Snippet #2683734

Even with his nose deep in Friedrich’s work for free spirits Cyril was still able to sense a figure materialize at his side. Before the foot coming down like a striking hammer met its target, the young adult turned to face his artifact. No words were spoken, nor were anything thoughts transmitted through a mental connection. Only the exchange of gazes occurred.

”Wulf, tell my wife I love her.”

”As if somebody would marry you.” The girl followed up ruthlessly deadpan.

”True, but still painful.

Cyril angled his vision up at the source of the kick from his seated position. Almost instantaneously, the extremely faint signs of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and despite common belief, it was genuine. ”Glad to see you’re doing well after our escapade, Maria.” He spoke in a voiced laced in neither amiability nor derision. Only professional esteem, which in itself was peculiar considering that Cyril was the polar opposite of professional. The Philippine was one of the very, very, very few people awarded with the privilege of being on the exiguous mental list labeled COMPETENT. Her mentality was comprised of the right amounts acumen and cynicism to gaze unobstructedly through the looking glass. On top of that, she was a living and breathing example of the reason to never look down upon people of short stature. In a deriding sense, of course. As the idiom went: The smaller they are, the easier it is to stab the living shit out of you.

”Sure you’ve been fine with that guy who’s at the apex of masculinity- Speaking of which, greetings Basilio.” Both Cyril and Wulf waved in unison at the Saniwa’s escort, who would most like have been in the midst of panic if he had claustrophobia. The blond unconsciously referred to artifacts as human beings. And why should he do anything beside that? They eat, sleep, and shit. To his understanding, those were the core fundamentals of what it meant to be “human”. Although in his mind he knew they were products of the soul, discerning between specific origins required far too much effort for the Belgian to squander. ”Hey, since you’re here, I want you to tell me what you think of this little excerpt?” Cyril abruptly switched gears without noticed, his slack stature now brimmed with energy once his gaze had been cast back to the literature in his hands. After a low breath, words filled with enthrallment flew forth. ”Even the distinction between soul and body is wholly due to the primitive conception of the dream, as also the hypothesis of the embodied soul, whence the development of all superstition, and also, probably the belief in god. “The dead still live: for they appear to the living in dreams.” Very befitting of our current arrangements, right? The last few words lost their vibrance as Cyril looked away from the book to witness Maria’s reaction. Seamlessly, the young adult was once again his lethargic self. Though hopefully the cutout would refresh the surely tired Maria and Basilio, he didn’t really make it a priority to transmit his words in a warm manner.

As much as he hated to admit it, Maria had done Cyril a solid. Back when Wulf’s personality was still in the midst of being cultivated, and at the time had bared a close resemblance to a blank canvas, the Spiritualist had “fleshed out” the girl’s colors almost effortlessly. Cyril was, one would say, in total awe. Surely being members of the same sex was a crucial factor, but perhaps it was all of the facets entailed with another human being that. It’s not that Wulf ever shirked from telling Cyril about something that was on her mind, in fact he was her go-to for such issues, in spite of the lack of lucid empathy he exhibited. He had never explicitly thanked Maria, and chances are, he never would. There was no meaning in such a petty matter.

For karma had already caught up with him.

Cyril was able to digest the words that cut through the air as well as those on the pages before him. Though, he did find his interest piqued when Myoshi nonchalantly dropped the bomb filled with quite the payload. So the people whose job was to prevent deaths would now ensure one would take place. Talk about a plot twist. It wasn’t cheesy, in all actuality, it had taken the combat Saniwa by surprise. The only sign of a response were his widened eyes, which only remained in that form for a short-lived second before mellowing out once again.

"Wait, seriously?!” Wulfetrud internally exclaimed while she shared the same expression as Ms. Christine. An anxious glance to her side confirmed that her partner was completely impassive to this revelation. She yet again envied that aloof side of him, but then again, one of them had to maintain a cool head. Her furred ears twitched uneasily as Miyoshi led the team on, not letting a single consonant fall short of any ears. Even though the Saniwa coolly made an attempt to rationalize what had slithered out of his mouth, a shiver still ran up the girl’s spine despite the amount of carbon dioxide in the room.

Of course. In the name of science. Any second now, Cyril expected Miyoshi to slip into a labcoat produced from a hatch in the ceiling and go forth as an envoy of science. Every generic mad scientist believes that his cause is just no matter the horrors that may lead up to the culmination of his efforts, for it’s all in the name of science. Though mad scientists never seemed to be chained by budget cuts and external benefactors. The guy continued to droll on until the older, veteran Kazetani took the spotlight. Cyril forced himself to hold back the urge to click his tongue after another death stick was ignited, his eyes follow its grey essence as it weakened in density. His eyes were brought back to the Head Saniwa when his ears picked up his own unwelcomed name. He could feel minutes shaved off his life as the words sank in and registered. Although, after he took the other eccentric characters within the room into account, he had gotten off somewhat easy. After the other members had received their assignments, father and son exchanged volleys that probably comprised the familial bonds between them. It would’ve been a heart-warming sight, only if the two individuals weren’t batshit and if Cyril had he actually listened to.

The young adult was now at a crossroads. A pivotal juncture. A fight with temptation. Cyril glanced up to Miyoshi and back down to the book multiple times, until Wulf nudged him in the arm with her elbow. A sigh of defeat escaped his lips as he brought the two uneven halves of the book together in one hand and inelegantly got to his feet, with his artifact in briskly in tow. ”Well, guess I have to make this official? Where do I sign in blood?” He brusquely fixed his stature and opened his mouth again, ”I, Cyril Noel, and Wulfetrud, hereby swear to protect Maria Calag and Basilio to the best of our abilities and then some, lest the former perish and return to this plane to haunt my kitchen’s sink drawer.” He felt another nudge, this time a bit harder than the first. Wulf didn’t seem to enjoy the verbal jab and pouted. ”Glad to be onboard.”

As long as there's sleep and fine wine.

Hopefully the train ride would stop Wulf's caterwauling on taking a scenic trip.