Story: Knife-wielding Penpals: Nahal and Chloe (all chapters)
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Title: Letter #1 - 26 May 1987
26 May 1987
To the one they call The True Noir,
I'm not sure if it is wise to write to you, when I don't know who you are or where you are. They say that those who cross paths with the True Noir will not live to see the next day, but of course my family has been engaging in the protection of our village, the Mystic, and the Holy Books for thousands of years, so in a sense we have something in common. Still, I hope my letter reaches you, for milady has contacted someone in the city who knows where you live.
This is not an open invitation to a challenge, nor do I bear any premeditated ill will towards you. I am merely writing to you for advice and to solicit you for your friendly correspondence.
I am from a village inside a country that has been engaged in a civil war, to which the true cause many know about. Our people our neutral, but have been observing the events from the beginning. Our young Mystic knows the true cause, but I cannot tell you due to the scope of the danger. I know about your legendary reputation, but I don't really expect you get involved with our affairs.
My mother has just passed away, and though I am a very young girl, the Mystic have designated as her protector and the guardian of the books. I am to undergo rigorous training to sharpen my skills in hand-to-hand combat and acrobatic agility. I am a little scared though, by the Mystic has comforted me and said that my new duty is very important for the order of the world.
It will be very rigorous. I will receive my own tree hut and will have very little to eat--less so since our village is poor and with the civil war going on. It is all part of my fast before as part of my mental training. After a couple of days of fasting, I am to be sent alone deep into the jungle to survive for many weeks. I am told that my mother, the previous protector, had to fight off various spirits that were all too real to him, so I suppose that is part of the training as well. After that, I will undergo formal training, which will be short since all my abilities would have been gathered from just surviving.
But with the civil war going on, I'm sure it would be a lot more dangerous with all the stray bullets, mortar shells, mines, and plastic explosives. Even though mother had to deal with these things during the previous civil war, at the very least I would not succumb onto the atrocious "Agent Orange" gases that destroyed many forests and made a lot of people ill. Yet my Mystic comforted me and cheered me on, and she says that such terrible chaos will only advance my skills higher than that of my mother's and my ancestors. I could be the greatest protector my village has ever produced.
I must leave now. Thank goodness I learned how to read and write from those international aid workers. I know it will take a while for this letter to reach you, but by the time I have received your response, I will have completed my training. I look forward to hearing you, whoever you may be, wherever you may be.
The Village Girl
Title: Letter #2 - 15 December 1987
15 December 1987
Dear Village Girl,
I am very sorry that I replied to you so late. You see, I have just recently witnessed a most spectacular sight!
I was in Corsica minding my own business in the mansion of the head of a prominent crime group known as the Bouquets. I had heard that they were going to be killed, and even though I was not the target (though I could be since I were a witness), I could not resist to see what is about to transpire.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Those were the shots I heard from what my mother said was a Beretta M1934, a classic handgun. Following the sounds, I made my way to the dining parlor, opened the doors, and beheld a beauty I have never seen before.
She stood there with those serious eyes with the gun held fast to two tiny hands. She was dressed in a white shirt, slip-on shoes, and suspender pants with one strap unbuttoned. Her hair was black and messy. She had a face like that of a beautiful geisha, though I was not sure if she was really Japanese or East Asian.
I was so impressed with her! There stood a girl who killed a family without an ounce of hesitation. It was at the moment I decided to be like her. No, I wanted to be close with her. To my delight, mother said that she would be staying with me as my training partner at the place forgotten by time, or as we'd like to call it, the Manor.
I'd rather not delve into the details of my past, even though I have very little memories of it. I never knew my real father and my real mother. All I knew was that I lived with the one they call Matron, and I looked up to her as my real mother. She is a really kind woman who would bathe us with her and read us bedtime stories. We enjoyed picking grapes and making wine to sell to the village. The people in there respected mother with great admiration.
My friend isn't much of a talker, and she wasn't too keen to respond to you, suggesting that it would reveal the secrets of our purpose of being together. Despite all this, mother have allowed us to accept this letter and reply in the manner we so desire. She allowed it because we do not get a lot of contact here in the Manor. We have no telephones, not even electricity. Still we get along fine without them.
I wish I could get my friend to open up, but that is what I like about her. I have decided to take up the responsibility of writing to you and reporting about my friend's behavior, thoughts, and desires.
Alas, my peaceful time with my bosom friend is to be cut short, for she and I will succumb to the most harshest of all training in becoming the True Noir. We will become like loving sisters when we emerge. Thus, it will be six months to a year I'll reply back to your next letter.
I thank you for writing to me. It seems we each have our trials to go through in order to fulfill our duty of protecting someone. I hope to hear from you soon. Oh, and tell me more about your village as well!
The True Noir
P.S. - Even though I write with such mature tone, mother helped me put my thoughts down on paper. In some ways, you may hear mother's voice speaking through my letter. She is a really good teacher and knows many languages.
Title: Letter #3 - 5 May 1988
5 May 1988
Dear True Noir,
I am very grateful that you have taken the time to respond to me! I had just come back from a scouting mission and was nearly killed by men of an infamous criminal, Friday Monday. To my surprise, I showed no fear during the fight, for even though I was still a little girl, the men showed no fear to me.
As you expected, I have passed my training, which was imposed by the elders and the Mystic of my village, and by myself. As a reward, I was given a new tree hut, two concubines who were named Quill and Lulu, and one husband of a similar age named Haré so I could have babies with. However, Haré and I weren't too interested in each other. He would rather go out and play with his friends out in the forest and hunt wild boars. It was all good anyway, because he a big distraction to me and my duty as the Mystic's protector, and the Mystic even agreed with me.
My concubines, or rather my maidservants, were in their teens, and are very loyal. They were willing to do anything I ask them to do, but I don't ask for much. All I demand for them is to cook, clean, and bathe when needed.
Despite all this, I am not as well off as we think. Even though we barely manage to feed ourselves and take care of our own health, our village is poor and small. It is located at the side of small mountain range. Though we are located in the middle of the war zone, we are almost always spared from stray fire, stray bombs, and invasions, the latter of which I kept at bay. The Mystic had always claimed that the spirits of Saruon and the power of one of the three Holy Books, Thirstary.
The population hovers around one hundred, with forty-percent men and sixty-percent women. The men go out to hunt, gather, or trade with outsiders, while the women stay behind to till our farmlands and take care of the children. Before you get any ideas, they all live on the ground by the mountain. Only I live in a tree hut, which serves as a vantage point so I could spot intruders from one meter away up to a kilometer away.
The Mystic has told me that the mountain holds the remains of a lost technological civilization that dates back way before the Egyptians. However, the ruins inside the caves are sacred, and those who go in there without a pure heart never come back alive. If they did, they would be found dead afterwards in the jungles. Not very many foreign scholars come by here to research the caves.
We have a council of three elders, but the one who holds true power is our Mystic. She has many extraordinary abilities, such as precognition and the ability to read the hearts people. She even has the ability to read a person's heart through the letter you sent me, although I have to admit that she has not told me your future. Then again, everyone knows that she is a definite psychic.
It is unknown how or why she has those powers, but everyone and I agree that it came from the gods, and not necessarily from the books as the naysayers claim. Still, I am very curious about the book known as Thirstary. It rarely leaves the altar of her cabin, and I was forbidden to transport it unless necessary. One of my duties as her protector is to protect that book from getting stolen, and so far no has ever attempted getting past me.
Speaking of which, I'm having trouble deciding on what kind of weapon I should use to kill the trespassers. At first I used a machete, but it didn't cleave through my enemy cleanly and made lots of mess. I tried guns, but I could not find any more bullets and found them too much of a hassle to worry about in this moist jungle environment. I find that using explosives very unpleasant and unpredictable.
So far, I settled on using knives, but the ones my village supply me are of poor quality and they break easily. I went through dozens of knives, and so far the most effective way for me to kill is through my bare fists and using the weapons my enemies have on them against them. True Noir, I want your advice on how I should deal this problem. What is the most effective, most affordable, and high quality I can get my hands on an extremely limited budget? I don't want to burden my village's needs with my needs, and I can hold out beating my enemies to a pulp using rocks and sticks. I'd imagine you would be blessed with various killing tools where you live.
Boy is it getting rainy here. We're about to approach the typhoon season in Gazth-Sonika, but it is good since the soldiers' weapons get waterlogged and makes them difficult to fire their guns.
I hope this letter reaches you. The war is going on full swing, and the current government is getting suspicious of all mail and package delivers. I have full faith on the courier my Mystic has selected for me.
The Village Girl
P.S. - What do I do with all the bodies I ask? With the ones I kill in the battlefield, I leave them there. For those who get close to my village, I usually throw them off the cliff. There were a few who I didn't have the heart to kill for they were weak and had surrendered. Whenever that happens, I would take her to the Mystic, who would then use her powers on them. I could have sworn that she used the Thirstary on them. Whatever she had done to them, I have never seen them again. It was almost as if they have never existed in the first place.
P.P.S. - As with you, the Mystic have assisted me with my writing of my letters, for you see she is a graduate from a prestigious college inside the capital city despite being only fifteen years old. In some ways, she is also like my mother, especially after my mother had died. The Mystic would often bathe with me whenever she got a chance. I'll tell her more about her in my next letter.
Title: Letter #4 - 5 June 1988
5 June 1988
Dear Village Girl,
Amazing how much six months can make us into the most efficient assassins! Our time training in the Manor was comparatively rigorous, as we had many beautiful Roman ruins, a nearby coliseum, an underground dungeon, and a forest at our disposal. We used many weapons, but since we're so far from the cities as well as the fact that the Manor is somewhat of a secret location, we had to use them sparingly and carefully. We could not put too much damage on our swords, spears, shields, and axes, even though we have a wet stone to sharpen bladed items and blacksmith equipment to make new equipment. There were a limited amount of bullets we could use in our targeting practice, and thus we were forced to hit our targets generally with one or two bullets.
There were other matrons overseeing our training beside the one I refer to as 'mother', but since I am undergoing training, and in the process of growing up as well, I was asked by the matrons to address her simply as Mistress. They came from many parts of the world to see us. They were all kind to my bosom friend and me, but as always I prefer the comforting arms of my Mistress. I think my friend likes her as much as I do.
I received your letter one week after the sent date (or was it the written date?). I wanted to write to you as soon as possible, but I was in the last stages in my training. Then suddenly, Mistress gave a sudden announcement that my bosom friend was going to Japan in order to "sow the seeds in a unique environment and raise the saplings thus." I expected this would happen at our short six-month stay, so I held back my emotional protests. Truthfully, I didn't want my friend to leave, and in my mind I planned out ways to run away with her, even if I have to kill Mistress and the other matrons. But I couldn't. I loved Mistress, and I loved my dear friend as well.
I bade her a stoic farewell just one day after the announcement. The matrons left afterwards, and I was left alone with Mistress. As I went to bed on that same day, Mistress came to me to read me a bedtime story. Afterwards, I finally burst out crying, and Mistress held me to her bosom, petting my hair tenderly. She understood my feelings completely, she had said, but she also told me that the departure of my friend was necessary.
"You will see her again," she said to me. "She will be different from when we last saw her, but it will be for the best. I am sure you like the new her."
I nodded. Mistress kissed me goodnight, and I went to bed thinking how long will it be when I will see her again. Will it be one week? One month? One year? Ten years? I remained in this forlorn state for a few more weeks before I realized that I had you to write to. I cannot be thankful enough for your company, even though this is but a rudimentary conversation, and that you live in a distant country many miles away.
That is the reason why I am late writing to you. I enjoy being with Mistress, but I would like to talk to someone of a similar age, and for some reason I strongly feel that you are the one. I would like to keep up this letter correspondence from hereon, for I may never know when my dear friend will come back.
I'd like to get more personal with you, but I have reservations on whether I should provide details of my identity. Though I am now officially called the True Noir, I feel that we should be more intimate with each other. I have a name, but it was given by Mistress on the day she took me in. It is a common one, so it should be safe for me to reveal it to you. I really want to hear from you again.
P.S. - Regarding your problem with weapons, I'll let you know that I've settled with knives. I have one large one for close quarters killing and many throwing ones underneath my gauntlet as well as my cloak. Just like you, I find maintenance of a handgun to be distracting and problematic, and I think it is just too inelegant in my opinion.
I can't recommend you a knife for your criteria, but I can point you to a well-reputable knife maker who makes knives Mistress has ordered for me. This knife maker is really nice, albeit a little eccentric, but she has offered us a payment plan even though we can afford her fees up front.
The name you should look for is Leapcut Montana. I'm sure your Mystic will be able to find her very easily.
Title: Letter #5 - 25 August 1988, "Leapcut"
Knife-wielding Penpals: Nahal and Chloe
Letter #5 - Leapcut
25 August 1988
It is such a sweet name you have there. Our mystic has said it means "green shoot", which I believe is such an appropriate name given your upbringing.
I apologize for you writing so late. The monsoons, oddly enough, cause more damaged than the war itself. There were idle times when I lay in my tree-hut wishing that I could go out and carry out my duties as protector of the sacred words of Saruon. It may seem sadistic, but I tire of my husband and my concubines.
I mentioned to you that I was married to young boy named Haré. Well, our "marriage" so to speak was a trial run in a tradition that was brought over from India. Haré often remains in his mother's hut to play Nintendo and clean house. Initially, I reprimanded him from doing so, but when I visited his home I could not blame him from coming back.
His mother, to my dismay, was a spoiled, bratty, and flirtatious drunkard. Her only redeeming feature was her youth and beauty, and I assume her to be a woman in her mid to early twenties. She along with her son is tanned like the others (not me of course--I'm a partial albino so to speak), but something about them feel as if they did not come from here or from any non-Western country. Haré's mother often spoke of a sea of these "sky scrapers" and a group of unbeatable warriors called the Yankees.
Haré eventually stopped living at my tree hut, and the marriage with him was annulled. Quill and Lulu officially became my wives, although I was confused on how two pre-pubescent girls could officially be married to me.
"You have the mark of the Lily Rose," the Mystic spoke to me in her soothing and creepy voice. "Because you face so much danger, you cannot be tied to the likes of a husband and children."
That still doesn't explain why I'm married to two girls slightly younger than me. Oh well, at least they clean my house and cook dinner, unlike Haré who just plays on this "Game & Watch" he keeps playing when I'm trying to sleep.
Afterwards, the Mystic have foretold that the foreign knife-maker you wrote to me about will be coming "garbed in mud and semen." Such a vision horrified me at first, but when Leapcut Montana appeared, it turns out to be an exhausted woman covered in the mud of war and coconut juice. "My mistake," smiled the Mystic when we all greeted our visitor. Then she trotted of humming quite happily.
We may be a poor village, but we are all well fed enough to stay alive for quite some time. Unfortunately, we are also a greedy bunch when it comes to the appearance of foreign visitors, especially those from the "white" nations. When we get word of someone coming from there, we would purposely starve ourselves and get sick, and a few of us have even resorted stepping just to blow up their leg. The last bit didn't happen, fortunately. We would also steal guns from the Royal army and the Galza rebels and riddle our huts with bullets, and "borrow" a tank to ruin our own fields. We do all this in order to con the white visitor most of their traveling money with the horrors of war. I have to admit though, it works quite often and it is one of the major sources of our money.
Leapcut's dirtied appearance did not sway us from putting up a show. We did our best to treat her like a first-class client by letting her stay in the Mystic's hut and giving her clean clothes. Already the children are outside peeking through windows watching undress and dress.
Leapcut had dark auburn, and she reminded me of the Italian women I had to assassinate on occasion. She came carrying a thick suitcase protected by a four-digit lock.
In the Mystic's hut, we treated her to tea. The Mystic then gave her "The Reading" in that she peers into the past, present, and future of the individual before her.
"I can clearly see that this but an incarnation of your former self brought back from the great beyond," she began. "You were once a ordinary girl ruthlessly experimented upon, and was given a chance to become a deity to fight in a cosmic war. Now that war is over, and you are here in the midst of a more materialistic war."
Leapcut spoke, "Thank you, um..."
"You can call me Quanzitta."
"Quanzitta. I thank you for your hospitality..."
Leapcut was then distracted by the children pretending to be hungry by making growling sounds with their mouths and the dogs they kicked in intervals.
"But I must be going. It doesn't seem to be the village where an assassin named 'The Village Girl' would be."
Quanzitta smiled. "You are here."
"Well then, shall we get started?"
Leapcut doesn't make knives, as I have discovered. Rather, she is salesman of the type of knives of worthy quality made from what she had told me a higher power. The selection she brought with her was limited, but since each one was impressive it was hard for me to choose.
She recognized the name of Chloe when I brought up, and she will not reveal if she had dealt with her or the knife she had personally selected.
"Each knife has a soul," Leapcut said, "and it is said it chooses it user. The only way we can know of sure if we test it out."
We are at a perfect place to do so. Leapcut and I went out into the forest hunting for random soldiers to test the knife out in utmost discreetness. With the suitcase open, I reached out for the one with a crescent guard.
"Not that one," said Leapcut. "That's actually a mystical letter opener that can transform into a sword at will."
I think she was right. It was emitting green sparks of light called 'Souma' that was creeping me out.
I tried using the Kiryuu Dagger. The opponent I felled yelled out his sister's name in dying ecstasy. That also made me feel creepy.
I then used the Red Mask Kris knife. The man I killed cried out, "Jason Todd lives!"
I used the Tanto of the Lunar Priestess. It worked well as it killed a green-haired man before he could scream. However, my hand felt sad when I used it, and I reluctantly handed it back to Leapcut.
I also used the Dagger of Dio Brando. I tossed it to a opponent at a distance, but it just stopped in the middle as if frozen at time.
"Damn," said Leapcut. "It always does that during a demonstration. I usually just wait a day or so to pick it up."
So we left that dagger frozen in midair.
I tried many other daggers, including a set that was supposedly wielded by a clone who was orphaned once more when two evil cosplayers, a man in a cat mask and a girl in a jester outfit, burned down her foster home. At last, I found the dagger of my choice, the Dagger of the Blue Moon.
"That is a special one," said Leapcut, "it is said that the one who wields it is destined to meet up with the one wielding the Dagger of the Red Moon and live happily ever after. However, if you run into the one wielding the Dagger of the Black Moon, only tragedy awaits you."
"Have you sold those two daggers might I ask?"
Leapcut didn't answer, and I have to respect her vow of confidentiality as a saleswoman.
The more I used the Dagger of the Blue Moon, the more excited I became as I killed more and more soldier at each random encounter. The weight felt like a feather, yet sturdy as earth. The handle was smooth yet I could grip it so firmly. It had a perfect crescent curve like that of a waning gibbous. I have chosen my dagger and it chose me.
(I wonder if it could meat though? I know I shouldn't ask Leapcut as she looked as if she was ready spaz out when I held the Dagger of the Blue moon over an ox carcass disguised to look like a human carcass. I wonder if she sells butcher knives?)
The dagger did not come cheap, for it was an exorbitant price of exactly two million dollars. Our village barely managed to scrounge up two hundred fifty thousand for the down payment.
I was unsure how I could pay her full when my fellow villagers were just beginning to con her. Already she spent the down payment for a girl who supposedly had chickenpox, but it turned out that she used a black marker for the spots. She also gave money to a rice farmer because she thought he could grow no more rice in a flooded field, and spent a generous amount of money and a man with no legs when it was clear he was using a blanket to cover them. I have known some gullible travelers, but this woman just takes the cake! In just four hours she literally gave back our down payment!
"Oh, the maker is not going to like this," she lamented. "I collect the payments in the next month or so."
No one wanted her to leave. The villages were gathering before her in clear view in the methods to con her of every penny she might have.
"Maybe we shouldn't," I protested. "I mean, she was nice enough to 'give' me this one."
They did not listen. Little by little they continued to con her, and she spent her last penny--literally--on a boy who hid his arm underneath his shirt. I feel so sorry for her in more ways than one.
Penniless, the woman bade us farewell and made off wearing nothing but the sexy rags she accepted from us and with her suitcase in hand. She came back the next day missing her suitcase, but that was the least of her worries. She was lost.
I was ordered to escort her through the forest, because you know, there's a war going on. I made it as far to the capital and left her there. Twelve hours later, she came back saying that she was lost again.
Again, I escorted her, and this time I took her directly to the airport--on foot. God, I wish I had some shoes. My feet are killing me! I returned home--on foot--where I snuggled with my two wives until I awoke one lazy afternoon that Leapcut had come back saying that she is lost again. I protested against my duty as her escort, but the Mystic, being her weird self as usual, threatened me with a secret she would tell if I didn't.
I was getting annoyed. This time, I escorted Leapcut into the airport, bought her a one-way ticket to her destination, pushed her onto the plane and buckled her seatbelts. I slowly walk backward hoping that she would not wander out of the plane in a daze. I even waited until the plant was in the air far away from my view before I returned home. Never before did I miss the snuggling of my two wives.
Then it happened again. She was back, and even the townspeople were annoyed that she did. I wished she would realize that she was conned by us so she could leave us alone. But no! She had to nerve that to announce she was staying.
"Well, our Protector is without a husband since Haré has moved back with his mother," said the Mystic, "and it wouldn't hurt of you roomed with her as her new husband."
"Hold on," I cried. "You know I am only just six years--"
"I'm now her husband?" cried Leapcut. "I'm so happy!"
So now I have two prepubescent, and a husband who is old enough to be my mother--maybe even my grandmother. First we were happy to receive a white and foreign visitor for the sole purpose of fleecing her, and now were so horribly annoyed of her freeloading off of us and constantly panicking at things she is so gullible to.
Yet she did not worry of her lost wares or her return to her employer and her home. I sometimes wonder if she is a one-time dealer and had her memories erased. Is it this the power of the sacred books? Or was she really spy with clever acting skills? And I wonder who is conning whom. I must keep an eye on her. She does, however, make good pasta.
At least some good things came out of this. I got my dagger who is now my partner, and as it so happens Leapcut had on you a letter you wrote to me almost a month ago. I shall read and hope that it will distract me from the problems in the past.
The monsoon season isn't over yet. You may expect another late letter later.
P.S. - I have mentioned that the mystic is helping me write this, and it may seem that this letter is an exaggeration. It is not. Something weird is going on in our world...
P.P.S. - Come to think of it, how the heck did Haré and his mother get electricity into their house when I don't? It just doesn't make sense!
Title: Letter #6 - 31 July 1988, "Lambda"
Knife-wielding Penpals: Nahal and Chloe
Letter #6 - Lambda
31st July 1988
Dear Village Girl,
I was recently sent off to England to participate in real-world training--an internship if you will, under the tutelage of master knife-wielder and infamous anarchist Lambda (Λ).
Lambda's story was thus: he was a victim of cruel experimentation that created leopard spots on his skin, although he mentioned that he volunteered just to pay for his college tuition. The result was his enhanced strength and his fanatical passion to destroy famous British landmarks miniaturized in the form of ice sculptures, sandcastles, Lego blocks, and spam castles. He made his first debut when he blew up Prince William's Tower Bridge made out of Popsicle sticks just last year.
I do not know if his stories were true. He is a mysterious man always garbed in all black and wears a rubber stylized Margaret Thatcher mask. I was certain that he was a 'he' given his deep male voice, but too often he exhibited feminine traits in his walking, standing, gestures, his love for cooking, his love for interior design, his love for fashion, and his collection of popular musicals on vinyl records.
As it turns out, Lambda was also overseeing another intern the about the same age as me by the name of Beatrix Kiddo, an American assassin-in-training who harbored a deep fear of snakes. Her entire family was bitten by a mass of migrating black mambas in the middle of the mating season (the black mambas, not Beatrix's family). They didn't die, but she was forced to spend an entire weekend with her blown-up puss-oozing family members who hugged her quite constantly and kissed her.
I had a hard time working with Beatrix, since she claimed she was "there" first, and the obvious fact that she was in love with Lambda. Her skills, while competent, were always imprecise whenever she was raring to show off to Lambda, and often times I had to bail her out. I tried telling Lambda that Beatrix was causing problems, but he was too focused on finding another miniaturized British landmarks and deciding if he should choose velvet or silk drapes for our hideout.
Regardless, we have a high success rate. We fought and assassinated members of the Mods, the Skinheads, the Monty Pythons, and the Beatles Tribute group known as The Hair. We have a number of run-ins and close calls with the local lesbian mafia run under the infamous Polly Flinders, who had her own set of unique and expert assassins, such as a woman by the name Kitty Muffet--AKA The Muffin Woman--who could kill a woman through oral sex.
My brief internship was about to come to an end when Lambda had decided to pull off an explosion of the Westminster Palace limburger cheese sculpture... right inside Westminster Palace. It was going to be a difficult mission, and although the three of us could kill the entire security force, I prefer not to do so as there would be too many bodies to hide and the fact I had a limited number of throwing knives.
Our plan was to infiltrate Westminster through the subway, and from there we go in dressed as caterers. The security in the tunnels was fairly light, but we took no chances.
"Hey you," said a guard.
We jumped and drew out our knives.
"There you are Miss Thatcher," said another guard. "The other Members of the Parliament are waiting."
We tried telling them that Lambda wasn't Thatcher, but the guards nudged us into the fastest subway car, first class. They even helped us transport our explosives, thinking that it was just fireworks.
We arrived inside the palace with a hitch and treated like royalty. We were escorted into the dressing room so that "Margaret Thatcher" could change out of her black garb into something more fitting. In some sense we were disappointed that we would pull this job too easily. Of course, Lambda was eager to blow up the cheese sculpture of Westminster Palace, and would like to delight in watching the Clock Tower blasted to bits.
We didn't even need to change our disguises nor did we have to hide our explosives we transported via dining cart. We were in plain sight of the MPs and other dignitaries in the hallway, and they did not act. It felt strange, and I can't shake the feeling that there is something so feminine about this situation.
Lambda quickened his pace when he approached the cheese sculpture. But right when we arrived in the dining hall, all guns were drawn to us. We stopped, and my suspicious were confirmed right when Polly Flinders emerged from behind the velvet curtain at between two pillars.
There was her right-hand woman, Robin Redbreast who earned her embarrassing nickname due to a reddish birthmark on her left breast. Nancy Etticoat stood tall and masculine garbed in her heavy bullet-proof trench coat, and the pretty Kitty Muffet licked her lips sensually.
"It's a trap!" gagged Beatrix. "And it's your fault Chloe!"
How was it my fault? Anyway, it was indeed a trap set up just for us with cooperation of the British government in order to eliminate a small annoyance, although it was probably due to Prince Charles's influence and his desire to exact justice for his crybaby son. They had hired the lesbian gang of Polly Flinders, and all of the MPs and guards happened to be her cross-dressing operatives.
With the pointing of her finger, Polly sent out her female thugs at us, and we responded by darting to the wall dodging bullets by hiding behind the columns. The body count was mounting up, and it was then that Nancy Etticoat came after swinging her fists. Her only weak spot was her face and head, but I had trouble attacking it since she protected it so well with her sleeves. Meanwhile, Robin Redbreast was chasing after a frightened Beatrix, who I had to save by throwing my knife in Robin's left breast, making her scream, "Ow my breast!"
Kitty Muffet was chasing Lambda like a hungry wolf, dodging every swipe of a knife while she lunged over for the pants. It seemed she wanted to perform her "Death Oral", yet I was confused since her victims were always women. Seeing Lambda in danger, Beatrix foolishly lunged to him and drove Kitty away by stabbing her arm. This angered the other elite members of the mafia group, particularly Polly. She and Robin fired their guns at Beatrix, but Lambda stepped forward to shield her.
To save them I had to kick the cart of explosives into the table containing the cheese sculpture and detonate it. As it exploded, Beatrix and I hauled Lambda out of the palace and into a rose garden where we tended to his wounds.
"Please don't die on me Lambda!" Beatrix cried. "I love you!"
"I am flattered that you took a liking to me," said Lambda. "But this is it for me. Do me a favor and don't take off my mask."
Beatrix kissed the rubbery lips as Lambda gave out, and then she bawled. The sirens of the police were getting louder, and I shook my partner to get up. Instead, Beatrix was trying to undo his pants, and wrestled her back.
"Beatrix stop!" I cried. "This isn't the time, and this is so wrong!"
"At least let me see it!"
"Don't! It's disrespectful!"
In the midst of our struggle, we accidentally pulled or pushed off Lambda's mask. We gasped for we have finally realized after all this time that Lambda was actually a woman with man's voice. And to be sure, Beatrix and I pulled down her pants just to be sure.
Beatrix gasped, gagged, and nearly screamed in disgust. She crawled away to throw up, but instead she just coughed.
The police were in our sight, and that was then her permanently parted ways. I remained in hiding until my Mistress's operatives picked me up. It was during my flight back to southern France that pried on the fate of Lambda's body, and as it turned out his--I mean, her body was never found.
Back home, days passed as I relaxed and picked grapes for my Mistress's winery. A man whom she referred to as Esteban, would come by and pick up our bottles, but I have never seen him or his truck he supposedly drove to the Manor. I would often ask Mistress on what Esteban looked like, and she would just shrug her shoulders and said, "I don't know". No one knows.
Then, I received a letter from Lambda, or the person claimed to be her. It read that she was alive, and that the woman was just one of the successors passed on from one Lambda to another. She explained to me that Lambda was an ideal, an everyman, and an everywoman that desire to rebel against semi-fascist states in creative ways. There many times Mistress and I rolled our eyes when we would read her rants. Now she is going to Belgium to blow up a model of the Eiffel Tower made out of toothpicks.
On the same letter, Lambda had learned of Beatrix's whereabouts. She had gone back to America to take up Kendo training and conquered her fear of snakes. Still, I really don't think cut out to be an assassin given her emotional fits. Something tells me she's going to marry an older man and have it easy, but even I'm not certain about that.
I guess it is back to the quiet life at the Manor. It may be days, weeks, months, or even years before I am sent another job, regardless of my favorable performance in England. I will write to you again, even if there is hardly any activity here.
P.S. - I forgot to mention that Leapcut Montana is a very strange, gullible, if not ditsy knives dealer. Since she couldn't find her way out of out land, she had stayed with us for a year until he had Esteban escort her to the nearest Basque village. I sure hope we don't get guests like her.
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