Well, it's back and just a couple days after the first chapter. I sat, watched some Samurai Champloo (last three episodes) and my throat got a bit tight. Oh, and I saw the one where Jin got himself a little girl friend. Heh… cute.

Wanna watch my Full-Metal Alchemist but the battery on my DVD player is low, so I'm going to write this instead.

I'm surprised I started chapter two so soon, fics I really like normally never get updated and just take up memory on my dying computer (Convalescence: Servitude is a living, breathing rotting example of this… is it Rosiel? Lol). Anyways, yeah…

Disclaimer: I don't own GX or Thrice… I cant even remember the last time I saw Vheissu, actually… or an episode of GX… my God, that's sad…

Always for Zo-chan. We came, we saw, we shat.

But things cant be as they seem, I'm so far from hope This must be another dream, but my eyes are open

Thrice

A crisscrossed pattern shadowed a young teen's face as he squirmed uncomfortably in the confessionary stall. His hair was plastered almost dependently to his forehead in dark, upside down question marks, and he was consistently swiping at the beads of sweat trickling down his ashen face.

Many adolescents went through this nervous ritual every time Mass was held. Sitting beneath the steely, merciless stare of Father Zane and divulging secrets things that one wouldn't even tell their best friend was highly unnerving… and the cold and calculating and swift way he voiced his opinions on the idiocy of their acts often made them tremble. It was never anything personal, anything targeting, but it was so very swift and demanding, the tone of his voice itself was so… foreboding. Threatening.

And the worse was, he was never light on the language.

Zane took in a deep breath, but did not look at the boy. He didn't know if they all noticed, but he never quite looked at them… it was usually straight ahead to the wooden walls, or he afforded them a judgmental, concise glare at one or two points in the conversation. There was an art in correcting these idiots… yes, idiots. He believed that the world was going to die in the hands of this generation, and he spared them no kind words or looks when he advised them… he didn't feel like one of them running him over when he had a walker crossing the street in the next forty years. He wanted to avoid that by imparting 'kind words of wisdom'…

And if he got run over, he would know in death or inevitable paralysis that they didn't appreciate his counsel and that they just hated him… and that would be his fault. He preferred the latter than the former.

"Well, it was friggen stupid of you to steal all that money from your teachers' desk," Zane began with paternal harshness, "to buy some cigarettes, which really are just killing you… do you know that it takes eleven minutes off of your detestable, insignificant life every time you put that shit to your lips and suck it in like it's the best damn thing on earth? I don't know who you are trying to impress because you're just going to die-"

Zane internally sighed… who was he to lecture any one on smoking?

Do as I say, not as I do.

The teen whimpered, his hand a quaking, knotted ball on his lap. He was swinging his legs, and they made obnoxious 'thuds' against the wooden base of his seat.

"- and that girl that you saw it so damn cool to tongue, well, she could have had AIDS or something like that, and just wanted an easy screw so she could call it a day and run off and tell all her little girlfriends- who are totally unawares, mind you- that she scored a hot piece of ass. We're living in a selfish world-"

Another snivel.

"- in a selfish world where everyone just wants a piece of ass and a shit load of money… look at what's on that brainwashing shit of a machine you call a T.V…. isn't that all that's on it?"

The boy whimpered again, unsure of what to say. Zane sighed impatiently. Time for the look…

He let his eyes snap to the confessor, ensuring just the right amount of corrective loathing was iced into his gaze.

" Well, isn't it?" he growled pointedly. He followed a nervous gulp down the boy's long and acne-ridden throat as he nodded; an earnest up and down moronic shake of the head… that probably had no brains in it.

He let his eyes return to its former place boring an invisible whole in the confession booth's wall. As he said, there was an art to this job…

"Well, for penance, just say as many Hail Mary's as you see fit… no, don't look at me like that."

Zane stopped in his guidance because he knew that the boy was looking at him as though he was insane, as though he had lost it. They all went through this every time, but he knew that they all gave him that same look every time he finished bash their youthfully essential habits.

"Listen, kiddo," he began, "rattling a prayer you probably don't know you're saying because you've memorized it so long ago isn't really going to help the fact that you're a rather light fingered squirt that's sub-consciously basking in a conformist, suicidal society or that you're just too horny and feel the need to grab at every girls' ass that passes you by… you have to sit down with yourself and realize that you're a jackass man-whore that thinks filling your lungs up with smoke is friggen gnarly- is that the word they're using these days?"

Zane let his eyes wander to the boy again questioningly. The boy swallowed and slowly nodded, afraid to tell the celebrant that the word had been out-dated for a few decades. Zane continued in his divine correction.

""Well, I don't give shit from up my ass, the thing is, you have to make yourself change. A million Hail Mary's or Our Father's or Mysteries aren't going to change you… you are. You're the only one that can make you a better person, and that what the Father… no, not me and not Father Herman, the Big Man- that's what he was looking for at the end of the day. That's what's going to determine whether you watch your ass roast in hell or if you get up there-" Zane, without giving the boy a glance, shot his index finger upwards in a sort of impatient, irate stabbing gesture.

"So, little man, any goddamn questions, excuse the pun? Anything else you feel like confessing to?"

The boy hurriedly shook his heads, eager to get out of the booth and get on home. He felt like he was going to piss himself.

"Well, go on home then, and tell your mother I send my blessings and condolences to her sick father… wait, you did say you were the last person in line to confess, right?"

The boy was about to exit the stall when he cast a frightened look over his shoulder to Father Zane. The door was already partially open.

"I was, but now there's an old-ish dude waiting outside… uh, 'by Father Zane."

Zane frowned. It was confession for the younger people of the congregation now; the elder people of the church already had their time with him (in which his advice was a lot less critical, he had to admit to himself). Who was waiting outside for him now? He wanted to go home, see if he could catch some wrestling or some semi-interesting shit that was on the cable at this god-accursed prime-time hour…

"Yeah, bye Yuji, keep your nose clean, and remember what I told you…"

Yuji left the booth somewhat fearfully after the farewells were exchanged. Zane scowled and fingered his cross that lay heavily against his chest. It captured the waning light of the candles that faintly illuminated the church, causing it to glint slightly.

Who wanted to bug him now?

He swore when the individual slid into the booth and sniffed haughtily.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Good evening to you as well, Father Zane," Slade sneered, looking amusedly at Zane. The priest's hands were balled on separate knees, and he was glaring full on at his contender for senatorial office.

"You do look so very nice in your work attire, Father," Slade pressed, intentionally emphasizing the last word. He snickered, "But you wouldn't guess you were a priest from your mouth… such bad language. Can get you in trouble, one day, that mouth of yours Father Truesdale… I heard you impart you wisdom to that little boy… so touching-"

"Shut the hell up," Zane snarled. Slade raised a hand to his mouth in mock offense.

"Oh, Zane," he said with flat, sardonic melodrama, "How you break my heart so… have mercy-"

"What do you want?" Zane asked with deceitful patience. Slade's sneer disappeared from his face, and the hilarity balked from his eyes. It melted into an expression of contempt that Slade reserved just for Zane, and his voice slipped into a business like manner, "Actually, I came to apologize for that call that you received earlier on this morning."

Zane started to feel an unfathomable fist of rage swell in his chest… a sensation that only accompanies great enmity and hatred.

"It was you!" he snarled with hateful accusation. Slade gave a derisive, elaborate sigh and raised his hands as if in supplication. Zane was unaware if he was mocking his job or not.

"I just came to say," Slade said, his voice adopting a tone of false umbrage, "that I apologize for the call you received, and that I don't want you to think that it was me, and I just came to enforce healthy and fair competition, and I wanted you to know that I would rather die than fight dirty with you."

Zane's face twisted in disgust at the singsong, roller coaster manner Slade's voice had attained.

"Better drop dead before God's strikes you down, Slade," Zane said scathingly, "after all, everyone knows you love to campaign dirty… I just never thought you would stoop so low as to wake me up in the early hours of the morning-"

Slade's face darkened, and he managed to come across as awfully sinister with the way the shadows of the crisscrossed window cast the dark and light shades on his face, and his goatee and glossy black hair added all the menace that something from only your deepest, darkest dreams could have.

"It wasn't me," he snapped, all sarcastic good-humor absent from his voice now. It was just hard and unfeeling, and if those teens had heard it, they wouldn't have given a second thought before peeing themselves.

"Then who was it?" Zane asked challengingly, his dark eyes narrowing distrustfully.

"If you must know, it was my younger brother, Chazz," Slade said, casting a look down to his perfectly manicured fingernails. He looked haughty, as if he was too important to be sitting down and explaining this to Zane.

"You have a brother?" Zane said disbelievingly.

"Oh, big bad Slade doesn't strike you as the type to have siblings?"

"Too be honest with you, I think that if your parents had spawned any more kids, you'd've eaten them all up like the greedy bitch that you are by now."

Slade's eyes narrowed and his voice became frigid, and he continued along as though Zane had not spoken.

"My brother is in dire need of psychological treatment, I'm afraid. He has been admitted and has attended many therapists in the past, but it has just come to our attention that more tests are to be conducted on him before he can be considered undamaging to society."

Zane snickered.

"You got a crack pot little brother that called me one in the morning to refresh my recollections of nursery-rhymes?" Zane asked dryly, "Oh yeah, Slade, this is a riot, don't let the press get a hold of this-"

"Actually," Slade said, his trademark sneer growing on his face once again, "It is part of my campaign… you know… 'If senator, mentally ill patients will be treated to new rights and undergo treatment with new and phenomenal technology not yet introduced to mental hospitals… my younger brother, Chazz Princeton, is a victim of the tragedy of psychological illness…' " Slade cocked his head and smiled, "That sort of thing."

Zane shook his head slowly in disbelief.

"You dirty little shit," he said softly, "Exploiting your brother's illness to help your campaign…"

Slade leaned in, and said softly, his words dripping venom, "I'm sure you understand my desire to win, Zane, I'm sure you understand more than anyone that I will do anything it takes to win…" Slade abruptly pulled away, the scent of his expensive, brand cologne ghosting to the normal musty air of the church. The fervor in Slade's eyes had held Zane, and he believed what Slade said, he believed that Slade would do whatever it took to win, absolutely anything

Zane was silent.

"But I didn't come to tell you that, now did I, Father," he said, returning his gaze to his nails, "I have just come to tell you really that big bad Slade hasn't gone that low yet-"

Zane noticed that his eyes attained a certain shiftiness and insincerity in his next statement that he thought was very noteworthy, "-and that I have everything under control with my brother. You wont be receiving any calls like that again."

Zane stared curiously at Slade, documenting his discomfort and the way his eyes uneasily slid from left to right.

"I don't give a rat's ass about your brother, Slade," Zane said, adding finality to the conversation, by stepping out of the confessional booth and smoothing the wrinkles in his uniform. Slade also exited, shooting Zane a gaze that could have withered an iron rod. Zane smiled wryly, and said, "Now, if you'll excuse me, Slade, I have to fulfill my duties as Father by closing the church."

Have everything under control my ass, Zane thought as he watched Slade's retreating back. You sound like a man with something to hide, Slade… like every politician.

Another voice, this one more malevolent and sinister, piped up in the recesses of Zane's mind.

Even you, Zane. Even you have your dirty little skeletons in the closet…

"Shut up," Zane said under his breath, his hands tightening around his cross as he followed Slade's progress to the door, "shut the hell up."

The voice died just as Slade turned on his heel and said with a dry, thin smile, "Good luck in the election, Zane… you know, you'll need it."

Zane took in a breath as he proceeded to blow out a candlelight from the altar.

"Keep your luck, Princeton," he retorted, "I'm a strong believer, and I don't need whatever it is you have to offer… I have God."

Zane said that with the same lack of sincerity Slade had held in his gaze while ensuring Chazz's safety. If you had merely heard him, you wouldn't have thought him to be a priest at all with the lack of conviction in his statement.

Zane supposed Slade's retort to his refusal of his well wishes was the reverberating slam of the chapel's oak doors.

Zane looked up, and said softly to particularly no one.

"If I have nothing left to live for, then why am I finding it so hard to turn to you?"

Well, I'm really pissed off. I was typing so well, and I was I in the zone and everything up until '"I don't give a rat's ass about your brother, Slade,"' and then I had to go eat because I would be an anorexic little freak if my aunt and they didn't make me go eat… well, not anorexic in the sense that I would deliberately starve myself but more of that I would simply forget to eat… as I have done on many occasions -sweatdrops-. So I had to go eat porridge and bread and watch my cousin watch High School Musical. I think I nearly brought back up my dinner, I was like 0.0 "This isn't happening… I doubt television has gotten so desperate as to air something like this." I felt traumatized and robbed of my right to live a normal, unblemished, untainted existence…

…Or something to that effect.

Well, I want to keep Chazz dearest for next chapter. You find out more about Zane next chapter and what influenced him to be a priest.

God, that sentence sounded so strange. I'm serious, go back and read it aloud to yourself and, like, think.

Well, I'm going to go see if I can start the third chapter of this accursed little thing. I didn't mean for my endnote to be so long, but I just feel chatty today. It's probably the tea I had at Zo's house.

Well, ja-ne, and thank you to my reviewers –looks at my two reviewers-. And thank you to the one that put this on a favorites list –looks pointedly at reviewer that didn't put this on their favorites list-… I nearly died of happiness. ii

That's also something a thought I'd never say… oh well. Till next chappie.

Ki-chan/Evanescent Whisper/ Kenny/ Sunshine/ Keena/ Keens/ Goth Girl #1 (-sweatdrops- urg Craaaigg…)