Shorter, again.
Don't own, don't sue.
Con-crit welcome, not flamers, thanks.

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The Graveyard is cold, and as dark as pitch save for a few candles left on some of the fresher graves. A figure, dressed all in black with fair hair and a pointed but masculine face stands beneath an old oak tree, from which a lantern hangs on one of the overhanging branches, illuminating the grave before the blonde, and revealing it's occupant to be 'Nathanial, 1986 – 2012.'
"Back again, Christophe?" the blonde acknowledges the brunette who has been sat on the wall behind the massive tree for sometime now.
"It was you who called me, Gregory." The accented voice comes with it's owner from the gloom, and Christophe stands beside his friend, squeezing his hand once, gently, and throwing a single white lily down onto the grave.
"Indeed. I have information for you. I know who killed Filmore Anderson, who killed those were already gone." The words leave Gregory's mouth, and Christophe takes a drag from a burning cigarette, it's end giving off a small red glow.
"Who eez eet?" he whispers, and Gregory turns to face his friend.
"What will you do if they get me, too, Christophe? You are my oldest, and closest friend, I do not know what," Gregory is silenced by Christophe turning to observe him and put a hand to his mouth, gently.
"I know not, Gregory, but…" the Frenchman falls silent, and his hand goes back to his side before he shuffles his feet, drops his cigarette, and pulls Gregory into a tight, awkward hug. Gregory's arms stay pinned to his sides by Christophe's arms, but he leans his chin on the dirt-covered man's shoulder.
"You are in desperate need of a bath, my friend." He mumbles, and Christophe just hugs him tighter before pushing him away so hard that Gregory almost falls over. The two cough, straighten out their clothing, and the Brit dusts himself off as some excess mud is now streaked on his arm and probably his face.
"Anyway, this information it," he begins, but never finishes as the sound of a silenced gun goes off, and Gregory arches his back as the bullet collides with him. It takes Christophe two seconds to realise that his friend has been shot, one more to reach out his arms and catch his falling companion, and two more after that to begin crying. Within the first three seconds, Gregory breathed his last.
"Gregory?" Christophe's voice is small, little above a whisper, and when there is no reply but Gregory's blank stare, he pulls the blonde toward him and cries quietly into his dead shoulder. Later, he would be happy that the last moments of Gregory's life were in a hug with him, with a friend instead of an enemy, but for now, Christophe would grieve, and curse the bitch in the sky for taking Gregory from him.

Four days later, and another meeting is held in the basement of Shakey's pizza. Christophe hardly speaks anymore, and an aura of grief still hangs over their group. Stan had taken Christophe aside, and told him that if he wanted, he could take a week away from all of this, but the Frenchman had merely told him that Gregory would not have wanted him to have grieved alone.

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Bebe Stevens takes a drag from her cigarette and glares down at the snoring naked man in her bed. She wonders to herself, about why she didn't listen to Wendy, about why the hell she sided with Him. Part of her told her it was sympathy, but she didn't know what to believe anymore. She hated herself, though. She hated how she had let herself be used over, and over like some blow-up doll. She hated how, now, it seemed like she had chosen the wrong side. She hated how she had made her friends hate her, too.
She sighs, and mumbles 'Fuck it,' before putting out the cigarette, and slipping out of bed.
Ten minutes later, she is walking down the road, lit orange by the sunrise, in laddered fishnets, a mini-skirt, and tank top. Her high-heels hanging by the straps from her left hand. She comes to a park, small with only a set of rusty swings and a sandbox, and sits on the one swing that isn't only attached on one side. Slowly she swings backwards and forwards as her mascara bleeds from crying over her dead life.

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Craig is sleeping when Christophe's shovel comes up between his legs, cracking through the wooden floor. The loud crunching and creaking noises wake him up, and his eyes widen at the sharp, rusty shovel coming through the floor dangerously close to his crotch.
"Christophe, if that's you, you're getting a little close to the family jewels, if you catch my drift…" he whispers, and muttering can be heard through the floor until a reply comes through.
"Zen move, beetch." Craig smiles to himself, and nods. It's Christophe, alright. He backs away from the growing hole in the floor and positively beams when the Frenchman's head and shoulders pop through the floor. He doesn't get very far, however, because a slighter man uses him as a sort of ladder to push himself out of the hole, and Craig is suddenly tackled by Clyde.
"Dude!" Craig yelps, and looks over his friend's shoulder to witness Christophe attempting to get out of his own hole, only to be once again pushed back in by Kenny also using him as leverage.
"Ah'm going to keell you, Kenny!" Christophe shouts, and finally clambers out only to pounce on the blonde, who laughs and says, much to everyone else's amazement,
"Go ahead, you people are the one's who called orgasms 'little deaths', why else do you think I don't mind dying?!" he exclaims, and Christophe pulls a look of disgust before pushing Kenny to one side, and signalling to Craig and Clyde to hurry into the hole.
"We 'ave made a lot of noise, we shall 'ave to 'urry!" he says, in an urgent whisper, and all four of them jump back into the tunnel; Craig first, and Christophe bringing up the rear just as the sound of jangling keys can be heard outside the door. Christophe starts panicking, however, when he looks into the tunnel and sees that the others are not moving.
"What air you waiting for? Go!" he shouts, and Clyde turns around to talk past Kenny,
"We can't, the tunnel's caved in! One of the support beams split, and the ceiling fell to bits!" he yells back, and a look of unhappy realisation sets on Christophe's face as a torch shines on him from above and a British voice says,
"Well, well, I seem to have found a French piece of shit." The light-blonde, willowy man sneers down at Christophe.
"You wet, Engleesh son of a beetch." Is the reply, and further down the tunnel Kenny rolls his eyes at Clyde before whispering,
"Fucking Europeans." At him.
Pip Pirrup stands up straight, and whistles to someone outside, who comes in and stares down into the tunnel, as well.
"Tango, I want you to send this man to my quarters. There should be three others in the tunnel, I believe you know them." Pip sends Christophe a smirk, and walks away as Tango starts to pull a struggling Christophe out of the hole to reveal Kenny, glaring up at him.
"I always wondered what happened to you, Token." He snarls, and feels Clyde freeze up next to him. Token doesn't respond, however, aside from spitting at Kenny and dragging Christophe away as more men gathered around the entrance to the tunnel, ready to deal with them.