FicWad

III. A Transvestite in the Parish

Wonder what I did after Vash gave me that rude awakening? Well, first of all I tried to get back to sleep. Sleep didn't come at all, so I spent thirty minutes smoking a cigarette as I watched the sky turn from one shade of grey to another grey shade. Bastard. At least Vash could have waited before he woke me up.

I ended up calling Vash several choice words including many variations of the word penis. So sue me, I had to be crude. Some of us don't know several languages to cuss in.

This by the way was the week it all began. And it centered around a group of five dozen plantlings. What are Plantlings you might ask? As it so might happen, I'm not really in the mood to be telling you and once I get around to telling you why you will understand. All right, I'll tell you. Plantlings are Freeborn Plants under the age of two.

I went to the church and spent the morning in the parish hall, sipping weak coffee and trying to do a two week old crossword someone had left behind. It was going to be one of those days. I could feel it in my gut. Like I had gargled a dozen bags of nails chased by a vat of acid. There were probably worse ways to feel and the dozen bags in my stomach were the least of my concerns. The fact that bills were pilling up and I was too proud to give Vash the Agnostic the knowledge that I needed help was one of the things that kept me smoking by the pack.

Now what in the hell was three across? The fact that I shouldn't have cared what the capital principality of district eight of the Grey City didn't matter. I chewed the pen in my hand and thought of pulling out my pack of cigarette and having a nice long smoke. I even had reached in my blazer for my battered lighter when I spotted Livio entering the parish hall. He wore a lumpy grey sweater the exact same ugly color as his hair. It (the sweater not his hair) was covered with small clumps of yarn. Obviously, Lazlo was nowhere in sight.

Dealing with a person with multiple personalities is hard. Livio, crybaby that he is, was the easy person to deal with. Lazlo had to be kept away from the orphans. I didn't know what he would do to one of them and personally, I didn't want to know what he was capable of it. Despite the lumpy sweater, Livio was inhumanly strong. So was I, although I didn't know what the reason for that was.

"You shouldn't be smoking," he said, picking at one of the loose threads on his sweater.

I squeezed my eyes shut until I could see sparks at the corners. "Just making sure my lighter is still there."

"Is it?" Livio asked.

The lighter, battered as it was, had been a present from Vash. It looked good before I stomped on it a few times. Lame thing didn't light most of the time. "Yeah," I said, "It is." I paused, removing my hand from the lighter and folded up the crossword. That goddamned three across would have to wait. "So, what do you want?"

Livio dropped his voice to a whisper, "Snacks."

I blinked and straightened up much to the protest of several muscles in my lower back. "What do snack have do with anything?"

Great. Livio the crybaby's eyes started watering over, magnifying the wrinkles near his eyes. Great, the man is twenty-nine, yet he can't keep from acting like the world is going to end if someone talks to him in a firm tone of voice. Why me? I mouthed to myself. This was going to be long morning.

I snaked an arm around Livio's harder than concrete shoulder and tried not to look disgusted as he blew his nose on my sleeve. Jesus Christ, I didn't know anyone could produce that much snot. "Um, so, Livio... what's this about snacks?

Sniffle, sniffle went Livio, "For the orphans."

"Okay... so?"

"There are none."

Sigh. "Great, just, great. I thought you had bought a new shipment."

"I think Lazlo ate them all. He's a mean person like that."

"Okay," I said, trying to wipe that wad of snot off my coat sleeve, "Dammit, Livio, could you be less of a baby for once?" He looked at me with watery eyes. With Vash and his child-smooth face I could actually feel sympathy for the guy. Livio, on the other hand, I wanted more than anything to slap and tell him to grow a spine and a nice set of balls. "How about I go and give you some money and you go down and buy some cookies and some juice?"

"I can do that," Livio said, wiping his eyes with his ratty sweater, "I can be down to the store and back in about thirty minutes."

I opened my wallet and pulled out a balled up wad of bills. I picked at the ball until it unraveled to become five ones and a twenty. "Buy something with that."

He took the bills from my hand and stared at them. "That not enough for fresh cookies."

I rolled my eyes. "Just get the stuff in the aluminum bags and some of that powdered drink mix."

"But... but..."

"Kids ain't gourmets," I drawled lazily, "Just, just go, Livio. I'm sick of your face."

Livio looked like he was going to cry again. The door slammed behind him. Then it opened again, letting a tall woman glide in. She was wearing some fur stuff against the perpetual cold that Grey City is known for and a little pill box style hat. "You," she said in a voice too low to belong to any woman, "You Nicholas D. Wolfwood?"

"Umm..."

"Whatever," she sighed, peeling off her coat, revealing her turtleneck sweater and long slim fitting skirt.

I noticed she had absolutely no tits to speak of as well as an Adam's apple. "Great," I said, "Just what I need right now... a drag queen."

"Transvestite," she... correction... he said, scornful little smile on his lips.

I cleared my throat. I really wanted a cigarette right now. "There's a difference?"

He opened his mouth, perfectly covered in red, red lipstick. The kind that's two shades away from fluorescent. "About three tons of make-up," he said, holding out a gloved hand, "I'm Elendira T. Crimsonnail."

I blinked. "So?"

"So," Elendira said, "My employer, Mr. Millions needs your help."

...to be continued.