind that kind of wishful thinking.
Not in this life, bitch, Boxer thought, try again next time.

Obviously, there wouldn't be a "next time".

Boxer descended the stairs leading to the front room a little later, wearing his green-and-yellow jogging suit.
"All right, brother?" His dull and gloomy baby brother greeted him, as he reached the foot of the stairs, through a milkshake that had been kept in the fridge overnight.
The cherry had already been eaten... .
"Yeah," Boxer spoke through a yawn, idly stretching his arms overhead.
"That's good," Socks started, and got up from the couch before discarding the 'shake altogether.
He approached Boxer in a way that made the latter tense.
"Do you see this, brother?" Socks said, peering up at his brother with an eerie sort of malice.
Really, there was only a 3cm difference between them, in regards to height.
"S, see what? Hey, back up off me, man, I ain't do shit!" Boxer said immediately, retreating back a couple paces.
"The guilty are always likely to say so right off the bat," Socks nodded with some sort of self-affirmation, before he grabbed Boxer by the front and pulled him nearer. "Look at my eyes, Boxer... Do you see the bags underneath?"
Boxer blinked confusedly as he stared his brother in the face.
"...Weren't they always there?"
That had been the wrong thing to say, obviously, for he instantly came under unexpected assault.
"SHIT!" Boxer held his face as it pulsed with a new, throbbing pain. Socks had punched him with enough force to knock him back, half-way onto the stair.
"What's your problem!?" Boxer scowled, yet seemed weaker than his body type suggested, due to his current, lowly position. Part of him could sense as much, which caused his frown to run ever deeper, adding a considerable menace to his otherwise glamorous visage.
While on the subject of countenance, Socks Anarchy, very much unlike his brother, embraced a Gothic subculture and its look. As of today, he wore clothes that attributed a more childlike quality to himself, the colors of which happened to be black, white, and blue, accentuated by cutesy heart accessories. Incidentally, Socks, in the right form of dress, could present a far more mature, masculine image: A man instead of a boy, a handsome gentleman, the total opposite of his older brother, Boxer. Socks took much pride in being such, and anything to contradict this notion was unforgivable.
That included his own brother.
"That hooker bitch's screaming kept me from getting a good night's sleep," Socks began, looking down his nose at his brother haughtily. "I am holding you accountable, seeing as how you're the one who brought her in here with you in the first place."
Socks tossed his head, getting wayward strands of his hair out of his eye. For it was getting to be long, as it reached down the length of his neck.
"Well, sorry for getting in the way of your beauty rest, that's really too bad," Boxer got up and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, sucking his teeth in mild annoyance. "I still say that if you let us fuck in the front room in peace you wouldn't have had to have heard her call my name."
"You never said that to begin with (Boxer's face became a shade pinker). You will not have your affairs where I can see them, and I'd prefer if you'd have them where I can't hear them either."
"You're just mad 'cause you can't get any. I feel ya, bro. It's no big deal," Boxer shrugged it off, chuckling in what he considered to be understanding. "Whaddaya say I get you a night with a cute little number, and we put this thing behind us? It'll make you happy, trust me."
"I want nothing to do with you or your herpes-spreading associates." Socks grimaced.
"Stop being such a damn prude! You'd be nicer for it."
"I am not prudish, I simply have higher standards. I can get the women you deal with easily, because they are easy," Socks scoffed and waved his hand derisively. "They'd be lucky if I even gave them so much as a second glance."
"Tch, you self-righteous—!"
"You cunting man-whore."
"You sugary-splooging—!"
"Speak for your own bad eating habits, Señor Flaming-Ass-Crack (this particular insult is hearkening back to an event, what was promptly dubbed by Socks as the "Mexican Meconium" incident)."
"Knock a few letters off, and you'd have BM, yourself."
"Piss off—shit, all you could do is piddle away, with that minuscule baby-prick of yours," Socks's lips twisted into a cruel smirk. "All that screaming had been forced and exaggerated."
"Like you would know! You'd prefer to be on the receiving end anyway," following the barks, Boxer's expression softened and almost seemed rueful. "Listen, I'm about to head out. Could you get rid of that blonde-bitch for me?"
"What? Why would I clean up after the mess YOU'VE made?"
"Just, please? I think she seriously wants to stick around. That can't be good for either of us, can it?"
Socks paused, crossing his arms, looking as if he were considering it.
"And why can't you show her the door yourself? It's right there." Socks said and gestured behind him with his thumb.
"Yeah, but that makes me look like the bad guy."
"Worrying about your reputation when you can be found at the sleaziest of clubs and bars? They know you by name," Socks blew a raspberry sort of laugh. "Face it, dickwad, whatever cleaner reputation you may have had, you've since tarnished it."
"Shut up! Just do this one favor for me, will you, bro?" Boxer placed a hand on his kid brother's shoulder as he made for the exit proper.
"...I would have been more inclined to do so had this really been the first and only favor you've asked of me..."
"Yeah, I owe ya one, bro!" Boxer called back before slamming the door behind him.

Here on Earth, us mere mortals were graced with the presence of Heaven's righteous angels.
Yes, right here in Daten city, in which resides our titular angelic brothers, Boxer and Socks Anarchy, at what lies on the fault line betwixt Heaven and Hell. The angel brothers were here, upon Heaven's orders, to do away with the Ghosts that plagued the otherwise defenseless city and its citizens. It really should not have been such a difficult task for the angels, because apparently, with each passing year, the Ghosts themselves gradually become that much weaker (though no less arrogant). Unfortunately, the angels themselves are quite juvenile. They had not had hands-on experience since arriving here on Earth, and what's worse, they're constantly bickering and are at odds with each other (as you've only just witnessed before). They have to be watched over by the priestess, who runs Daten's church atop Celetubby Hill—she provides them with room and board, and the guidance to see them through...
Even so, the brothers indulge themselves on material, earthly pleasures like sinners—that being the very reason why they were cast out of Heaven in the first place. They were, in a sense, seeking redemption. Nevertheless, they are still in possession of their Holiness, in garment and spirit alike. They've the potential to be a formidable angelic duo, but for right now, the only foes in which the brothers had to combat with were fitness, and a woman's scorn...
"Forgive him. It's how he was born," Socks spoke evenly to the weeping blonde woman Boxer thrust upon himself. "You'll find better."
Not in this life, but yeah, you hang onto hope, sweetie. Was what Socks was thinking to himself.
"Do—do you really think so?" she asked him, sniffling and gazing up at him through tear-stained eyes.
Socks could see the gears turning in her head. She was plotting in the most predictable way already.
"Not here. But elsewhere." Socks told her sternly, narrowing his eyes at her.
She gasped and looked downcast.
"R, right. I understand." With that, she gathered her things and finally left the church.
"He'd better thank me for this," Socks said aloud to himself once she had gone.
Socks had gone upstairs to his room after that, and once inside, he approached his dresser and leaned in close to examine himself in the mirror. He saw how his hair fell with him, bangs hanging well past his chin. He pursed his lips in contemplation... .

Just outside, a curious and ugly green dog named Chuck was relieving himself in the flowerbeds.
This dog just so happened to belong to the angels of the church. Often he was abused in some way or another... And, suddenly, Chuck jumped and was instantaneously struck by vicious lightning, as if on cue (yet, not a cloud had been in the sky prior)... As the poor dog lay sizzling and writhing, he began heaving and retched: Out of his mouth came a stained and tattered piece of parchment with a message written in bright bold letters.

...

"Yo, I'm back!" Boxer said upon reentering the church, well after noon.
He didn't even bother to wipe his feet... .
"Do you see this?" Socks was once again there to greet him, and he immediately shoved a slip of paper into Boxer's face.
"What is it?" He blinked, then some repugnant aroma wafted up and grazed his nostrils. "Ugh! And why does it smell like ass?"
Before he could get over himself and read what the message said, the door beside him forced itself open, and a substantial Black woman in billowing white robes entered the front room.
"Oh, hi, Suspender." Boxer said, seeming none-too-pleased by her presence.
Suspender intruded upon them without any regard, snatching the piece of paper from Socks's hand like it wasn't shit. She was a mountainous and powerful Black woman (that didn't need no man), the kind you wouldn't want to mess with, and so Socks held his tongue, knowing better.
"Ya'll know what this means?" Suspender asked them in her titillating soprano voice.
"No. What?" Boxer asked, raising his chin.
"It means ya'll better get yo' fuckin' asses in gear before they get beat!" Suspender momentarily went redder in the face as she shouted, immediately getting hot with Boxer, as if the angelic blond should have already known! "I can't stand these vague-ass texts, but that's all ya'll have to go on try'na find that ghost."
"Yes, they are rather bothersome." Socks commented airily.
"What's it even say?" Boxer hadn't had the chance to read it, since it's been shoved and snatched and waved around before he could.
"Can't you read print?! The motherfucker says 'Milk'!"
"Why the hell does it say 'milk'? Are we goin' after a fat cow? Want us to bring you back a gallon?"
Suspender was on the verge of slapping the taste out of Boxer's mouth, but then she stopped. Her tone, which had gone from pleasant female soprano to stereotypical, imposing Black Momma, settled to a more calmer note as she spoke again this time.
"...That doesn't sound like a bad idea, come to think of it."
"What the fuck?" Boxer stood there blinking like a deer caught in headlights.
"While you're out, why don't you pick up some groceries for me? I have the list already made," she handed Boxer a different sheet of paper, listing the groceries she'd need.
Milk included.
"But I just got back home! I went and covered two blocks and ran down and up this goddamned hill!"
"Considering you're an angel, that is mere child's play," chimed Socks. "Nothing to fuss over. I don't think even a human would complain. No wonder you're worried for your figure, poor woman."
"This is coming from the shit-stain that wears makeup and keeps his hair in a ponytail!" Boxer didn't want to acknowledge the change at first.
"...Fuckhead has a point..." Suspender rubbed her chin, looking at Socks as if for the first time.
"Don't you go siding with the small-dicked delinquent!" Socks shouted, losing his composure for a brief second (and subconsciously fingering strands of his hair).
"'Don't matter. What matters is you two gettin' ya'll little asses in Mink and findin' and eradicatin' that Ghost before I get ugly!"
Suspender cuffed at the two angel brothers as they made a break to get out of dodge.

"Mink" referred to the angels' Jeep Wrangler. It was shoddy but cared for, and Boxer was certainly attached to it. Boxer took the wheel drove him and his brother out recklessly, down the slope, and onto the main road.
Socks sat quietly in the passenger seat, mulling over a map of Daten city, with a mug of sweetened coffee in his hand and a bag of chocolates at his side. He seemed completely unperturbed, confident in himself that he could finish his coffee safely while Boxer set himself on abusing Mink's gas pedal.
After a few minutes, Boxer turned to his brother with a smirk.
"You think we can find 'im at a Dairy Queen?" Boxer asked, jokingly.
"Yes," said Socks, without looking up from the map.
"You just want to go for your own fucking benefit!" Boxer chewed on the inside of his cheek.
"Yes," Socks sipped pointedly from his mug and allowed himself a smirk of his own.
"Be satisfied with the shit you have in your hands right now!"

...

"Ah, fuck! This city is huge." He scratched in his hair, with one hand on the wheel.
Up until now, Boxer hadn't had the will to stray too far from the church whenever he went out.
He and his brother were still new to this city after all, though now that they were sent to eliminate the first of many ghosts, they would have had to venture further out. The map kept them from getting lost, but with no sure direction, it might as well have been useless.
"It can't hurt to check a Dairy Queen," Socks said after a long stretch of awkward silence. "'Milk' is all we have to go on. It could be at any number of places selling milk or milk-based products."
"... The supermarket?" Boxer grinned.
Socks held up the grocery list that Suspender handed to them earlier.
"I'll drop you off." Boxer said.
"What about you? What the hell are you going to do?"
"If we split up, we can cover more ground."
"Logic is a foreign language to you, brother. What. Are you going. To do?" Socks narrowed his eyes at him.
"Yoo act wike I'm gonna do sumpthin'," Boxer puckered his lips and spoke in an annoying baby voice.
"When aren't yoo doin' 'sumpthin''?" Socks mimicked him, then rolled his eyes.
Boxer laughed.
"You aren't scared to actually run into the ghost on your own now, are you?"
"I'm not falling for that, Boxer." Socks idly pinched at strands of his two-toned hair.
"What's with that anyway?" Boxer asked, watching him out of the corner of his eye.
"What's with what?"
They were arriving in the lot of the supermarket now.
"Your hair, man. You should get it cut." Boxer scanned the lot for a place to park.
"Hm? Are you coming with me?" Socks asked once he figured out that that's what Boxer was doing.
"You got a problem with it?" Boxer blinked a few times, then turned an angry look at Socks. "Don't go changing the subject!"
"What are you worried about how I present myself for, anyway?" Socks was eyeing Boxer suspiciously.
"You make it sound like this is the first time," Boxer sighed. "You get that we look nothing alike, right?"
"... That's bothered you?" Socks tried to keep himself from sounding surprised.
"Hell no! Why would you think it bothered me?" Boxer answered, a bit too quickly.
Socks decided not to press the issue further, and got out once Boxer parked the jeep.

"See anything that looks like a ghost?" Boxer asked while walking down the aisles with his brother pushing the shopping cart.
"Unfortunately no, I do not," Socks looked this way and then that. "Frankly, I don't think a ghost would go publicly announcing himself anyway."
"So how are we supposed to find them? I didn't come out here just to run that nagging priestess's errands, you know!"
"I know. But isn't it the courteous thing to do?" Socks batted naturally long eyelashes at his brother, pressing a hand to his heart in mock chivalry. Though a little weirded out, Boxer couldn't help but laugh, and Socks laughed along with him.
At the checkout, Boxer found himself noticing a strange coloration in the milk when it came to view on the conveyor. Grabbing it out of storage, it didn't much occur to him to check it before. It wasn't even soft brown like chocolate milk, and it wasn't supposed to be either.
"What's wrong, brother?" Socks said, noting Boxer's sudden puzzlement.
"Uhh..." Boxer shook his head. Maybe it was just his imagination.
All things considered, he did get off to a rough start this morning.
"Nothing. It's nothing."
With the shopping done, Boxer drove out onto the main road again, catching traffic at its worse: Lunch hour, and everyone was heading to the nearest fast food restaurant for a quick, easy, fattening meal. Boxer freed a hand and made to rub at his belly, feeling hunger pangs. He'd skipped out on breakfast. A nauseatingly sweet aroma tickled his senses, as though prompted, and he glanced down to see a pretty bag of chocolates in front of him.
"Ew, no!" Boxer made to shove Socks's hand away.
"Well I tried to be nice, dick cheese." Socks blew air out of his mouth, exasperated.
"Keep your balls of sugar-shit to yourself!"
Boxer swerved into a line of waiting cars at a drive-thru, unable to take it any longer.
"We're not that much farther from home, Boxer. I could make you something nutritious."
"Don't talk to me about nutrition when all you eat is putrid sweet candy junk all the damn time."
"... Touche." Socks kept to himself as Boxer went to get his greasy fix.

...

"You think Suspender'll be satisfied with just this?" Boxer said, shoving a few french fries into his mouth.
"No, I'm sure she won't be. But who the hell cares anyway?" Socks lifted his chin thoughtfully. "If the ghost is a threat, we should be hearing about him soon enough. We'll tell her that."
"Right..."
Boxer wasn't looking forward to returning home again to Suspender yelling about his incompetence. He scrunched up his nose in disgust of the thought itself. Turning at the intersection, and beginning to climb the slope, Boxer deliberately slowed Mink's speed and began laughing mirthlessly.
"Are you finally slipping into insanity, brother?" Socks asked without an ounce of concern.
"Shut up!"
Socks chuckled at his brother's expense, but it would be some of his too, as soon as they walked through that door...

"The church bells ain't rung, what're ya'll doin' back here?" Suspender said, standing upon the dais in the church hall, arms crossed. She seemed to stand several feet taller and at that seemed several times more imposing.
"We ain't know where to look, you can't blame us, shit." Boxer replied, slouching in a pew, whereas his brother sat beside him, gorging himself on an elaborate sundae.
"By the way..." Boxer sat up a little straighter, his eyes narrowed and focused on the visitor standing next to Suspender on the dais.
"I see you finally noticed our guest," Suspender said, her expression softening by a fraction.
"Yeah... I tell ya, it was kind of hard though," Boxer gestured to their guest, a stout woman in a gray suit. "She's so damn small."
"Mind your manners, boy! This poor little woman's actually here requesting our assistance."
"'Assistance'? You think we'd help some old—"
"Manners, Boxer," Socks began sternly. He then turned to the elderly woman before him. "How can we be of assistance to you, ma'am?"
Inwardly, Socks figured the women feeble, and she seemed to be constantly fidgeting. It annoyed the hell out of the angel boy, and he wanted nothing more than to hurry and be done with her, so that he didn't have to gaze upon her pathetic visage any longer.
"Y, yes, well... You see..." she spoke in a mousy squeak, which grated on the ears.
"Recently, as you may have already known, Daten's new high school was open to the public. I am their principal," she paused, seeming to have been expecting a response to this.
She must have known how tiny and insignificant she appeared to be. She might have even gotten flak from the students and staff members alike. Which was generally unheard of, concerning any other self-respecting principal. But this woman appeared to be a total pushover, and that was Chuck humping her leg right now... .
"Go on." Socks prompted her.
"R, right," she produced a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at the sweat forming on her brow.
She began again, while trying desperately to ignore the dog's futile attempts at copulation.
"Things have been running smoothly until just recently: students have been acting wily, getting into mischief... At first it hadn't been so bad, they were harmless pranks played upon themselves that didn't cause anyone no real harm..." she paused again to take a breath. "Then it started getting out of hand. We're doing our best to keep things in order, but... but, but, but, but," she stammered.
"But then some of the children started to go missing!"
"Have you contacted the police?" Socks asked.
He felt his mouth twitch as the principal began her inane stammer, but kept on his nice-guy facade.
"Yes, they're looking into it, but as far as we can tell, there's just no physical trace of them left. I..." The principal gasped and started dabbing incessantly at her sweat-stained forehead. "I... Believe it may have been the work of some... supernatural being."
"You're superstitious." Socks stated.
"Oh, you think me strange, don't you?" She appeared crestfallen. Likely she'd been made fun of for it before.
"No, not at all," Socks set aside his now-empty glass and spoon, then gave the principal his full attention for the first time. "I don't suppose, ah... If you don't mind me asking, that is... is milk involved in any way?"
"Milk?" The principal said, bewildered. "Er, now let me think a moment, erm..."
She appeared to have been thinking hard on it, and the mere act seemed to have been causing her a lot of strain and discomfort.
"Never mind. It was stupid to ask that."
"Damn straight," Boxer readily agreed, grinning.
Socks shot him a quick glare before turning to readdress the fretting, superstitious principal with a reassuring nod of his head.
"We'll look into it."
"Waitaminnit, who says?" Boxer lifted his head and turned to face his brother fully; it was his turn to glare.
"We'll look into it." Socks said more firmly.
"Oh, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, tha—GET OFF!" Finally losing her patience, she gave Chuck the dog a swift kick in the rear, sending the green canine soaring towards the two angel brothers.
The brothers themselves promptly began taking turns, pummeling the dog as if he'd offended them as well.
They did not stop until Chuck was reduced to trembling organ and pieces of flesh.
"You're very welcome. We'll begin the investigation tomorrow." Socks smiled, feeling pleased with himself.

...

"You get off on that, don't you?" Boxer said as he sat beside his baby brother in front of the TV.
"On what?" Socks asked, occupying himself with a chocolate bar.
"Acting like a gentleman when you ain't really give a damn about that principal bitch," Boxer started trembling, balling his hands and trying to appear as meek as possible with such a broad, muscly physique. "S-s-s-stammerin' like p-p-p-p-poor Piglet."
Socks mentally kicked himself in the shin for laughing at Boxer's imitation.
"It's for our own benefit," Socks shrugged. "Besides, don't you want to see some action, finally? Aside from fucking whatever dirty skank ho you can find."
"Well yeah..." Boxer scratched his side.
Although they've only been on Earth for a couple weeks, Boxer was well-known enough here and there in Daten, even though he hasn't seen the greater part of the city yet. He frequented the clubs several random girls he'd met on a jog some days ago—he couldn't recall the exact date—pointed out to him.
He was treated like a celebrity for his good looks and the Holy aura he naturally emitted, and he didn't much mind it at all. It got him pussy enough to occupy himself with, decent drinks when he wanted something robust, and even a bit of excitement when the jealous peer chanced fighting him for dominance. He earned that reputation Socks belittled him for, and he was damn proud of it as it was. He felt bad for his brother, though, when he allowed himself to. Socks must not have been seeing that much action; did he ever even leave the church? It wasn't as far as Boxer could see.
"What are you staring at me for?" Socks asked, becoming annoyed.
"Ah, my bad, bro." Boxer didn't even realize he had been.
He glanced back at the TV, but he wasn't really watching it anymore.
"Fine, I guess we can go check it out." Boxer said after a moment's hesitation.
"Hm? Oh, you mean the school," Socks scoffed. "It wasn't up for debate. This is the lead we've been looking for, odds are we'd be going there to investigate even if the principal hadn't come here when she did. Eventually the Ghost in question would get out of hand, and I doubt these humans could cover it up when it did."
"Right, right," Boxer said, not really paying attention.
"We'll be enrolling as transfer students."
"Yeah, yeah," Boxer said, then he paused as his brain registered what Socks'd said. "Wait, what?"
"I said we'd be enlisting ourselves as students during the investigation."
"Why do we gotta do that?"
"Oh calm down you big baby, think of the high school girls in miniskirts if it helps."
Oh, it helped all right.
It helped a lot.
"On second thought, don't think of the high school girls."

"Too late."