The Simplistic Stupidity of Life

Disclaimer: I do not own Trinity Blood or its characters.

Warning: This is a TresxAbel fic. Don't like—don't read.

Summary: Ever imagined Abel and Tres talking about something, but can't understand each other, and it all went nowhere—but still somewhere.


On one fine day by the strike of twelve, the noon sun draped over the Vatican and its rays fell on two priests—namely Father Abel Nightroad and Father Tres Iqus.

They were having the nicest harebrained conversation…

Father Tres had a message for Father Abel. In his free time, Tres delivers messages and goods all over the Vatican to be of use whilst waiting for a mission. Now, he had a new mission: Father Nightroad's Message Delivery.

"Father Nightroad, I have a message for you from the Iron Maiden. It's about the mission in San Van Gonza."

He and Abel recently did a mission in San Van Gonza. Abel was alone outside getting fresh air on his cozy little bench by a plaza in the Vatican. Even though he hardly got sleep the other night, he goes here to see life's little miracles."Yes. What is it, then?"

"'I have sent you a message, did you get it?'" Tres stated monotonously.

There was a pause. "No. What's the message?" Abel asked again.

"'I have sent you a message, did you get it?'"

Again, he blinked. This was starting to get annoying.

"No, Tres. I did not get it. So, what's the message?" his tone was calm; a suppressed outburst just moments away if Tres continues his charade. Was Tres playing with him?

"Father Nightroad, I already gave you the message." Tres didn't write off the mission as complete just yet. Father Nightroad was not getting it at all.

"Tres, quit kidding me; what's the message!" Abel exclaimed, a bit more volume evident in his voice.

If Tres could sigh, he would have. "'I have sent you a message, did you get it?'"

"No! I don't get it. Please! Just give me the message. I don't remember you becoming quite the joker all of a sudden." Maybe the noon sun was getting to him. Frying his brain.

Father Abel huffed, why was Tres denying him his message? The cyborg was suppose to obey orders to the point—he always did cross his t's and dot his i's. "What do I have to do to get that message from you? Pry it from your mouth or something?"

"I don't get it."

"You don't get it."

They said so at the same time.

Abel couldn't take it anymore. "Then, what's the message?" Abel was going to leave if he didn't get the message now.

"'I have sent you a message, did you get it?'"

That was it. Abel suddenly stood from his bench and started stomping—walking towards Tres direction. He needed to pass by him so he could talk to the Professor about Tres' malfunction and pour out the frustration he got from the cyborg.

"Considering exchange: Subject A minus two—bypassing professional protocol."

Tres had never failed a mission—he wasn't letting the other go that easily. He grabbed his fellow priest by the arms so that Abel was trapped and can't flail his hands at him—and pressed their lips together. Gunslinger mouthed the message over Crusnik's slacking pale lips before moving away as his prey remembered to breathe.

"Do you get it now, Father Nightroad?" Tres asked again. Surely he bridged the message across now.

"No—not yet." Abel nimbly chocked. His brain wasn't quite functioning correctly at that moment. Maybe—

Abel stopped thinking all together as Tres leaned in again.


Author's Notes:

This situation (except for the last fluff-thing) actually happened today. (Check the date I posted this.)

I was sitting at door waiting for inspiration to hit me for my on-going fic, and quite possibly make the fic better than better—well, for me, my Grandmother's phone went off. It was a SMS. We had a strange little conversation like the one above. Except it was in Filipino and it al went to hilarious-hell.