In truth, they couldn’t leave now even if Canta had wanted to, not because of the armed guards, not because of the platter of food set out before him, or even because of Alleluia’s desire to see the rest of the wide living world. He is sure that he could convince her that they had to go, if it really came down to it. But no, rather, they are trapped here by something much less complex than that.

As the crack of thunder makes itself heard outside, Canta bites into the tower of food that he had crammed in between the two pieces of bread in his hands, his first real food since being reborn. He closes his eyes in delight and kicks his legs as he lets out a delighted groan. Alleluia quickly retreats away from the window, walking around his back to stand on the other side of him. It’s starting to rain. Alleluia, being composed of mechanical clockwork components, can’t be outside in the storm.

Swallowing, he looks up at her and holds out his sandwich. “Want a bite?”

“No, thank you,” she replies. Canta shrugs and then moves to take another one himself. He stops, his mouth agape, and looks back up at her. “It’s just a storm, don’t worry about it. It’ll pass soon.”

“It was loud,” she replies, looking back toward the window, her hands wrapped around his arm.

“Yup, thunderous, even,” jokes Canta, biting into his meal.

Nobody seems to appreciate his joke. He shakes his head, looking up at the two people sitting on the other side of the table. The man in the armor and a hooded priest. Canta swallows. “You know it’s rude to wear a hood inside of a house, right?”

The priest lets out something akin to a shriek, which gets caught in his throat, as he stops himself and quickly grabs his hood, pulling it down. The armored man with the bruise on his neck looks back at Canta and then nods his head down to the wooden floor.

“It’s also rude to track mud inside of a house,” says the man in his gruff, world-weary voice. Somehow, this makes the priest next to him release a second terrified shriek.

Canta blinks, quietly leaning over sideways to look past the table. There is indeed a track of mud from the door to here, where he is sitting. He looks down at his feet, assuming that he himself is the culprit. “Huh… well, fuck. You got me.” He bites into the giant thing in his hands again. The bread is a little old, but it gives way with a little pressure and lets his teeth sink down through the sweet, fluffy filling, down to the salted meats and contrastingly fresh vegetables. He isn’t sure if any of this even fits together, taste-wise, but it does for him in this instant.

Alleluia looks at him and then at the others, perhaps not quite understanding the tense silence present between them all. Grabbing the sides of her dress, she does a small, proper curtsy. “My name is Alleluia; I'm charmed to meet you,” she says, tilting her head to the side in a stiff jolt as if replicating some old-world proper etiquette. Lifting her hand, she places it on top of Canta’s head, causing him to glare up at her. “This is Canta,” she says, introducing him. “Don’t mind him. He’s rude.”

“Stop giving them bad impressions of me!” yells Canta as best as he can, his mouth clearly too full of food.

There is a loud screech as a wooden chair slides back across the floor. The nervous priest jumps up to his feet and sinks immediately into a half-bow. “It is an honor to be in your presence!” shouts the man with his face turned to the floor with some fervor. “My name is V- Valenti!” says the man with a shaking voice. “Head-priest Valenti.”

A slice of meat slides out of Canta’s sandwich, slapping against the platter.

“Uh…” Canta blinks. “Uh huh.” He picks up the slice of meat, offering it to Alleluia, who just shoots him a scornful look. He shrugs and drops it into his own mouth from above, mimicking what he had seen the monstrosity known as Nina doing.

“Palatinos Salvador,” says the man in ornate armor, not bothering to get up.

“Fuck, that’s a mouthful,” says Canta, not minding his inaction in the least. Alleluia nudges his side.

“Salvador is my name. Palatinos is my title.”

“Oh. Neat,” replies Canta indifferently, not knowing or caring what that means as he bites into the last bit of his sandwich. Thunder cracks loudly outside again, timed well enough to his bite that, for one surprised moment, he thinks that he had caused it. The window shakes. There’s a heavy storm coming, by the looks of it.

Canta has an odd sense of déjà vu all of a sudden. But he can’t quite place its origins.

The priest, Valenti, sits back down, still looking terrified. Canta is about to say something, but then suddenly finds himself lifted up into the air. “Hey!” he barks, looking at Alleluia. With her leg, she rotates the chair a smidge so that her crank isn’t in the way and sits down on it, setting him on her lap. Canta glares at her. “Can you not embarrass me in front of strangers?”

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“Yes, snuggles,” replies Alleluia. Canta does his best to glare into her soul. But she doesn’t seem to mind. “There wasn’t another chair. Are you really going to make a delicate lady like me stand all day?”

“What about you exactly is supposed to be delic- IOW!” Canta winches as he feels the fingers around his gut squeeze tighter. He elbows her.

There is a gentle tapping from outside as rain begins to fall against the thin window, knocking against the glass like a spindly hand asking to be let inside. It rattles again, this time not from the thunder or the rain, but rather, from a strong wind that seems to be picking up pace. He grumbles, looking back at the two strangers. “So? What’s this about?” He narrows his eyes, looking them both over carefully. “Are you evil? Is this some kind of…” He looks back up at Alleluia. “- trap?” She squeezes him again.

“What? No!” says Valenti, waving his arms and shaking his head. His mud-colored hair is trimmed short and simply sits atop his head, rather than adorning it. “We just wanted to thank you for removing the distortion!” explains the frantic man, sounding hurried to get his words out, as if the two of them would leave at any second.

“The what-now?” asks Canta, picking through the crumbs on his tray. “Oh, you mean the poison-spewing, long-fingered meat-monster,” he adds on, realizing.

A voice chimes from behind him. “Don’t you mean Nina?”

“Will you drop it already?!” snaps Canta up at her. “Ow!” she pinches him again. He elbows her back again, harder this time.

“Hey!” argues Alleluia, rubbing the spot he had struck.

"Don't dish out to someone else if you can't take a hit, princess," barks Canta.

The old man in armor, Salvador, speaks. “Are you two married?”

“Yes,” replies Alleluia, plain as day.

“No- IOW!” yelps Canta. “Will you cut that out?!” He tries to jump down, but she refuses to let go of him, tightening her grip and then again a second time as the thunder cracks loudly outside, shaking the whole building. “We’ll talk about this later,” he grumbles at her.

Valenti speaks. “We thought we could get here sooner, but the weather has been foul lately,” he explains. “By the time we arrived, it had already risen.”

“She,” says Canta, looking up from his empty platter to the priest. “– Don’t you start!” he snaps at Alleluia before she can say anything else.

“Ah… right, she,” says the priest, correcting himself. “Is she at peace now?”

“Well… probably…” guesses Canta. “Anyways, if that’s all you wanted, can we go?” Valenti looks at him, not saying anything, before turning to Salvador. “Leave. Can we leave?” asks Canta again, tapping against the table, not wanting to let them know about Alleluia’s water-aversion just yet. Although, it might be obvious, even if he doesn’t say it.

“Yes,” replies Salvador.

Canta blinks, somehow not having expected that simple answer. “Oh. Great,” he says. “Well then -”

Salvador’s trained, old eyes meet his, locking with them. “But you wouldn’t make a proper lady of class, like your wife, walk out through the rain, though. Would you?”

“I would and she’s n- Mrph!”

“We’d love to stay until the rain ends,” replies Alleluia, removing her hand from his mouth. Canta sighs. The old man had called his bluff. Outside, the storm rages on, growing fiercer by the minute. His eyes wander over to the window, looking out through it into the darkness on the other side. He wonders if all of the bodies are still out there, being drenched in the rain, or if they’ve cleaned everything up already. There is a loud screeching of chairs. By the time Canta looks back, the two men have gotten up and have turned to leave. He blinks. That’s it…? They’re just going to go?

“Thank you for taking time for us,” says the head-priest, Valenti, with a respectful bow. Canta likes him. He didn’t cause him any problems, and he gave him food. “If you need anything, any of us will be glad to help.”

Salvador nods over his shoulder. “Sin-eater,” he says, turning to leave. “You can stay here in this house tonight.” Canta doesn’t think he likes him, though. Him and his stupid cape.

The two of them leave and close the door behind them, not locking it this time. Canta sits there, watching it suspiciously. He doesn’t believe that was it. He doesn’t…

There is a clockwork winding sound — the familiar sound of some mechanism being wound taut. Alleluia has let him go and is reaching around behind herself, awkwardly trying to turn her crank again. “Here, hold on, let me do that,” says Canta, getting off and walking around. She shifts her body the other way, pulling it out of his reach.

“Hmpf.”

“Okay. Come on. Spit it out. What’s your problem?” asks Canta, getting annoyed now. “I’m sorry I ran off alone, okay? I got hungry.” He shakes his head. “Is this some weird abandonment issue that you have? Is that why you’re mad?” he asks. “I’m getting sick of you acting like a dick. Cut the shit.”

“You tell me,” says Alleluia, crossing her arms and glaring down at him over her shoulder as he walks a step further and grabs the crank to start turning it. He sighs, feeling his blood start to come to a boil now, although his temper is tamed by the fullness of his belly.

“Look, what’s wrong?” asks Canta, getting to the point. “No jerkiness, no snideness, no pinching me. Just tell me what the problem is?” he asks, as he starts turning the crank for her. “I’m not going to figure it out otherwise.”

Alleluia continues to glare at him, but then looks away, letting him do the work. “Nina.”

“Yeah? You have her beat in looks and personality; don’t worry about her,” quips Canta. “Besides. She’s dead.”

“You said her name,” explains Alleluia, crossing her arms.

“So?”

“You’ve never said my name before,” she says dryly. Canta stops, looking up at her stiff back that is turned toward him.

“Huh?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow, wondering for a moment if that’s true.

It might be, actually. Now that he looks back on it, he doesn't think that he’s ever actually said her name out loud. But why should he? When they’re talking, it’s obvious that he’s talking to her. There’s nobody else to address. Why should he say her name? This is stupid.

The rain begins to pour outside, shifting from a downpour to a full torrent. “Her name is the first name that I’ve ever heard you say. You’ve never said my name.”

Canta blinks, staring up at her. “Is that really what’s bothering you?” he asks incredulously. “Isn’t that kind of silly?” asks Canta, letting go of the crank as he finishes turning it. “I thought this was some huge issue I was missing.”

“It is and it’s not and you are!” she exclaims, not turning around. “You’ve never said my name before, but you’ll say some disgusting slop-monster’s!” she argues.

“How is that an important thing for me to do, in any sense of the word?” asks Canta in his best annoyed tone.

“It’s important for me,” she explains with a coldness to her voice, still having not turned her body around. Although, she does turn her head to the side now, looking back over her shoulder at him with her left eye, as if expecting something from him.

Canta knows what it is too. But, somehow, as he stands there with the gaze of her glass eye looking at him, he feels his heart begin to beat a little faster than it should. He feels a nervousness, which he isn’t really sure he can explain, suddenly arrive in his breast. It’s an odd anxiety that he didn’t know he even carried, and it’s one that he can’t really define in words or in thoughts.

But he senses its presence. He senses the strange barrier that that fear creates in his mind and heart. It would be a simple gesture, an easy, cheap token of meaningful affection. It’s just a single word. It would be a relinquishing of the safety of his distance. It would be a display of a sign that he likes her.

But… something stops him. So instead, Canta takes the only road left in the avenue of his mind. The comforting safety of the deeply set groove in his brain.

He rolls his eyes and turns around, waving her off. “You’re being ridiculous. I’m going to go for a walk around town.”

The two of them say nothing else as he leaves the room, letting out a long sigh of relief as he escapes both her and himself for a little while longer.

What a stupid thing to argue about.