Author's Note: Forgive the shortness of this chapter. Midterms plus finals have kicked my ass to the point of rendering me unable to sit for the rest of my life.
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Bookman never liked to make assumptions before considering all the facts. He was meticulous in his observations and careful in his actions before concluding something of a negative nature. But that day under the sunny sky on a boat destined for Crete, Bookman knew he was screwed. Not only had Marian seen him, but the man in question was now a gensui, the highest level of Exorcist in the organization known as the Black Order. He had to be careful.
Very careful.
Cross stood up. He was taller than Bookman remembered; his hair a few inches longer and eye a bit more guarded than it had been years ago. The white mask that covered the right side of his face was as white as the bone it was made from, shining in the morning light. He grinned that same, cocky grin as he walked across the deck toward Bookman with long strides. Behind him, he dragged a black, ornate box. It was as tall as him, chained up with a golden chain link strand. It was a coffin, and the sight of it sent the sun tanning girls running away in fear.
"If it isn't the Bookman," Marian drawled, flicking the butt of his cigarette over the railing of the boat. He leaned against the handle of the casket in a casual stance that set Bookman slightly on edge. "Never thought I'd see you again. Haven't died yet, huh?"
"Not yet," Bookman answered, as coolly as possible.
"Determined to annoy me?" inquired Marian. Bookman saw his eye flicker down to stare at Lavi, but it was only for a fraction of a second.
"Oh, yes. I merely live to spite you," Bookman replied.
"See you've got a brat now," commented Cross. "Apprentice?"
"No, my sex slave," Bookman said. Cross laughed; a kind of barking growl similar to that of a lion or large dog. "Of course he's my apprentice, you idiot."
"Scrawny," Marian added, reaching for another cigarette in his coat pocket. Bookman saw the holster holding a gun at his hip.
"Looks a bit like you," Bookman replied scathingly. "For all we know, he could be your brat."
"Heh, not likely," Cross said, lighting his cigarette. In Bookman's lap, Lavi turned slightly, his one green eye sliding open slowly to look at the black-clad man. The cigarette stopped halfway to Marian's lips, his gaze focused on the black patch Lavi wore over his right eye. His apprentice stared at Cross for a few moments, but Bookman could tell that he wasn't able to comprehend what he saw. "What are you staring at, boy?" Lavi blinked slowly, before turning back the way he had been, as if suddenly uninterested. Marian put his cigarette in between his lips and took a hit before expelling the smoke into the wind.
"What business have you in Crete?" Bookman asked, carefully. If Cross was on a mission, there were two options. Either he would do everything within his power to complete it or he would consider it worthless and not pursue it. Concerning the Black Order, Bookman had to hope that Marian wasn't seeking the two possible "accommodators" that had escaped…
"Personal business," Cross answered. Bookman looked at him searchingly for a moment, wondering if it had anything to do with the rather ominous coffin behind the general.
"I see," Bookman replied, relieved that they hadn't been followed. They could not be taken against their will to the Black Order.
They had to go willingly.
"Whatever could your business be?" Marian inquired, his one eye twinkling a bit dangerously in the midmorning light. "Work or pleasure?" Through the curtain of smoke that lingered around the general's face, Bookman wasn't sure if he imagined the other man's stare flickering downwards for a moment to look at Lavi again.
"Certainly you can tell," Bookman answered, his gaze steady on the other man. He was purposeful when he chose his next words: "A person such as you shouldn't have to ask." Marian smirked again, giving a small huff of an amused laugh.
"You make everything sound so serious," said Cross, taking another long drag. As he exhaled, he commented nonchalantly: "But then again, since your brat is practically in the Other World, I guess I can't blame you." Bookman narrowed his kohl-rimmed eyes at Marian, unconsciously tightening his grip on Lavi's upper arm. He felt the thin limb twitch slightly under his palm, but that was all; Lavi's eye didn't open again at the touch. Cross was right when he said that Lavi was slipping closer and closer to death. It made Bookman feel something akin to fear. "Hn. Never thought I'd see the day where it almost seemed like you cared." Cross said this bitterly, throwing his cigarette on the deck where he snuffed it with the steel toe of his boot.
"Preposterous," replied Bookman, because it was. He would never say that he had become attached to the child. Instead, the old man tried to convince himself that these feelings were because of his concern for the seat that would be left empty if Lavi were to perish.
"Still alive and still operating under 'that' aren't you?" Marian asked rhetorically, grinning. He was, of course, referring to the Clan's strict doctrine of interpersonal relationships. Attachment was the hardest thing to avoid, but the most important to eradicate in order to record history effectively. Unbiased. Impartial. "You know that 'that' won't get you anywhere."
"It may not have gotten you anywhere, Marian," Bookman said. He gained some sort of satisfaction seeing Cross's expression darken at the use of his first name. "But it does work for those of us who are disciplined to see the value behind it."
"It blinds you in more ways than you know, old man," Marian replied. His tone had lost all jesting, all pretense of mockery. A single eye burned into him, the stare familiar even after all those years. The stare reminiscent of the one emerald-green eye that Bookman sometimes found himself under the intense scrutiny of…Marian grinned, breaking the tension with a gruff, carefree sounding: "But don't take my word for it."
"I will not, then," Bookman said evenly. The glaring was done with, Marian looking out to sea while Bookman glanced down at Lavi. He looked ghostlike against the dark fabric of Bookman's kuzhe.
"I wasn't kidding about the kid," Cross said. He wasn't looking at Bookman, that one, cold eye sweeping over the water. Searching for something he could not see. "I give the brat another day, at this rate."
"Do you know how to remove the curse?" Bookman asked. Marian's expression seemed to laugh at his question.
"Of course," Cross replied. It was never that simple.
"But," Bookman said.
"But maybe I want something from you in return," said the other man.
"Perhaps I would be willing to give it to you," Bookman proposed. It was as close to asking as he would get.
"Then perhaps I would be willing to reverse that spell," Marian said, as if it were a game.
"Name your price," Bookman answered without hesitating.
"So quick. Don't you want to think about it?" Cross asked, lips upturning in a smirk.
"No," Bookman replied. He could feel Lavi's feverish skin even through the few layers of clothing the young boy wore. There was no choice, no time to think about the consequences when Lavi's life was hanging in the balance. Whatever Marian wanted, Bookman would give it to him. And Cross grinned because he knew he had won.
"Then let's have a drink," Marian said. "Talk about the old days." Bookman felt that cautious feeling creeping up on him again, but he couldn't well refuse. Although obligation was never something that sat well with Bookman, it was all he could do in the current situation. Gathering his things first, the old man then carefully pulled Lavi up from his horizontal position and took his apprentice into his arms. His back protested, but Bookman didn't set Lavi down, all the while too aware of Cross's stare.
Even for so early in the morning, the bar was crowded. It was dark and a thick cloud of smoke hung in the air around patrons who were tugging on cigars and cigarettes. Some people stared at them as they came in, a strange assortment of people: a tall, uniformed man dragging a coffin behind him, and a short, old man carrying a sickly looking red-headed boy. The bartender was conversing with someone at the bar, cleaning out a glass when they walked in. He looked up at who had blocked out the light from the open door.
"I'm sorry, sir," he said, in a heavy Greek accent. "We cannot have that in the bar. Bad for business, understand?" He was referring to what Cross had behind him and before Marian could reply, the bald-headed man looked at Bookman and added: "No kids either."
"Well then, let's sort this matter out," Marian said, walking out of the bar and back to where they had been talking previously. With a heavy thud, Cross dropped the coffin on the deck, the chains rattling with the movement. Then one gloved hand reached out and grabbed the collar of Lavi's cloak, pulling him right out of Bookman's grasp with ease.
"What are you doing, Marian?" Bookman asked, watching as Cross sat Lavi on the edge of the ornate box. His apprentice was half-conscious and sickly looking, not opposing when Marian linked a brass cuff around his wrist.
"Junior here is going to watch my project," Marian replied. "Aren't you, brat?" Lavi stared at the general again, but no sense of recognition or understanding lit his expression at the words.
"Certainly you jest," Bookman said, crossing his arms. "It's obvious that he is in no condition t—"
"And he'll stay that way unless you come with me," Cross answered, grinning because he knew he would win. "See, Bookman, Junior's life is in my hands." The redheaded man straightened to his full height. "So, shall we go have that drink?" He turned on his heel making his way back to the bar.
Bookman had no choice but to follow.
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"What is it you need?" Bookman asked, getting to the point the moment they sat down.
"Don't you want to know how I've been all these years?" Marian asked, lazily waving his hand to call a server to their table so that they could order.
"Not in particular," Bookman replied, declining the waiter's request for his drink.
"That's harsh, old man," Cross said, before turning to the man waiting on them. He ordered an old bottle of wine before signaling for him to leave. Once the server was gone, Marian leaned back in the seat, stretching his arms along the length of it, as if he were a king sitting in his throne. "But how can you understand what I want if you don't know what's happened in…how many years has it been…?" Marian was toying with him, smirking.
"Ten years," Bookman replied. Glasses and a corkscrew were put on the table, clinking against the finished wood, and in a bucket of ice, a bottle of red wine was placed between them. Through the green glass and the rich liquid inside, Bookman could still see Cross's mocking expression.
"Impeccable memory as always," Marian commented, nonchalantly reaching for the bottle. The general picked up the corkscrew with a seemingly delicate gesture, only to ruin this image when he stabbed the protruding metal end violently into the stopper. "So tell me, Bookman, how's the old profession treating you these days?"
"Certainly not as well as yours is," Bookman replied. Bookman, by no means at all were as extravagant with food and drink or dress as Cross was in his current occupation. The redheaded man took no offense to this statement, twisting the screw to loosen the cork.
"Well, you know the other side is a bit more lenient with those who hold high ranks," Marian replied with a shrug as he poured himself a full glass. If there was one thing that hadn't changed about Cross, it was his drinking habits.
"I presume being a general of the Black Order, you are entitled to certain advantages," Bookman commented. Cross's one eye glinted in the dim light as he took a sip of the alcohol.
"And you aren't talking about these sorts of benefits are you?" Marian said, indicating the expensive wine, the fine cloth used in his clothing. He smirked behind the rim of his glass. "Information is what you're getting at." An amused chuckle came after the words. "In that sense, I know more than you'll ever know."
"I wouldn't say that," Bookman answered.
"I would," Marian replied, leaning back in his seat again. He swirled the red wine around in his glass. "Because there are things I'm sure you'd die to know."
"Then it is a fortunate thing that this conversation does not pertain to this information I would supposedly cease functioning merely to know about," Bookman said, his patience beginning to wear thin. He had more important things to do than play Marian's game, such as finding out what the man across from him desired. "What do you want, Marian? Certainly we are not here to reminisce."
"You never liked the bullshit, did you, Bookman?" Cross asked, taking another drink. His shoulder shook with silent laughter.
"No. Now please do get on with it," Bookman said.
"Have some wine," Marian offered, nudging a glass at him.
"It's ten in the morning," Bookman replied, narrowing his kohl-rimmed eyes at the lazy general across from him.
"All the more reason to start catching up. You're an hour behind," Cross said, pouring him a liberal amount. Bookman didn't touch the stuff, not amused, and instead waited for Marian to refill his own glass and then lean back again. "You're not funny." It sounded like a complaint.
"Neither are you," Bookman answered.
"You used to be funny," insisted Marian, his tone sounding bored as he took another drink.
"No, I can assure you that I have always been not funny," Bookman said dryly, wondering if it was possible that Marian was drunk already, since he seemed to be straying from the main topic.
"She used to be funny," Cross said darkly, as if he hadn't heard Bookman. He was looking into the depths of his red, red wine. "Until she died."
"Whom are you referring to?" Bookman asked, not quite comprehending. Wherever Cross had been, he came back quickly, looking sharply at the old man.
"Maria," replied Marian.
"Maria?" Bookman repeated, wondering if she was the one held inside the black coffin outside. The general flipped a long strand of red hair over his shoulder, leaning forward. In the smoky yellow light, his white mask looked even more eerie than ever.
"You know what the Black Order is, don't you, Bookman?" Cross asked, tracing a finger around the rim of his glass. "And you know what their purpose is, yeah?"
"Of course," Bookman answered, a bit insulted that Marian would think any less of him.
"Then you understand the situation. The situation concerning the limited amount of suitable accommodators for the substance called Innocence?" Marian inquired, pulling his lighter and brass cigarette case from his pocket.
"Yes," Bookman answered. "Not long ago, I heard that Central had insisted upon experimentation of possible accommodators because finding matches were so rare."
"Currently, they are still following that course," Cross replied, his expression dark again as he put a cigarette between his lips. "Idiots." He lit the end of it and breathed in, burning the tobacco slowly. Setting his lighter down, Marian took the cigarette between his fingers and held it there so he could speak again. "It's impossible to make an accommodator. At least, with the methods that they're using now. See, they don't understand the science of it yet. They don't know the full potential of Innocence." Cross took another drag. "So they keep on experimenting. No real results yet, you understand. No…successes." Bookman watched as he flicked ashes on the table. "Which is why Exorcists are so important. One goes and gets killed, it's almost like losing ten percent of our force."
"I didn't think accommodators were that rare," Bookman commented honestly, never thinking that finding matches would be so difficult.
"Well, they are the ones Chosen by God," Marian replied, his tone turning a bit bitter at those words. "And disciples of God cannot be created without knowing what God is."
"How does this relate to your current dilemma?" Bookman asked, feeling as if they were getting sidetracked again. "Maria." It might have been a trick of light, but for a moment, Cross looked almost pained. However, the flicker of emotion was gone before Bookman could analyze it.
"She was an Exorcist at the Black Order," Marian answered. "She had talent. Real talent. Then she went and got herself killed." Bookman still could not understand what this dead woman could possibly have to do with him. The general poured himself some more wine, sloshing it a bit messily in the glass. A few drops landed on the table, but did not stain Cross's gloves. "And now we're in a bit of a crunch, the Order, I mean. A dead Exorcist is the worst possible thing, especially at this stage in the coming war." Bookman's interest piqued and he concentrated fully on the conversation. Everything else was blocked out as he focused his senses on their discussion. Recording.
"So what is it you want to do?" Bookman asked. One dark eye looked at him fully for a moment, a grin tugging at the corners of those lips.
"I want to bring her back," Cross said. The room felt like it had gone suddenly silent after he said this.
"That's impossible," Bookman replied.
"The Earl can do it," Marian said, taking another, longer sip of wine. "Why can't I?"
"It is Necromancy at its highest plateau," answered the old man, letting his voice drop lower as he continued: "The chances of you successfully completing the resurrection are below thirty percent."
"Actually, there is a 34.2 percent chance of success," Cross replied. The scientist in him was apparent with that figure. "And the chance of success would double to 68.4 percent if you were to help me."
"You've clearly mistaken me for someone else," Bookman said. "I am in no way qualified to help with this outlandish idea."
"You are more than you think," Marian said with another smirk. "And what a coincidence that we met here of all places, isn't it?" Bookman gripped the seat beneath him to keep his expression from giving way to complete surprise.
"You've been following me?" Bookman asked.
"You're much too hard to follow," Cross said, leaning back again as if he were at ease once more. As if Bookman's barely noticeable unease made him more comfortable with the situation. "But I calculated out your journey. I was only off by a few weeks." Bookman was right when he said that Cross Marian was a dangerous man if he had been able to locate him from half-way across the world.
"So what do you need me to do?" Bookman inquired.
"A little birdy told me you might have something I want," Cross said. "A certain book." The Necronomicon burned against Bookman's back.
"It doesn't have the spell you seek," Bookman answered. "That section is illegible."
"Don't worry," Marian said, knowing already what Bookman was referring to. "I already have that part. I require something else."
"Such as?" Bookman asked.
"Such as the La Magia della Camera di Rilegatura," Marian replied, in a perfect Italian accent.
"A binding spell?" Bookman asked. Cross flicked the ashes from his neglected cigarette and took a drag, the end burning orange like a fading sunset.
"See," Marian began, expelling the smoke from his mouth and nose with one breath. "Innocence is a tricky thing. Once its accommodator dies…you're pretty much screwed. The possibility of finding another accommodator is slim to none. With an Equipment type Innocence, my objective would be impossible. But, because Maria was—is—a Parasite type user, the Innocence has synchronized within her and still remains as a part of her body. Because of this, her Innocence still belongs to her despite her death, so if I were to revive her, the chances of Maria going berserk are high. But, if I bind her Innocence to mine, I'll be able to control both her body and her Innocence."
"Like a marionette," Bookman said.
"Not necessarily," Cross replied. "If we were bound, Maria and I would be able to double our strength. And while she may not be entirely sentient, Maria will protect me in battle." He leaned on the edge of the table again, snubbing his cigarette in a groove of the wood surface. "It's the ultimate force. Maybe enough to even face the Earl himself." Bookman couldn't understand the almost vengeful tone to Marian's voice. It was years of conditioning and standing on the sidelines that made the concept of bloodlust for war so foreign.
"So if I give you what you seek," Bookman said, looking at Cross.
"I'll let your brat live," Marian said. Bookman extended his hand across his still full glass of wine on the table.
"You have yourself a deal."
And they shook.
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After the Bookman and the General made their concord, they were spared having to talk further when the boat gave a sick lurch. Bottles and glasses slid off tables and onto the floor, except for theirs, which Cross saved before they could be wasted. People hurried to sit up from where they had fallen, looking around wildly.
"Just stay calm, everyone. Just choppy out," said the bartender, before the boat gave another lurch. Some passengers outside started screaming and their footsteps hurried by the dark bar that the two occupied. Marian made an irritated sound in his throat, throwing back another gulp of wine.
"Dammit," Cross grunted, slamming the glass down. It clattered on the table and then slid down to the edge before crashing to the floor. The boat rocked back and forth like a morbid baby cradle.
"What's happening?!" someone behind them shouted.
"Are we being attacked?!' asked another.
"Is it pirates?!"
"What do we do?!"
"Always at the worst time…" Cross said, standing up. He lit another cigarette in a lazy way, not seeming to notice the swaying lamps above their heads. Then he pocketed the lighter and unsnapped the top of his holster, pulling out a silver gun. "I guess it's time to do my job, eh, Bookman?"
"Akuma?" Bookman asked, hurrying to stand before the light above his head fell on their table. Cross managed to swipe the bottle of wine before it was destroyed.
"Only a few," Marian said, pocketing the bottle as he walked towards the exit. In the doorway, Bookman saw him turn to the right, shooting at something the old man could only hear. A cloud of heavy smoke obscured Cross from sight for a moment before it was blown away and the general's red hair was the only thing Bookman saw before he disappeared. Hurrying after him, Bookman stayed far from the railing closest to the water, moving with one hand against the wall of the main frame of the boat. He could hear Cross's footsteps ahead of him and Bookman hastened to follow, listening to the shots and screams from the akuma as they confronted Marian.
They were after Cross's Innocence no doubt. Because he was a general, it was more likely that his Innocence was stronger to the akuma, which was what drew them to this boat. Besides, why else would they…Bookman stopped, holding the sleeve of his cloak to his face to filter out the smoke. The akuma were after not only Marian, but Maria as well. And while the general could protect himself, Maria couldn't.
And Lavi was chained to the box that held her corpse.
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Oh no! Lavi's in mortal danger again?! Don't judge me. It makes me gleeful.
So, sorry about the break I took from this. I just got a little fed up waiting for Hoshino's new chapter and then when it came, it wasn't anything special. That's when I decided that I don't give a shit if this isn't "canon" anymore. I'm going to go my own way, and if it ends up differently from the main story, that's okay. Because this is fanfiction after all.
And I really love Cross. –molests-
He was the focal point of this chapter it seems. Since not a lot is known about him and his relationship with Bookman, I did a lot of guessing and making stuff up. In the manga, Bookman says that he knew about Marian's akuma-conversion ability (which will come up in the next chapter or so) and a few other things that led me to believe he knew Cross prior to coming to the Order. Also, I was fascinated with how Cross was able to bring Maria back to life, much like the Earl, so that's going to be the coolest shit ever this side of next chapter. At least, I hope so. And I hope you like it as much as I do.
Because I like Cross a lot. -keeps molesting-
And. Yeah. I'm hopefully going to update this every two weeks. As a result from the poll, it seems people want an update about twice a month. I'm going to do my best for you guys, but in turn, please drop me a review or two, okay? This story takes a lot of time to write and when I have 200+ people watching this, I would like some feedback. Just a request, not an obligation. I just want to know what you think, because I loves you.
But not as much as I love Cross. –molests him again-
Anyway, catch you next time.
Peace, love, and happiness
(And here's to not failing my exams, or yours for that matter!)
Dhampir72
