Prompt : That Stepford-Smiler!Klavier fill was awesome, but this Anon now craves the same with Apollo. Either the same kinda thing and/or a completely screwed up Apollo, who isn't emotionally attached to anything. Bonus points for him being BFFs with Stepford-Smiler!Klavier and talking non-chalantly about Kristoph and Daryan being executed as if they're like going to a birthday party or something.

A/N : Another request for a sequel sort of thing from the previous story. Saw it, since I was tracking the thing and well, decided to do it. Contains OOC characters, as per request.

Polyvinyl Chloride

"Mmmmm..." Apollo's eyes were closed, and he let out a throaty murmur of happiness. There's something about the wine that tastes excellent – it must be a good year – and it caresses his throat like nothing in the world would. It strokes, the way an ancient thing would stroke a well-stroked Persian cat, and Apollo purred like one.

"Now that's a good year," He sighed, removing the glass from his lips. "What year is it?" He asked Klavier. He's never been an expert in wine – God knows they cost too damned much.

"I don't know," Klavier purred right back, nursing his own glass. "It's Kristoph's wine, not mine."

Apollo took up the bottle, examined the label, but nothing registered. It's just a bunch of numbers on it that could as likely meant the year or the price – he wouldn't put it pass Kristoph to buy such expensive wine. Music floated into the room to accompany them, played on Kristoph's stereo too – which isn't surprise, considering that they're in his house.

They had decided to 'visit' his brother's house earlier, banding together after work. After all, the keys were theirs to take. For all practical purposes, Kristoph is gone. When you're somewhere where nobody sees, and nobody hears of, and nobody speaks of, chances are you'll be forgotten pretty soon and loped along with the dead. So they had taken the keys from the landlord, and had entered Kristoph's place to 'sample' a little of his wine. A little Saturday's night celebration for them, if you would.

"Ach, Herr Forehead." Klavier called out suddenly. Apollo opened blurry eyes and yawned at him.

"Yes?"

"Would you mind seeing if there's something more...Lively in my brother's CD collection? This is starting to sound like a eulogy. O mournful day, O weepy day."

"Do it yourself," Apollo retorted, neither moving from their places on Kristoph's armchair, too intoxicated to do anything.

The music is indeed depressing, and Apollo found himself humming to it. It's very fitting, he supposed. Dead man's music for a dead man's house. The music's those kind that Apollo never liked – those that sounded like they want to trail right out of the stereo, crawl somewhere, shrivel and die. Which is a lot different from Apollo's policy in life, yes? His policy in life is simple : The living lives. The dead dies. There should be a very big barrier in the middle that separates both highways.

This sir, is the way to the living. Don't belong here? Move then – nothing to be seen here. And if the dead lingers? Then there should be a very big razor in the middle of the street too, cutting up whatever is interrupting life's wonderful routine.

And speaking of dead...

"Ah yes, Klavier."

"Mm?" Blue eyes peered at him, one hand conducting invisible music.

"Do you want to go out and get a drink next Saturday or something? Somewhere more uplifting – a club or something. You're paying of course." He wiggled one eyebrow suggestively. "Seeing as I'm stone broke for now, I wouldn't get you pass the dirt on the carpet."

Klavier laughed, an artsy sort of laughter that while sincere, sounded like it had gone through a lot of practice back when Klavier's a teenager himself. "Of course, Herr Forehead. Would I deny that forehead anything? Of course not, except...Hmm."

"Hmm?"

"Next Saturday is their execution I believe."

Apollo blinked at him.

"Who?"

"Daryan and Kristoph's. Remember Daryan? He's the guy who looked like Elvis in my band. " He replied, swirling the wine around a little. "They're going to be executed next Saturday I believe – no idea, I must check my planner."

"Ah, all of them, together?" Apollo frowned. The frown isn't of disapproval of course – he approves. Oh yes, Apollo most whole-heartedly approves. You see, it's a matter of simple mathematics. If you execute them all at once, San Quentin the load of them into kingdom come together like a savage massacre, you actually save a lot of money. You can just dig a big big hole, and like stew, toss them all in and cover them up like a dirt smudge on your pants you want no one to see.

Apollo approves of this, you see. If the state has more money, then the state will stop sucking people like him dry. Why would dead people need pretty holes to lie in anyway? What, their blank, empty skulls are going to be claustrophobic? Disapprove of the cramped space? Apollo snorted at his own joke, chuckling merrily. Not likely, not likely at all.

"Good riddance to bad garbage anyway," Apollo announced. Klavier raised an eyebrow of his and grinned.

"Ah, so cruel, Apollo Justice. Don't be so cruel, ja? I'm sure they had been good for something."

"Well, yes." Apollo raised the wine glass thoughtfully and looked into it's maroon depths, so like the colour of Klavier's coat. "Yes, I suppose. You've got a point – Kristoph does collect good wine, if nothing else. Merits must be given," He announced the way someone would go 'Let them eat cake!'.

The both of them raised their glass.

"To bad garbage!"

The wine is downed.

Klavier sighed, flicking a blonde hair over his shoulder and purring at the wine again. "That really is good wine. I need to meet my brother before he swings, ja? I need to get him to tell me where he got it – it really is too excellent."

"If he tells you," Apollo shot back.

"Ach, Herr Forehead. You know no one can resist this charming smile. Incidentally, what do you plan to wear to their execution?"

Apollo frowned. He hadn't considered this – hadn't even remembered that Kristoph is scheduled to swing, actually. He's been so busy with work, taking over Kristoph's firm now that Kristoph is gone and no one wants the association to a criminal. Apollo took it, shined it, and now he's busy as ever – and he's not even sure that he's all that free next Saturday. Still, Klavier is his best friend these days. His brother and acquaintances are both swinging, so it's common courtesy that Apollo shows up, right?

"Not my best suit I think. San Quentin's so...Dusty. I wouldn't want to get dust on my shirt."

"Ah-ah!" Klavier wagged his finger at him. "But now you are not thinking like a fabulous rock star. The paparazzi, they will be there, will they not? You must dress your best for them."

"I wouldn't look good cover in dirt either way," Apollo joked. "And Kristoph will spit on me if he gets close enough."

"Don't stand out then. Just find somewhere nice, private, and clean to stand in. Then when the press comes, just dab at your eyes and pretend you are very sad, ja?"

Apollo tweaked one of his antennas thoughtfully. What a pain. Waste of his time – it's like going to the birthday bash of someone you don't even know. Hug a little, kiss a little. Did you miss him? Oh, I absolutely did.

"Okay," He allowed at last. "If I can keep clean, I'll attend then, I think."

"So kind, Herr Forehead. I know there was something I liked about you," Klavier purred. The clinked the glasses again, and downed the remains of the bottles, finished between the two of them.

"You'll have to bring me around early though," Apollo said thoughtfully. "We wouldn't want to miss the good spots."

"Ach yes, there is that. Tell me, Polly. Do you think he'll twitch?"

Apollo rolled his eyes. "He never stopped twitching while he was alive. Why wouldn't he in death?"

"No no, I meant his leg. Do you think it'll twitch?" Klavier asked, his tone exactly like a man at a market. Does this fish taste well, mister? Is it spongy enough? Is it fresh? Will it make good curry?

"Dunno."

"Let's bet then," Klavier suggested, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Five bucks says his right foot will twitch."

"Five bucks and a Nickel Samurai mug says his left foot will."

Klavier laughed. "Deal then."

The both of them rose, prodded by the silent cue – silent cue being that the wine is done and finished with.

There's no point lingering here after all, if the bottle is finished with. They aren't looking for another – that will come on another day, and they'll come together to sift through Kristoph's wine storage. They won't be looking for sentimental goods. In fact, Klavier had already found a buyer for the place, and is only waiting until the dead papers comes a-knocking and the wine is all moved somewhere else, that somewhere being his parlor.

"Let's go, Herr Forehead," He announced, pulling the shorter man with him lightly towards the door.

"Where to?"

"The electronics shop, silly Forehead. I need to get myself a concealable camcorder."

"Ah," Apollo mused. The both of them tumbled out of Kristoph's apartment, and before long, were making merry ways away. "Send me a copy of it when you're done please."

"Ach? To exercise those tear glands?

Apollo laughed. "Of course not! To cheer me up when I'm down!"