A/N: Yoyo. 'Nother chapter here, ahead of schedule. Want to know why? Becausenot too long ago, I was looking through my stories, and saw that my Black Lagoon story had one more review than I remembered. So, being the curious young man that I am, I decided to take a look. I just want you to know, Mr./Mrs. JulCan1987, that you are the reason I am updating so early. Because your review made me smile, and I sadly have not been doing enough of that lately. Thank you.

Another reviewer made a very good point. That point being one of the single most bad ass Priests in anime; Mr. Nicholas D. Wolfwood. Read, and be entertained.

Don't forget, I am accepting OC's to become Priests. I just need what they look like, their background information, and their personalities. If you don't feel comfortable leaving it in a review, then PM me about it. Also, if you don't want me saying who sent in the OC, let me know. I like to share credit.

Oh, and before I forget, the Priests meet Revy in this chapter. It's right after she and Rock made up after the Brunhilde incident, so prepare for violence. Or booze. Whichever I decide to have them fight with.

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Chapter Two: Nicholas D. Wolfwood

"But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." -Isaiah 40:31

"What's this about a massacre?" Asked Dutch, boss of the Black Lagoon Company.

"It's like I said, Dutch." Answered Balalaika, leader of the Russian Mafia stationed in Roanapur, known as Hotel Moscow. "El Lunático and his men were completely destroyed. Nothing but blood and the distinct smell of cocaine."

"Yeah, but what do you want us to do about it?" Asked the large man, leaning against his wall while he listens to the most dangerous woman in Roanapur.

"Well, look into it." Answered the Russian. "If whomever is responsible is capable of killing fifteen men the way this person did... Dutch, we could have a real problem here."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Said Dutch. "But how do you know it wasn't the Colombians? El Lunático has been trying to muscle in on them for a while, now.

"Unfortunately it's not that simple." Replied the woman. "The Colombians were no where near the Mexicans when this happened."

"And how do you know that?"

"I have my people keep tabs on growing powers, in case they need to be squashed."

"Does that count for us?" Asked Dutch.

"Oh, my dear Dutch." Balalaika laughed on the other end of the phone. "Your company is not a power. It's a tool. A useful tool, at that. Without you, we'd have nails, but no hammer to drive them in." Dutch gave a chuckle at that.

"A hammer. That seems like a pretty good description, if you ask me." Said Dutch. "Alright. We'll look into it."

"Thank you, Dutch. I knew I could count on you."

"Yeah, yeah." Dutch listened as he heard the line click, before hanging his up himself.

"A guy roaming around Roanapur, who can kill fifteen men in one nigh." Dutch wiped his face with the palm of his hand. "Revy's gonna fucking love this."

"Them pictures you sent were fantastic, Father." Said the man on the other end. "The death by exploding head was quite the touch. We would not have been able to identify him if there hadn't been a vial of his blood sent in with the photos."

"Thank you for your compliment, High Priest D'artagnan." Said Father Vice, a tic mark growing on his forehead. "But couldn't you have waited for me to finish my shower? I swear, poor Gretel nearly feinted when she brought the phone in to me." Indeed, when the young girl just waltzed in on him, he was caught off guard, and immediately pulled the shower curtain away to see who had interrupted his shower. Gretel blushed a bright red, and fell back with steam coming out of her ears. And, oddly enough, there was a bit of blood dripping from her nose. Vice had managed to quickly slide on a pair of pants from his priests uniform, but that was all he wore.

"Yes, well I do apologize for the sudden call." Said the High Priest. "I merely wished to let you know that I am sending you backup."

"Backup? But I still have Hansel and Gretel." Said Vice. "They're more than enough."

"Yes, they may be skilled, Father, but they are not yet full members of our order." Said the man. "They do not bear their own crosses yet, so I am sending someone that does."

"Who, might I ask, High Priest D'artagnan, would you be sending?" Vice could literally feel the High Priests smirk.

"Oh, believe me, it's someone you have met." Answered the High Priest.

"You don't mean..." Vice's mind flashed back to a small town, overrun with murderers, and a Priest, baring a huge cross... Father Vice grinned. "I can't wait to see my dear friend again."

"Well, Father. Welcome to Roanapur." Said the driver of the boat. Standing on the deck was a tall man, with black hair, sunglasses, and a modified version of the usual Priests uniform. Being hel behind him was a massive cross, nearly matching his own height, wrapped in cloth, and secured with black cords.

"Thank you for the ride, my friend." Said the Priest, before he smiled slyly. Moving quickly, he suddenly slammed a box in the shape of a church over the mans head.

"HEY!" Yelled the man. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!?"

"It's a confessional!" Said the Priest. "Remember those private little boxes at home where you could chat away your sins with the neighborhood priest? Well, this ones portable!" He suddenly flicked the top of the "confessional." "Just put a coin in here." The shipman stood up, handing the confessional back to the Priest.

"No thanks." He said before going below decks. The Priest sighed dejectedly, when he heard clapping.

"Still up to your dirty tricks, Father Nicholas?" Asked Vice, standing on the dock.

"I don't know, Father Vicente." Replied the Priest known as Nicholas. "Still got a soft spot for blonds?" The two walked towards each other, almost threateningly. When they reached each other, they had a short stare down, before laughing.

"Ah, man Wolfwood!" Said Father Vice. "It sure is good to see you again."

"Yeah, you two, Vice." Said Wolfwood, smiling. "Say, how are them kids doing?"

"Hansel and Gretel?" Asked Vice. "They're better, but they are still waking up with nightmares."

"That's understandable." Said Wolfwood. "After what they've been through, we're lucky that they're still coherent."

"Yeah." Replied Father Vice. He then smiled. "Come one, let's go get a drink. Hansel and Gretel are at the hotel watching TV, and I know of a somewhat honest bar here that everyone calls 'The Yellow Flag.'"

"Lead the way."

"Revy, I don't want to have another drinking contest with you." Said Rock.

"Oh, don't be such a whiney bitch!" Yelled the young mercenary woman. "You've drank with me before."

"Well, yeah, but-" Rock was suddenly cut of by an unfamiliar, lightly accented voice.

"I'll take you up on that challenge." Said Father Vice, Wolfwood standing behind him. The two Priests made their way to the bar, sitting down on the left of Revy.

"Sorry to tell you, Mr. Church man." Said Revy arrogantly. "But we ain't drinking beer-"

"Well, I'd hope not!" Exclaimed Wolfwood.

"Yes, beer's for pussies." Agreed Father Vice, without breaking his calm exterior. "Where's the fucking rum?" Revy grinned.

"Oh, I know we're going to get along." She said.

AN HOUR OF DRINKING LATER

"Why ain ya drank yet?" Asked Revy, swaying in her seat, her face red.

"Isaiah 40:31- "But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." Quoted the Priest, tipping his rum back after finishing. "Know what it means?" He asked. Revy shook her head. "It means that as long as I give my heart and soul to God, no obstacle can stand in my way." Mumbled something after that.

"Wha wuz zat?" Asked Revy, leaning in to hear him.

"Well, you see, another reason may be due to the fact that my mother was only half Spanish." Answered Vice.

"Sssso?" Slurred Revy.

"So, my dear Revy, my mother was half Irish, and due to her being born in Spain, I inherited her accent." Continued the Priest. "Now, normally this would mean nothing, however, this is where my father fits into it."

"How so?" Asked Rock, generally interested. Father Vice grinned evilly, before answering in a perfect Irish accent.

"Me pa was full blooded Irish, 'e was." Answered the Priest. Revy boiled at the stereotype.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!"

...

A/N: Okay, so another chapter laid to rest. Awesome. R&R, and don't forget to send in OCs.