Definitely Worth It


It was another day in the Metaworld.

Another dull, boring day.

Or at least, it would have been- but for one critical difference.

Beatrice wasn't there.

Under normal circumstances – i.e. was Beatrice was there, laughing that part-psychotic, part-sadistic laugh of hers, occasionally taunting Battler's hair or clothes or family or intelligence, and always driving Battler crazy – Battler would have been happy at the thought of Beatrice not existing. After all, witches weren't even meant to exist in the first place.

But now that Beatrice was nowhere to be found, Battler found himself – curiously enough – beginning to worry.

Not that I should worry about that old hag, he thought vehemently, pacing up and down. She's probably off practising her maniacal laugh, or murdering cute animals for fun or something.

These thoughts did little to console the still-pacing red-head. It all sounded a little superficial to him- as though he couldn't quite bring himself to mean what he said.

It's not like she'll be in any trouble or anything. I mean, she has a whole army of goat-headed butlers! A whole freaking army! Oh, and a creepy laugh. Don't forget the laugh. It could make your brain bleed out of your ears.

She'll be fine.

And if she isn't…

A dark thought crossed Battler's mind.

If anything's happened to her, will I be stuck here forever? Another, more poignant thought, flittered through his brain like a butterfly. Alone?

A cold chill swept down Battler's spine.

I should go look for her.


As Battler wandered round the numerous rooms of the Metaworld – most of which, he noticed, were comprised of black and white like some giant twisted chessboard – he felt his worry growing stronger and stronger, though he tried his best to suppress it; with denial, with anger, whatever.

There was no noise, other than his footsteps hitting the chessboard floor. He could hear his heart beating. The atmosphere was suitably eerie. If Battler were in some cheap B-rated horror movie, now would be a perfect time for some disfigured creature to jump out from the shadows and try to attack him.

Oh, except that had happened already, what with the whole goat-butler-and-naked-Battler scenario.

Maybe it would take a little more than that to frighten him.

Even so, the silence was unnatural. He hadn't seen anyone. There was not a single Sister of Purgatory to be found- let alone their mistress, who was conspicuous only by her absence.

Battler would have been relieved to see one of the sisters- especially if they were dressed in their usual attire (i.e. not a lot).

Sure, they were evil and all, but at least they had nice legs and-

Yeah, because being hot totally excuses them murdering your friends and family over and over again. Learn to prioritise, Battler. People will start thinking you're only obsessed with boobs or something.

Battler frowned.

Tch, yeah. Because talking to yourself is sooo much better than fantasising about evil, magical boobs.

Sometimes, Battler wondered whether spending so much time with Beatrice was going to make him go crazy, too.

But at least, if (when) he found her, he'd have somebody to go crazy with. Being insane and alone seemed a lot worse than just being insane, for some reason.


Eventually, Battler made his way to Beatrice's room (wondering, as he did so, many fucking rooms the Metaworld needed anyway- it wasn't exactly super-popular with guests and tourists. Also, where the hell were the golden-transportation butterflies when you needed them? They were probably sat somewhere, laughing at him- smug bastards).

He paused before the door, wondering if he should enter or not. Wasn't it common etiquette not to enter a ladies' room? Though Battler couldn't remember much from the past, he could distinctly recall Jessica punching him in the jaw for entering her room. Probably because she just-so-happened to have a pair of brass knuckles at her disposal.

The memory still made Battler wince (what kind of girl had brass knuckles, anyway?!)

But – Battler reasoned with himself – he could stand there all day. He had to take some form of decisive action! Right now!

Squaring his shoulders, he threw the doors before him open, and marched into the room.

It was black and white.

Quelle surprise.

"Hey, Beato!" Battler called. His voice echoed; fifteen Battlers called back to him.

Battler continued to walk forwards, hands clenched into fists. "Beato! Answer me!"

And yet, there was no answer.

Battler hadn't really been expecting it.

He came to a stop beside the elegant four poster bed at the end of the bedroom. The single bed looked more expensive than Battler's whole house.

Damn bourgeois.

There, lying under the duvet, lay the curled up, sleeping body of the Golden Witch herself.

Battler's breath caught in his throat- his cry of 'Beato' died on his lips, and dissipated into nothing.

Beatrice's face looked… for lack of a better word… Incredibly cute when she was sleeping. Gone was the look of insanity that so often twisted her features into something cruel and unnatural- instead, she looked soft, vulnerable. Human. It was hard to believe such a cute face could ever do anything so cruel-

Arghhh, no! Get a grip! Battler's face began to flush. He took his head in his hands – his cheeks felt warm – and began to shake, as though trying to beat the indecent thoughts out of his stupid skull. Why are you so weak? She looks all adowable for ONE SECOND and then you cave in!!! Maybe this is part of her plan!

But she did look very cute when she was asleep.

Arghh.

Fuck this.

"Beato," said Battler, raising his voice a notch. He poked at the witch's forehead gingerly. She didn't stir. Battler didn't know whether to be relieved or frightened, so he settled for both. His heart constricted painfully, whilst at the same time tried to soar with joy that she not decimated him already for being so impudent. The end result almost gave him a coronary bypass, and was most unpleasant.

His heart felt like it was burning.

"A-a-ah," he spluttered, clutching his torso. "Beato, wake up. This isn't funny."

No response.

"B-beato…" Battler turned towards the witch once more, and took her shoulders with his hands. Worry began to spread through him, in poisonous, choking waves. "B-eato, wake up." He shook her.

She didn't move.

"Beatrice!"

She flopped back onto the pillow like a fish. A fish in a very expensive nightgown.

Oh my God! She's dead! T-the witch is dead… Battler's innards continued to do gymnastics at a quickened pace; his intestines were trying to contort themselves into funny shapes, and his heart was trying to leap up his throat and escape his body.

Battler had always assumed, if Beatrice were to die, he would celebrate. He would have cake and be happy.

Too bad his traitorous body had other ideas.

The idea of being alone in the Metaworld was quite terrifying; even more so than a PMSing Jessica, or Maria when she smiled in that creepy way of hers that made her face look like a rat's.

"B-beatrice, wake up!" Battler said, feeling quite helpless. "B-beato! I-I'm not laughing! I think you're being childish!"

Dark thoughts began to cloud Battler's mind.

There are lots of people who seem to hate Beatrice, and they all seem just as scary as her… I mean, as scary as insane killer lolis can be. What about that witch with the blue hair and the zombie-eyes? I wouldn't trust her as far as I could throw her… Which actually might be pretty far, considering how light she looks.

But I still wouldn't trust her.

Frantically, Battler scanned the witch's face, searching for something- anything- that would explain this bizarre situation.

Her eyes were closed, lips parted, like that character from the old Disney film.

Sleeping Beauty?

"Oh no…" said Battler, disgusted by his sudden train of thought. "Oh no. I'm not doing that. No way. I can't believe I even thought of it…"

He looked away stubbornly.

And then looked back again.

He internally rolled his eyes at his 'logic' – or lack of thereof.

It wasn't like he believed in fairytales. Not even Maria believed in fairytales.

But, you have seen a lot of weird stuff. Would the story of 'Sleeping Beauty' be such a big leap?

Battler sighed.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

He couldn't think of anything else to do.

At least, anything else that didn't somehow involve him wondering around the Metaverse on his own for the rest of eternity, with the rotting corpse of the Golden Witch locked in the Master Bedroom. That was far, far too depressing and mind-fuck-ish to even comprehend.

It made Battler feel sick.

Okay.

I have to do this! Even if there's only a 0.0001% chance of success, I have to give it a shot.

...

-But I know I'm soooo gonna regret it later.

Taking a deep breath, as though he were about to plunge into an icy pool, Battler leant forward. He placed his hands on Beatrice's icy shoulders - mimicing the scene from the cartoon perfectly - and began to lower himself down. His eyes closed. His heart hammered. Blood thumped through his chest.

Battler Ushiromiya, you are seriously insane!

I can't believe I'm actually going to do this...

And then he did.

His lips pressed gently against Beatrice's. They were soft and warm, yielding to his touch- not at all cold and dead. Because dead people generally don't tend to kiss back.

It felt as though an electric shock had run through Battler's body. His skin prickled, his heart seemed to stop.

And Beatrice opened her eyes.

"B-battler…"

It was a low, breathy moan.

Battler's breath caught in his throat. He stared down at the witch beneath him, who was blinking unsteadily, her cheeks lightly flushed.

"Battler, you…"

"I…?" Battler prompted. His voice was little less than a whisper.

"You…"

And then it happened.

Beatrice's face changed. Her eyes narrowed. Her lips pulled back into a demonic smile. Her whole face fell into shadow. She sat up and began to laugh. "You fell for it, you mooo~ron! Battler fell for it! You're such a moron! Kikikikiki!"

Battler knew he should've seen it coming.


"Mi'lady."

"Yes, Ronove?" asked Beatrice coolly, leaning back in her favourite chair. Her hair was tied back in its usual style, nightgown changed for her low-cut, beribboned dress. A cup of tea rested in her hand, her pinky finger stuck out elegantly. All in all, she looked rather sophisticated- nothing like a mass murderer at all.

"I think Battler-kun is very upset by the practical joke you played on him."

"Ehh?" Beatrice raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"He was rocking backwards and forwards in the corner, talking to himself. Something about 'never trusting that damn witch again'. It was quite unsettling."

Beatrice's lips curved into her signature smirk. She took a sip of her tea, seeming to contemplate the situation.

Eventually, she spoke.

"It was definitely worth it."


a/n: Beato and Battler crack me up XD They like, make the greatest dysfunctional couple EVER XD I know Umineko isn't a romance anime, but those two are still so totally cute it's unbelievable C: I want to take them home!!!~

I think my writing of this is rather rushed, but I had an idea and I wanted to get it down XD

I'm not really sure whereabouts this is set. I think, maybe in-between the second and third arc of the anime. But it's not really that important –shrug-

I also want to write a multichip Beato/Battler fic in the future, but I don't really have any plans.

D:

Anyway~

Read, review, relax C:
~Renahh chen