Chapter Six: Massacre at Two Pines

Rapid, shallow, gasping breathes.

"Do you find me sadistic?"

Everything hurt. Everything hurt so bad.

"You know, poppet, I'd like to believe you're aware enough, even know, to know that there's nothing sadistic in my actions. At this moment…this is me…at my most masochistic."

"Oliver…it's your ba-"

BLAM!

Looked dead, didn't I? Well, I wasn't. But it wasn't from lack of trying, I can tell you that.

Actually, Oliver's last bullet put me in a coma –a coma I was to lie in for four years. When I woke up, I went on what the movie advertisements would refer to as "a roaring rampage of revenge".

I roared, and I rampaged, and I got bloody satisfaction.

I've killed a hell of a lot of people to get to this point, but I have only one more. The last one. The one I'm driving to right now. The only one left.

And when I arrive at my destination, I am gonna kill Oliver.

Now, the incident that happened at the Two Pines Wedding Chapel that put this whole gory story into motion has since become legend. "Massacre at Two Pines". That's what the newspapers called it. The local TV news called it "The El Paso, Texas, wedding chapel massacre". How it happened, who was there, how many got killed, and who killed them, changes depending on who's telling the story. In actual fact, the massacre didn't happen during a wedding at all.

It was a wedding rehearsal.

"Now, when we come to the part where I say "You may kiss the bride", you may kiss the bride. But don't stick your tongue in her mouth." the reverend lectured, and the women behind the two officiates of the marriage giggled as the good pastor rolled his eyes. "This might be funny to your friends, but it would be embarrassing to your parents." he continued, and the girlfriends giggled again as the groom nodded solemnly, golden cowlick bobbing in the air, and the bride smirked. "We'll try to restrain ourselves, reverend." she promised, making the women behind her giggle even more. The groom shot her an amused glance from behind blue-rimmed glasses that he had patriotically named "Texas".

"Ya'll got a song yet?" the black man at the piano interrupted from across the room, cigarette smoke wafting from the coffin nail he had in one hand. The bride and the groom looked at each other, both shrugging before looking at the pianist and shaking their heads. He didn't move as he suggested "How 'bout Love Me Tender? I can play that."

"Sure."

"Yeah."

"Love Me Tender'd be great." the groom announced after the couple's swift murmuring. "Rufus, he's the man." the reverend chuckled as the pianist blew out a cloud of noxious fumes. "Rufus, who was that you used to play for?" he asked, and the black man looked up absently. "Rufus Thomas." he yawned, and the reverend nodded. "Rufus Thomas. Rufus Thomas." he said proudly, gesturing to the wedding party, but then Rufus spoke up again. "I was a Drell. I was a Drifter. I was a Coaster. I was part of the Gang. I was a Bar-kay. If they come through Texas, I played with 'em." he boasted, making subtle movements with his cigarette to drive home the point. The reverend smiled and waved a hand towards the pianist. "Rufus –he's the man." he repeated proudly as the elderly woman beside him nodded, and he glanced at her worriedly. "Have I forgotten anything?" he asked, and she "hmmed" in thought. "Um…oh, yes. You forgot uh, the seating arrangements." she whispered back, and he nodded gratefully. "Thank you, mother." he murmured, then straightened up.

"Now the way we normally do this, we have the bride's side, and then we have the groom's side." he explained, making a box shape with both hands. "But since the bride ain't got nobody comin', and the groom's got far too many people comin'-" He was interrupted by one of the female friends leaning forward in her seat. "Well, yeah, they're comin' from every single state in the US ." she teased, to general laughter. The reverend smiled gently. "Right…well, I don't see no problem with the groom's side sharing the bride's side. Do you, mother?" he asked, and she shook her head. "No, I don't have a problem with that. But, uh…honey, you know, it would be good if you had somebody come." she asked the bride gently. "You know, as a sign of good faith?"

The blonde shifted her honey-brown eyes slightly, but smiled readily enough. "Well, I don't have anybody, except for Alfred and my friends." She nodded towards the groom and the women behind her. The reverend's mother looked surprised. "You have no family?" she asked, and the blonde smiled slightly. "Well, I'm working on changing that." Another one of the female friends spoke up again. "Mrs. Harmony, we're all the family this little angel's ever gonna need." she said staunchly, and the blonde smiled, then leaned backward over the pew as all her friends leaned forward. "I'm not feeling very well, and this bitch is starting to piss me off." she whispered as they all smirked or tittered. "So while y'all blather on, I'm gonna go outside and get some air." she confided, then rose with a murmur of "Um, uh…sorry reverend, sorry…" The female friends behind her closed ranks like veteran soldiers in a battalion.

"She's gonna go out and get some air."

"Yeah. Given her delicate condition."

"She just needs a few minutes to get it together. She'll be okay."

As the blonde walked slowly up the aisle, she paused as she heard the sound of a flute. A multitude of micro-expressions crossed her face, worry and fear chief among them, and she looked over her shoulder at her friends and soon-to-be family before she clutched her bridal veil to her chest and slowly exited the church. As she walked onto the patio, looking around herself, she finally leaned against one of the posts and stared out at the hot Texan plain for a few moments. She then turned and looked at the strawberry blonde man sitting on the porch, softly blowing into a wooden flute. Her nervous expression slowly formed into a smile, before he finished his song and looked up, ice-blue eyes opening and meeting hers.

"Hello, poppet." he greeted in a soft, extremely British voice, and she smiled absently and continued playing with her veil. "How did you find me?" she asked quietly, and he inclined his head. "I'm the man." he said simply, and she moved away from the post, a look of perplexion crossing her features. "What are you doin' here?" she asked, and he raised an eyebrow. "What am I doing?" he repeated, looking down at the wooden instrument in his hands before setting it aside. "Well, a moment ago I was playing my flute. At this moment…" he continued, standing to walk towards her. "I'm looking at the most beautiful bride these old eyes have ever seen." he finished, leaning against the opposite pole to smile at her with the aforementioned eyes glowing blue.

Her expression, half-fear and half-wariness, didn't change. "Why are you here?" she whispered, and he smiled briefly. "Last look." he chuckled, and the fear –however briefly– left her expression. "Are you gonna be nice?" she half-joked, half-sincerely asked, and he shrugged candidly. "I've never been nice in my whole life. But I'll always do my best to be sweet." he said with a charming grin, and she smiled briefly. "Hmm. I always told you, your nice side is your best side." she teased, taking a few steps towards him, and he matched her pace for pace. "I guess that's why you're the only one who's ever seen it." he agreed, and his eyes dropped to her stomach. "I see you've got a bun in the oven." he commented, his face unreadable, and she smiled with maternal pride. "Mm, I'm knocked up." she admitted, taking another step towards him. "Sweet sugar. That young man of yours sure doesn't believe in wasting time, does he?" he asked slowly, stepping towards her again. There was perhaps the faintest hint of bitterness in his tone, but that could easily have been mistaken for disapproval.

"Have you seen Alfred?" Arya asked as they came face to face. The British man raised an eyebrow. "The tall man in the tux?" he asked, and she nodded, blushing slightly. "Yes." she admitted, and he nodded just barely. "Then I saw him. I like his hair." he muttered, sarcasm just barely managing to underline the words, and the bride frowned playfully. "You promised you'd be nice." she scolded, and he smirked. "No, I said I'd do my best. That's hardly a promise." he pointed out smugly, then sighed. "But you're right. What does your –young man– do for a living?" he asked, obviously straining for politeness, and Arya looked down at her feet. "He owns a used-record store here in El Paso."

"Ah. Music lover, hmm?"

"He's fond of music."

"Aren't we all?"

Arya looked up and met his eyes as he finally asked "And what are you doing for a j-o-b these days?" His voice was purposeful, but not interrogating, and she lifted her chin as she answered. "I work in the record store." she said with a smile, and he nodded. "Ah, so…it all suddenly seems so clear." he murmured in a world-weary tone, smirking at her slightly. "And do you like it?" he asked pointedly, and she smirked. "Yeah, I like it a lot. I get to listen to music all day, talk about music all day; it's really cool." Her proud expression faltered a little. "Its gonna be a great environment for my little girl to grow up in." she whispered, and the Brit leaned forward. "As opposed to jetting around the world, killing human beings and being paid vast sums of money?" he questioned tersely, and she mimicked his tone and posture. "Precisely."

He sighed and smiled a little. "Well, my old friend, to each his own. However, all tomfoolery aside, I am looking forward to meeting your young man. I happen to be, more or less, particular whom my poppet marries." he said with a slight gleam in his eyes, and Arya stared at him for several seconds. "You want to come to the wedding?" she asked incredulously, and he chuckled. "Only if I can sit on the bride's side." he purred conspiratorially, and she smiled sadly. "You'll find it a bit lonely on my side." she murmured, and he shrugged, still smiling. "Your side always was a bit lonely. But I wouldn't sit anywhere else." he confided, leaving Arya temporarily speechless. "You know," he continued. "I had the loveliest dream about you…" Arya's eyes suddenly flicked over his shoulder, and she interrupted him with false cheer. "Oh, here's Alfred!" she called, then added in an undertone "Call me Arlene."

They both walked into the church, and the British man gladly shook hands with the groom. "You must be Alfred!" he said happily, as the groom nodded. "Uh-huh." he confirmed, and the Brit's smile widened, still not letting go of his hand. "Arlene's told me so much about you." Arya approached them as the Brit and Alfred let go, the groom looking at her in concern. "Honey, you okay?" he asked, and she smiled brightly. "Oh, I'm fine. Alfred, I'd like you to meet my father." she said, adding that last bit with a sly smirk of humor. The Brit laughed awkwardly, giving her a peeved look out of the corner of his eye as she smirked mischievously at him. "Oh, my God!" Alfred exclaimed happily as they shook hands again. "Oh my God, this is great! I am so glad to meet you, sir…oh, dad." He corrected himself, and the Brit gave a strained smile. "The name's Oliver."

Alfred smiled blissfully. He was a tall man with bright blue eyes, the aforementioned cowlick that Oliver had mocked, and a sunny demeanor. "Well, it's great to meet you…Oliver." He glanced at the woman beside them. "Arlene told me you couldn't make it." he added with slight confusion, and Oliver clicked his tongue. "Surprise." he stated with a slightly awkward smile, and "Arlene" made an exasperated motion with her hands. "That's my pop for ya. Always full of surprises." she grinned, looking at him, and he smiled and put his hand on her shoulder. "Well, in the surprise department, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." he said around his bright smile, and Alfred nodded pleasantly, oblivious to the slight tenseness between his soon-to-be wife and her supposed father. "When did you get in?" he asked, and Oliver beamed. "Just now."

Alfred beamed eagerly. "Did you come straight from Australia?" he asked, and Oliver answered "Of course." quickly, although there was a spark of confusion in his eyes. Arya solved the problem for him. "Daddy, I told Alfred that you were in Perth mining for silver and no one could reach you." she explained subtly, and he laughed and adjusted the hand on her shoulder. "Lucky for us all, that's not the case." he chuckled, and looked around the church. "So…what's this all about? I've heard of wedding rehearsals, but I don't believe I've ever heard of a wedding dress rehearsal before." he asked, gesturing to the groom's tux and Arya's dress. Alfred chuckled. "We thought, why pay so much money for a dress you're only gonna wear once, 'specially when Arlene looks so goddamn beautiful in it? So I think we're gonna try to get all the mileage we can out of it." he teased, unaware of the subtle change in mood that came over Oliver at his words. The Brit casually took Arya's hand, but addressed the groom. "Isn't it supposed to be bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress before the ceremony?" he asked calmly, inspecting her engagement ring.

"Well, I guess I just believe in living dangerously." Alfred said with a conspiratorial wink, making Arya glance uneasily between the two men as Oliver gave a secret little smile. "I know just what you mean." he chuckled, and the reverend called from the altar. "Son, some of us have places to be." The subtle reminder was made not-so-subtle by Rufus's "Sure do" from the piano's pulpit. Alfred glanced behind himself and jabbed his thumb at the assembly. "Look, we gotta go through this one more time, so why don't you have a s-" he began to Oliver, then snapped his fingers. "Oh my God. What am I thinking, you should give her away!" he said excitedly, and Arya's flash of alarm could not be quite hidden this time. "Alfred, that's not exactly daddy's cup of tea." she warned, cutting around Oliver to face her betrothed. "I think father would be much more comfortable sitting with the rest of the guests." she said with barely-covered cheer, and Alfred nodded uncertainly. "Hmm, really?" he asked the Brit, and Oliver looked flatly at them both. "That's asking a lot." he said quietly, and Alfred looked slightly deflated. "Oh. Okay, well, forget it." he said, quickly regaining his usual cheer. "But how about we go out to dinner tonight to celebrate?"

"Only on the condition that I pay for everything." Oliver said with a charming smirk, and Alfred grinned. "Deal. We got to do this now." he said apologetically, motioning towards the altar again, and Oliver rocked on the balls of his feet slowly. "Can I watch?" he asked slowly, and Alfred nodded. "Absolutely, have a seat." he said gladly, and Oliver bit his lip, looking from one set of pews to another. "Which is the bride's side?" he asked, and Alfred motioned towards the left side of the church. "Right over here." he said proudly, and Oliver smiled and took a seat. Alfred giddily grabbed Arya by the hand and walked up to the front, and the reverend called to the back of the church. "Mother, here we go!" Addressing the couple in front of him, he missed Oliver casually leaning against the pew he was supposed to be sitting at. "Now, son, about them vows…" he started, distracting Alfred as Arya slipped out of his grasp and quickly approached the reclining Brit as soft piano music filled the air.

"Oliver, I just want…" she began breathlessly, but he interrupted her. "You don't owe me a thing." he said softly. "If he's the man you want, then go stand by him." Arya smiled at him with tears in her eyes, and he did not move a muscle as she leaned forward and gently, but swiftly, kissed him on the lips. She pressed her hand against his cheek, then smiled and fastened on her veil, tugging it into its proper place as Oliver blinked at her, unmoving. "Do I look pretty?" she asked tearfully, and he smiled just barely. "Oh yes." he murmured, and she kissed him again, pressing her forehead against his. "Thank you." she whispered after they ended the kiss, and they both knew she wasn't thanking him about showing up. She walked away; joining the others near the altar, as Oliver remained, statue-like, standing against the pew. He tapped his fingers subtly against the woodwork, glancing behind himself every few moments. He was waiting for something, and he smiled subtly as he saw it.

Four people approaching the little chapel's entrance.

An Italian man with a cap on his brunette hair and a knife twirling between his fingers.

An unshaven Frenchman with a glowing cigarette between his lips.

A Japanese man with red eyes and an icily correct posture.

And finally, a grinning brunette with a black eyepatch and one lone, blood-red eye.

They all pulled out semiautomatic machine guns and walked into the church.

The reverend's speech was interrupted as he stared at the newcomers. "What the hell?!" he gasped, and Arya whipped around, her honey-brown eyes widening.

"NO! OLIVER!"

From the pew he was leaning against, Oliver gave her a grinning Cheshire smile.

And after that, there was only the sounds of machine-gun fire.

"You're tellin' me she cut 'er way zrough 88 bodyguards before she got to Kuro?" the Frenchman asked, cigarette smoke wafting out from his lips. Oliver smiled briefly. "No, there wasn't really 88 of them. They just called themselves "The Crazy 88." he explained, and the blonde sitting on the steps to the RV raised an eyebrow. " 'Ow come?" he asked, stubbing out his most recent cigarette and lighting another as Oliver shrugged. "I don't know. I guess they thought it sounded interesting. Anyhow, they all fell under her Kirkland sword." he added, and the Frenchman looked up. "She got a Kirkland sword?"

"He made one for her."

The Frenchman frowned. "Didn't 'e swear a blood oath to never make another sword?" he asked skeptically, and Oliver pursed his lips. "It would appear he has broken it." he admitted tersely, and the Frenchman shifted his cigarette to the corner of his mouth, took a swig from the glass bottle at his side, and set it down again. " 'E sure knows 'ow to 'old a grudge, doesn't 'e?" He barked out a ragged laugh as he took another swig. "Or maybe you just tend to bring zat out in people." Oliver's smile twitched slightly before he spoke again. "I know this is a ridiculous question before I ask it, but you haven't, by any chance, kept up with your swordplay?" he asked wearily, and Francois snorted as he gulped down another liter of the noxious substance. "I pawned zat years ago."

Oliver closed his eyes briefly. "You hocked an Arthur Kirkland sword?"

"Oui."

Oliver drew in a deep breath, placing his hands against the bridge of his nose in a praying position. "It was priceless." he muttered in a strained voice, and Francois barked out another laugh. "Well, not in El Paso. I got 250 American dollars for eet." he sneered, then snorted and took to waving his bottle around. "I'm a bouncer in a bar, Oliver. If she wants to fight wiz me, all she's got to do is come down to ze club and start some shit, and we'll be in a fight." he explained tipsily, and Oliver sighed and leaned forward, supporting himself against the wall of the RV with one hand. "I know we haven't spoken in some time, and the last time we spoke wasn't the most pleasant, but you've got to get over being mad at me, and start becoming afraid of Aryana. Because she is coming, and she's coming to kill you. And unless you accept my assistance, I have no doubt she will succeed."

Francois stared at him for a few moments, his cigarette dangling between his fingers and his bottle securely wrapped in his other hand. Despite his greasy, unwashed hair, his unshaven appearance, and the posture of complete and utter delinquency, he exuded a sort of nobility as he spoke. "I don't dodge guilt, and I don't jew out of paying my comeuppance." he uttered quietly, but fiercely, and Oliver sighed in frustration, hanging his head. "Can't we just forget the past?" he murmured impatiently, and Francois blinked at him sternly. "Zat woman deserves her revenge." he muttered firmly. "And we deserve to die. But zen again, so does she. So, I guess we'll just see, won't we?" he asked quietly, and Oliver sighed, shaking his head, before turning away and walking to his car.

Cast:

The Bride: Aryana/Arya/Ari Thompson

Bill: Oliver Kirkland/2p England

Groom: Alfred F. Jones/America

O-ren Ishii (Cottonmouth): Kuro Honda/2p Japan

Vernita Green (knife woman): Luciano Vargas/2p Italy

Budd (Bill's brother): Francois Bonnerfoy/2p France

Elle Driver (woman with eyepatch): Allen F. Jones/2p America

Hey, I'm back, and now we're on Volume 2 of the Kill Bill series. Exciting, no? I certainly think so, but then again, since NO ONE HAS REVEIWED, I can't be sure. I'm desperate enough that at this point I will start offering commissions for reviews. Yeah, commissions. So for the love of God, someone say something, and I'll write you a nice little one-shot of whatever the hell you want. (Hetalia-wise, since I'm lazy and don't want to get out of this fandom.)

Please. Someone. Say something. Anything. I'll even take flames at this point, I need the warmth.