OOO
Pietro smiled as he felt his blood rushing and adrenaline pumping like it hadn't in weeks. Ever since a few weeks earlier, Wanda had taken to being a lot tetchier about their abilities and started chiding him whenever he ran. He'd gone to Father Anderson who'd expressed many of the same sentiments, so he was forced to either ran fast enough that he could hope not to be seen or stay still when they were around. It was a terrible position to be put in; he loved running almost as much as he hated doing extra chores, especially when Fr. Anderson monitored him to make sure they weren't done 'too' quickly.
They were both at dinner, though, so he was free to run uninhibited. He knew he could get into a lot more trouble than he would for simply running by going into Father Anderson's room and it was probably some sort of sin to boot. However, he'd overheard snatches of conversation, about Kurt and others, which convinced him more than ever that the head priest was up to something. If he ran fast enough, he was confident he could find proof that he could show Wanda and replace it before he was discovered. He needed to know and wanted very badly to have the proof to shove in her face.
As soon as he entered, he groaned. He knew Father Anderson was scholarly, but he hadn't expected quite so many books. Despite being fast, he realized he'd probably have to make a return trip or two just to look at everything thoroughly and without being noticed. Reminding himself that if he didn't hurry he would be late for dinner, he started flipping through books and quickly scanning them for any subject manner or margin notes that might confirm what he suspected.
Grabbing the first book he saw, he started flipping, going through the stacks and replacing them as he went. He was barely through the first thirty when something fell out of a dog-eared copy of Summa Theologica. Curious, he put the books aside for a moment and picked it up. It was a picture of Anderson and Wanda, taken many years ago; he was the same as ever but she didn't appear to be much older than five or six. Wanda was clinging to the priest and they seemed to be whirling around. At first he stared at the photography blankly; then a memory inside of him stirred.
His sister had skinned her knee one day long ago and Father Anderson, in an attempt to cheer her up, had taught her Irish songs. They had ended up singing Finnegan's Wake at the tops of their lungs and dancing around the orphanage's infirmary until they were dizzy. He had watched from bed, having broken his leg while climbing a tree, clapping the rhythm of their melody. The sisters had found it amusing and one of them had gone and fetched a camera, snapping the shot when neither of them was looking. Apparently he'd gotten a copy and kept it.
When he shifted his weight, the floorboards creaked and he suddenly recalled his purpose. Replacing the photograph, he moved on to the next books, becoming increasingly disappointed. There wasn't even a copy of the Malleus Maleficarum (although Wanda was adamant that it wasn't an official text and had been condemned, that was probably just her being Wanda again). He gritted his teeth and decided to concede defeat for the moment and head down to dinner. As he turned, however, he noticed that the floorboards were creaking again, in a way that wasn't altogether normal.
A quick examination revealed a secreted compartment and he withdrew a decent sized volume out from it. A quick flip through it made him grin; it was not only proof that vampires existed, but irrefutable evidence that Anderson knew of them and participated in their demise. The volume was a meticulous record of each and every incident he had been in, including date, location and number of creatures destroyed with relevant notes written underneath.
There would be no way Wanda could go on insisting he was wrong after he showed her this, he though. Excited, he dashed out the door, failing to see where he was running, and ran right into someone coming up the steps. The someone stumbled back slightly then righted himself and Pietro.
"Well, well," he said. "What do you have there?"
Pietro glanced upwards and found himself staring once more into the emerald eyes of Enrico Maxwell.
OOO
Wanda hummed softly as she tossed the salad. Behind her she could hear the muted sounds of a knife chopping as Kurt cut a few vegetables for side dishes. Then, at the door, came a weighty thump, a sound Wanda knew better than any other in her life.
Father Anderson's footsteps.
She turned around to face him, the salad bowl in hand, her face beaming.
"I've finished preparing the salad, Father," she informed him quietly.
He smiled and nodded, then went to take it from her and put it out on the table. For the briefest moment, his rough hands ran over her slender, soft ones and she smiled. It relaxed her to think of his hands, large and competent, as if there was nothing they could not do. They were hands that held her world together, kept the orphans safe and comforted them, bandaged wounds and wiped away tears and broke up fights.
It was a curious thing, she mused as she got a pitcher of iced tea out of the refrigerator, but it seemed to her that the earliest memory she could recall was being held by those hands and knowing just to feel them that she was safe. Hands like those would never drop her, never let her down.
Kurt bamf-ed into the dining room, causing the children to giggle, just as she set down the pitcher in the middle of the table. She laughed as the blue-skinned would-be-priest joked with them, but a quick glance around the room caused her brow to furrow.
"Pietro's late again," she muttered disapprovingly.
"Do you vant me to get him?" Kurt offered.
"No," she sighed. "I'll get him myself."
She tromped up the steps in a labored fashion, angry that for as fast as her brother insisted he was, he never seemed to be where he was supposed to be, when he was supposed to be there.
"Pietro!" She screamed up the steps.
Enrico smiled down at the boy when he heard Wanda calling.
"Why don't you give me that?" He whispered. "Don't worry. I'll let you read it later. I understand. But not now. You don't want to rouse suspicion do you?" Pietro shook his head 'no.' "Well then the best way to do that would be to go down to dinner and act like everything is normal. I assure you, you won't get into trouble. But it's better that it looks like I was borrowing this than if you got caught with it. I know, you were just curious, not really thieving. Even so.
Now hurry. She's waiting."
Pietro nodded and dashed down the first flight and around the landing to join his exasperated sister.
"I thought I told you that Father Anderson didn't want you running! And what were you doing up there anyway?"
"You're such a little brown-nose, aren't you? Always doing what Father Anderson wants," he snorted. "I was just getting ready. 'Sides, it's none of your business."
She glowered at him, and then turned around sharply, causing the bulb in a wall lamp to shatter as she did so.
"And you yell at me…"
"I don't do it on purpose. There's a difference," she snapped.
"Whatever. Race ya!" He laughed and then dashed to his seat in the space of a moment. Sighing in annoyance, she came down shortly after, and once they were all seated and settled down, they turned to Farther Anderson for a blessing before eating. Pietro was attempting to kick Wanda's feet under the table but she gritted her teeth and told herself that she didn't want to cause a scene for Father.
She was actually rather proud that nothing disastrous happened that second time. It seemed like her control was getting just a little bit better.
OOO
After dinner, Anderson quickly excused himself. The hour was getting late and while he had arranged to meet the smith after normal working hours, in order to avoid suspicion, he didn't want to delay the man too much. Even if he was a Section worker, not all of those (outside of Section XIII, of course) were priests or religious. Quite a few, in fact, were simply very devoted laity who had particular skills but also desired to have families. Since other sections didn't make such stringent demands, they permitted those luxuries.
His particular destination was at the shop of a man who ostensibly crafted high quality silver dinner-ware and services with many of the older accents and flourishes. However, he was also skilled in the art of forging weapons, more specifically weapons made of blessed silver or simply hard-edged steel.
Tonight Anderson was visiting for the holier side of the weapon's dealing. He knocked on the backdoor and was left in without as much as a sound, once the man inside peeked through the small lens in the door. Inside there was a small table with a dim lamp on it, as well as two boxes, one lengthy and one just slightly shorter.
"You may examine them for as long as you wish," the middle-aged smith told him, stepping back so that Anderson could view the work at his leisure.
Taking the lids off, he ran his calloused hands over the contents and smiled.
"They're perfect," he said as the one drew a thin line of blood from his fingers. He wiped the blade off with a deft movement as his hand healed, then replaced the lids and tucked the boxes beneath his arms. He placed a clinking bag onto the table with his free hand and the two men nodded to each other. Then Anderson headed to the door one again and lumbered off silently into the night.
To be honest, he'd known he never talk Kurt out of it. And it always helped to be well-prepared.
OOO
A few days later, after the private ceremony at the orphanage chapel with the children, Fathers Anderson and Maxwell and Sisters Heinkel and Yumiko, Kurt sat at the head of the table laughing and teasing with the children. The Father Anderson stood and walked out of the room for a moment. When he returned, he had the two long packages with him. He stood at the doorway for a moment, and then cleared his throat.
"Children," he said "Ah woold like ah moment wi' Kurt, if ye dinnae mind."
Somewhat crestfallen, the children cleared out nevertheless, Pietro pouting as he went. Maxwell regarded his subordinate closely as he placed the two boxes on the table in front of Kurt with a smile. They were wrapped in brown paper but the trappings belied what lay inside.
"From all of oos, noo tha' ye are one of oos," he said, indicating the two nuns with a gesture.
Kurt tore the paper off then lifted the lids and, one after the other, lay a rapier and a sabre on the table. In the light of the dining room, two names twinkled on the blades, just above the hilts.
Turpin
Aramis
"Their names?"
"Aye."
"Guide zem vell. Zey are built for monster slaying," Heinkel told him with a grin.
"You can get used to them when we practice our swordsmanship this week!" Yumiko said with a tiny smile of her own.
"Marvelous!" Kurt exclaimed, taking the rapier and leaping on the table to try a few moves.
Maxwell clapped along with the rest of them, but his eyes were drawn to a quick movement at the door. The boy was so eager that it was almost too easy to win him over.
The only question was how to make a room with the ability to handle massive amounts of friction that was soundproof to the point where it could muffle a sonic boom.
OOO
CC: Nightcrawler has used both rapiers and sabers in comic continuity before, and does so again in Ultimate Alliance, where he's seen using two sabers. He is often portrayed as having a swashbuckling attitude, leading to identifications with Errol Flynn.
CC2: In the first chapter, the reference to Wundagore refers to the mountain where the 616 Maximoff twins were born. It is a mountain in Transia, a Marvel nation (like Latvaria) near Transylvania and formerly part of Wallachia (where Vlad Dracul was a prince). A demon on Wundagore (Chthon) is partially responsible for Wanda's powers in the Marvel 616 universe.