Kione had plowed through the funeral like a lifeless shell of a man, a zombie with very little spirit or spark left inside of him. He was like a candle once the fire had blown out, dark and dank and unimpressive. He had packed himself into a rented suit with a tie that chocked him.

He had made it his obligation to stay behind when everyone left to the restaurant for the reception. He stayed with his truck, which was once again working by means of a makeshift rigging in the power steering and a new radiator to collect the flowers and the pictures from the grave site.

The day was smoldering hot, the sun beating down on his head like a vicious force. It left him drenched through his suit and with his hair in wet clumps, a bead of sweat dripping off of the end of his nose. He hated this heat, it was thick and muggy. Kione stood beneath the shade of a leafy green tree with his arms crossed watching the grave diggers throw dirt on the casket of his future wife. It didn't seem right that she be buried over there at the base of a hill in the open. The sun would bare down on her and when it rained all of that water would roll down the hill and flood over top of her in a puddle. She should be beneath this tree, in it's leafy shade. It seemed wrong that something should be so alive, so beautiful in the cemetery on the day that his love should be buried.

Vega has a shirt... a shirt that makes him look almost like he bothered to wear a suit. He doesn't keep things for occasions like this, and thus looks dramatically underdressed. It's not his fault he doesn't have the money to rent anything fancier, or that his father never passed on anything to him. He doesn't blame him. He wouldn't have passed anything on to him, either.

After the funeral, his usual defiance has died down and left in its place a sickening hollowness. He wishes he did die that night. He doesn't follow to the reception, but people barely notice. His mother doesn't even seem to see him slink away from the sea of people and eventually disappear, only to rematerialize next to Kione. Of course, this is all figurative.

"I'm sorry," it's still grudging, and he seems to come from nowhere with his hollow, tired voice. He just wants this travesty to be over.

Kione doesn't turn to look at him but continues to watch the dirt be thrown down over his love's casket.

"Sorry for what?" he asks. He doesn't want to hear anyone else tell him that they're sorry for his loss, especially not someone in the family who has also lost in this situation. He'd like to think that Vega is sorry for not having been in Molly's life this last year or more. He'd like to think that Vega is sorry of not talking to him, for not remaining, for not what? Being friends? Yes.

He bites down on his lower lip. This action has been repeated so many times in the past three hours that his lip has been left raw and red. Molly used to put her finger to his lower lip and tell him to stop doing that.

"Molly likes this weather." He said, he had a note of distaste in his tone, speaking worlds that he hated this weather

"Sorry she's gone," he responds, and shoves a hand into his pocket. The gravedigger's work twists his stomach in knots. The sight is one of unimiaginably horrible proportions... or at least to Vega. He actually finds himself looking away at some point, focusing on Kione.

I'm sorry you loved her.

He frowns, wrinkling his face in response. "I know," the reply is firm.

He wants to leave, but there's a certain irrational thought that seems to keep his feet firmly planted in their position. He doesn't want Molly to be here all alone, on the stupid hill.

Kione took his eyes away from the horrifying scene below at the bottom of the hill and looks at Vega. His eyes are dark with sorrow and pity and annoyance. These were the eyes of someone who should be dead. He had nothing now, not Vega and not Molly. Not if he could help it.

"The last thing I want it to hear another family member tell me that they are sorry." He turned his eyes back to the task before him. He didn't want Molly to be alone either. He didn't want her to be left here with strangers to throw dirt over top of her. There was a long stretch of silence before he pressed his lips together. He didn't cry. He'd cried himself out while pouring his heart out to her.

"I keep feeling as if I should be the one filling that hole," he finally said in a husky voice. "It doesn't seem right that two strangers do it."

Twice he had already started down the hill to take up the task himself but e'd not made it to the bottom before turning back. He didn't know if he could be the one to seal her into the ground forever.

"Then I apologize." His smile is tight and unapologetic. Care for emotions at this moment is forgotten, even with Vega's usual spark dulled. He's too busy thinking of what happened last week. He doesn't believe the coincedence in these events; in fact, it rather sends a chill down his spine.

His gaze shifts to the gravediggers again but doesn't linger; he hadn't thought of helping before, but now he nods anyway.

"I don't think they'd have the courtesy to let you do such a thing."

He almost looks sad.

It wasn't but it sounded like a challenge.

"Well maybe I should make them," he replied. But he still didn't move. He could throw lilies and orchids, her favorite flowers, down onto her casket but could he really throw shovels full of dirt onto her. "It should be raining," he muttered, though not really speaking to Vega.

OOC: Bah! Short. Sorry.

(('tis fine.))

"Make them let you bury all that's left of her? I'm sorry, Ki, but..." He wraps his slender digits around his friend's wrist and tugs gently on it. "Forget it. It's their job." He doesn't want to be speaking these words. He never believed something like this was capable of happening to him. He barely hears the muttered words, but looks to the sky nonetheless.

"You should go."

The fingers around his wrist go unnoticed. He shook his head. "No, I can't leave her like this. Not yet." He frowned as the dirt started to come into view in the hole. From their position that meant the hole was almost filled anyways. "They can do their job," he said finally. "I won't interfere," only because I'm not strong enough to fill that hole. That was one hole he couldn't fill in.

He looked down when he realized the fingers wrapped around his wrist were tugging. He wanted to smile but he couldn't seem to make those muscles work.

"Are you going to the reception?" he asked softly.

"I know."

He doesn't plan on leaving, either. Not until the hole is completely filled, and there's not a chance that she'll come back. His fingers cling to the larger, tanner wrist for a moment, then slip away at the mention of the reception.

"Not a chance," he answers with another less than friendly smile.

"...you going?"

He reached out and grabbed Vega's hand before it dropped away.

Kione half smiled. It was a bitter smile. He shook his head.

"It's supposed to be a celebration of her life," he mumbled. "I don't feel like going and toasting to the fact that my..." fiance "Molly isn't with me anymore." He shook his head. "I intend to find a quiet place where your mom won't track me down and get thoroughly soused." He'd even brought a twelve pack and a bottle of rum in his truck.

"My mother will be disappointed you couldn't make it." His tone implies he could care less, and he looks back at his pale hand.

The hole is nearly filled to the top now, though Vega isn't looking anymore.

He doesn't know what to say anymore. 'You can come over my place, if you need'? No. That was something he probably would have said years ago, but not now.

"Can't blame you," he offers flimsily instead.

"Probably." He took a deep breath that filled his chest completely, then released it very slowly through his nose. "I've done it before." he replied, as if it were an excuse.

He was still watching the grave diggers, watching the dirt fall on top of his dear, sweet Molly. His baby, his beautiful who had never done anything in the world to harm another person. His lovely who would have given anything in the world to make a person smile, even if she had only just met them. What had she done so wrong that she deserved this fate? What had she done to be destroyed, to be put out like she were only a flame on a candle? And why that way? That car had ruined her beautiful body enough that the funeral had been a closed casket formal.

"Why the fuck did it have to be her?" he snarled. "What did she ever do?" His fingers were tight, tense, not crushing, just clinging.

He would forever have her ruined, stitched together face burned into his mind.

They begin to pat down the dirt and Vega sighs, too. He didn't have to deal with the body, but the memories are still there. He still has to bear the fact that she's gone. That she loved him, perhaps more than was neccessary. But he knows he made the right choice, because Kione loved her more than he ever could. He rubs a thumb across the top of his tanned hand.

"Nothing," he answers in his own bitter fashion. The wind whispers softly through the trees, and he looks over his shoulder.

"But there's nothing we can do but get the fuck over it."

He's building up his walls again.

Kione watched them pat down the dirt and the corners of his lips dipped down further.

"That's the part I'm not so good at," he replied. It never had been. His father had died when he was young and he dealt with the death, he dealt with the funeral, he dealt with his weeping mother, all long before he should have had to. But it had taken him a long time to get over it. If anyone in the world knew that, it was Vega.

Kione gave Vega's hand a squeeze. "Damn it." he snarled between gritted teeth. He rubbed the back of his head with his free hand. "Fuck." Swearing wasn't accomplishing anything but damn it he wanted to swear.

Kione watched them pat down the dirt and the corners of his lips dipped down further.

"That's the part I'm not so good at," he replied. It never had been. His father had died when he was young and he dealt with the death, he dealt with the funeral, he dealt with his weeping mother, all long before he should have had to. But it had taken him a long time to get over it. If anyone in the world knew that, it was Vega.

Kione gave Vega's hand a squeeze. "Damn it." he snarled between gritted teeth. He rubbed the back of his head with his free hand. "Fuck." Swearing wasn't accomplishing anything but damn it he wanted to swear.

He waits a long time before bothering with a reply, knowing full well Kione's history. But they're not in high school anymore. Old hurts fade, new ones replacing them over the years. He looks spaced out, focusing on his shoes.

"You should grab a drink," he offers, yet again a flimsy suggestion, but it's better than swearing back.

After all, the gravediggers are practically finished their job. It's time for them to go.

The grave diggers were walking away. Kione turned and practically tugged Vega down the other side of the hill as though he couldn't wait to get away from this place. He couldn't wait to get away from this place. He couldn't stand any more heart wrenching scenes today and Molly under dirt was certainly one of those.

"Yeah..." he muttered unhelpfully. "D'you gotta car or something?" It's been years, he doesn't know if Vega even owns a car anymore. "Gotta light?" he tacked on to the question, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket and peeling out of the black suite jacket that was glued to him by sweat. There was a chain swinging around his neck with a flash of gold and diamond. He tucked it inside the black dress shirt.

Vega stumbles at the initial tug, not having expected the response, but quickly steadies himself and starts walking with Kione. He vaguely regrets offering his hand to the stronger individual.

"No, I'm a fucking hobo," he answers testily, sarcasm oozing from his words. "A mechanic without a car. Nice joke, Ki."

The hand in his pocket retrieves a black lighter, and Vega presents it to him wordlessly.

Molly hated the fact that they smoke.

She hated that they drank too, but those are two habits that Kione wasn't ready to give up yet.

"Thanks," he says, releasing Vega's hand to take the lighter. He offered the pack to Vega while lighting his own cigarette. "Hey, chill. I didn't have one in years," he told him. "And now mine is a piece of shit," he muttered as they reached the truck he kicked the tire.

He could have afforded a better truck, really, but he'd bought Molly that convertible. She didn't drink or smoke but she partied nicely and that's what drew him to her so tightly. She knew how to have fun and when to be serious.

Vega filches a cigarette and promptly lights it after Kione has finished with it; afterwards, the scratched up little thing disappears into the abyss of his pocket once more.

"I'm not you," he informs him with a tinge of bitterness. He never wants Kione to forget this fact.

"Haven't bothered to fix it?" he inquires with all the enthusiasm of a bored teenager. He surveys the battered vehicle with characteristic disinterest.

"Too busy to fix it," he replies, disregarding Vega's comment about him not being Kione. He knows he isn't Kione, he never wants him to be him, he never wanted that. One of Kione's fears is that Vega left so many years ago because he thought that Vega was trying to turn him into something he was not.

Kione took a draw on the cigarette and he idly wondered a very uncharacteristic thought: "I wonder how long it'll take if I chain smoke these things for the rest of my life."

Kione frowned at that thought. "Lets go get drunk," he muttered. It really left Vega no room to turn him down. He still could, of course, but the comment basiclly said no.

His gaze lingers on the truck a long moment; he takes a long drag, and then promptly snorts out smoke. His forehead crinkles like a plastic grocery bag, his lips turning down at the corners. He wants to laugh and tell him to save his melodrama for bad movies, but he doesn't. He lays a hand on the truck instead.

"I could fix it," he doesn't mean to say, and then pauses. "You'd be one very poor man in less than half a year, and maybe a very dead one, at that."

He looks into the truck's window, looking thoughtful. "Depends where we're going."

Kione scowled. "Yeah," he agreed. "Probably."

With his bad luck he'd smoke eight packs a day and live for twenty more years and die of a natural cause and as a poor man.

"You aren't too busy?" he asks. He always finds himself too busy to play games with his truck. It was nearly pointless to chase down every little wire problem in a twenty year old truck. He always found time to work on Molly's car. He even found time to tune up their mother's car.

"Eh," he shrugged, leaving the cigarette between his lips and shoving his hands into his pocket after throwing the jacket in to one of the open windows in the truck. "Can go to my garage. The office has a blasting cooler." It's his only refuge from Vega's mother and Molly.

Busy. The word plagues his existence. He uses his time off praying to Azrael and, much to his dismay, flying around the city of Bayfield as one of those disgusting things people call birds. The very mention of being busy causes him to wrinkle his nose in disgust; he runs his hand across the bed of the truck, tapping the ashes off the end of his cigarette.

"No," he mumbles in response. He's busy, but Kione's pathetic vehicle irritates him.

He was about to suggest swinging over to his place, but holds his tongue when he remembers Kione's rather unpleasant expression at the state of the apartment. A pig sty, he'd called it.

"Sure," he agrees with a shrug of one small shoulder.

This is the most they have said to each other in over two years and it was all because they each loved the woman lying in the ditch at the bottom of the hill. Maybe she hadn't died for nothing.

No. Kione couldn't think that the reason Molly died was because of the two people in the world who loved her.

"Don't worry about it. I won't be so busy in the future," he replied. "Unless you need something to keep busy." He was going to have much more time on his hands and it was going to drive him crazy. Molly took up his time. She woke him up and most of the morning she kept him busy. Sometime she wanted him, sometimes she just wanted him to scrub her back in the shower. He worked all day and when he got home she wanted to scrub his back in the shower the moment he walked through the door. She couldn't stand the smell of the grease on him. Then she wanted him to eat dinner, fix mom's stove/car/cooler/etc. Then she wanted him to lay in bed and watch movies with her. She kept him busy. His life was going to be empty. He'd been trying not to dwell on it. The funeral had kept him busy. Tonight, the cards to the people who had sent flowers would keep him busy. Tomorrow he was shit out of things to do.

"Wanna ride along or follow?" He asked, walking around the truck and opening the drivers door. His words were muffled around the cigarette.

If Kione knew the real reason Molly is under the ground now, cold and dead, would he still look to Vega for company? The answer is probably no.

"I can fix it," he waves a hand, shooing away away the topic like a pestering insect. This is the only full day he has off, and then tomorrow it's feathers and beaks, and ugh. It makes him sick to think about.

"Considering the state of your heap of trash... I think I'll follow."

He takes another drag of his cigarette.

"Have it your way," he said. He got into the truck and started it. It roared to life. The power steering was shot so he fought with the wheel to turn it around and get on the road.

It took twenty minutes in the traffic to get to the garage and Kione drove with his head titled back against the head rest and his arm hanging out the window. Considering how many cigarette butts he threw out the window it was likely that he had both found his own lighter and was chain smoking.

The garage he pulled up in front of was more like a werehouse cum auto shop. He got out of the truck and slammed the door. He used his keys to unlock the lock on the sliding door, slid it open and entered without waiting for Vega. He unlocked his office, opened the blinds to it that looked into the garage, and turned on the light. He came back outside and leaned against the truck to wait for Vega.

It doesn't take long for Vega to walk back to his car, and when he starts it up it purrs like a kitten. He speeds until he catches up with Kione, then it's a relatively easy ride from there. He smokes away the rest of his pack, then his fingers begin to twitch from the lack of a cigarette's presence.

When he pulls into Kione's garage, it's his turn to be rather disgusted, but the feeling fades. He's never been too picky about anything, and, considering the state of his car, as aforementioned, he isn't that surprised.

He opens the car door and slowly exits the confines of his vehicle; the door makes a rather large whump as it is carelessly pushed closed.

"Nice place," sarcasm.

"Don't knock it," he muttered. "It's clean, it's large, and it's mine." He's proud that it's his. He owns the place, the tools and machines within, and the workers...until he fires them. He hasn't had anyone quite yet and he's only fired one person, replacing him quickly, so he isn't doing too shabby.

He turned and got the liqour out of his truck, piling a carton of cigarettes on top of the stack. "C'mon." he entered the dark garage, lit up lightly by the light leaking out of his office "Shove the door closed behind you," he told him.

Kione's office was clean. It wasn't neat but it was organized and it was roomy. His desk was a standard wooden desk with a basic desktop computer. On the corner of his desk was a brightly colorful picture. He was leaning up against the grill of his old truck, Molly in front of him and his arms wrapped around her. She was radiant in her dark blue sun dress, her hair around her shoulders, he looked nice as well. She'd dressed him for that picnic trip to the beach. He wore fresh new blue jeans and a white button shirt. The shirt was tucked in, his hair was combed through. The only thing really, deeply Kione in that picture was the Kino sandals and the smile on his face.

In one corner of the room was a stout filing cabinet, in the other a small black fridge. On the back wall were shelves, each with some trinket, most of them car parts. A book shelf held rows of automotive hand books. On the opposite wall were half a dozen degrees assigned to him from WyoTech automotive college. On the wall behind his desk were two pictures of Molly and himself and a picture from high school of Vega and himself after a day of paint ball wars, their hair clumped with paint, their clothing ruined and their skin multi-colored.

There was a chair in front of the desk and behind it, equally comfortable looking though both a little old and worn. Kione put the liqour on the desk and waved Vega to the seat on one side. He removed two beer bottles and stored the rest of the drinks in the fridge.

He hears the way Kione emphasizes that the place is his, and responds with a gentle shrug of his shoulders. Vega's never been ambitious enough to be anything more than a worker... nevermind own his own place.

The mechanic follows Kione in wordlessly, surveying the garage enough to remember vague details. It's already beginning to feel cooler as he walks through the dark garage, and he's glad of that. His footsteps stop before the door, and after a moment of hesitation he enters, pulling the door closed. It is rather roomy, he notes, peering around at the pictures. The photo of Molly makes him feel utterly horrible in a way he can't fathom; however, the picture beside it brings a sad smile to his face. Why couldn't it have been like that forever?

He tilts his head to the side, smile fading, and offers a sigh. "S'nice," he muses softly, and with the way he says it, it's impossible to tell what he's talking about. There are a lot of nice things in this room.

Vega doesn't feel like sitting, and lets Kione know by lingering next to the wall instead of taking the offered seat.

Kione shrugged when Vega chose not to sit. "Suite yourself," he says and pops the top to the beer, offering it to Vega by setting it on that corner of the desk and tossing the cap into the can at the end of his desk. He started to yank the tie from around his throat before his rear ever hit the seat.

"Thanks. It's my safe haven. Your mother gets all over me for drinking at the house so I just don't anymore," he muttered. He pulled the tie off of his neck and draped it over the back of the chair, then opened a drawer, took something out, and shoved it closed. He put an ash tray on in the middle of the desk and torn the carton of cigarettes open, removing one pack and taking that elusive lighter out of his pocket. It was pink. Molly thought it would be funny, and make him stop smoking, if all she ever bought him were pink lighters. She had been wrong but she still got a kick out of it.

He put a cigarette between his lips and lit it. He waved at the pack. "Help yourself." Then he took the second beer and popped it's top.

He takes a step forward, lingering near the desk. He can't bring himself to sit down; if one observes, they'll notice he's a very antsy creature. He deals with this in his own way, swiping a cigarette and lighting it with his old black lighter. His hands tremble for reasons he can't pinpoint. He has to laugh at Kione's lighter, however.

He looks at the opened beer a long time, and a tight smile pulls across his face.

"You makin' a fashion statement?" he asks, just to distract himself.

He waved the pink lighter when Vega laughed as if to say 'you have got to know whose influence this was,' before dropping it onto the desk. It pounced once and slid to a stop. The smoke, when puffed from his lips and his nostrils, billowed to the left, the AC's vent was on the right upper wall.

"It's the new mourning style," he tried to keep up. "All of the widows are wearing it." It was meant to be as funny as could be in the situation, it came out dead and bitter. His lip raised in the corner slightly anyways. He took the cigarette from his lips and drew from the beer bottle, rinsing down the bile that had been sitting in his throat since he woke up that morning.

"Get comfortable. Suits aren't comfortable." He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and the chocking sensation ceased. As comfortable as he was going to get in slacks and a dress shirt, he kicked off the dress shoes and pulled off the socks, loccating his reserve pair of Kinos under his desk. They were white and didn't match the black slacks and shirt at all.

He taps the ashes of his cigarette into the little tray Kione had set on the desk, sighing out smoke. He tries to find humor in the situation, and this time the corners of his mouth only lift slightly as if to respond with 'yeah, my sister was like that'. He reaches for the beer in turn, taking a long swig before setting it back on the desk.

"I always knew you were a bit of a girl," he retorts, then returns to smoking the cancer stick poised between his fingers. He pauses for a long time before finally answering his next suggestion. Or is it a command?

"Good thing I'm not wearing a suit, then," he remarks, flexing his fingers. His gaze drifts to the floor and lingers there longer than he means for it to, and for a moment he just appears dazed.

Kione only manages a half smirk.

Vega's lingering gaze at the floor gives Kione a chance to close that awkward topic and close in on Vega. With a swig from the beer bottle and one puff of the cigarette he homes in on Vega's activities since he's walked away from their duo.

"What have you been doing?" he asked. "Where are you working now?"

...since Vega doesn't own his own garage he's got to be either not working as a mechanic or working for someone else. Since mechanics was really their only solid useful talent in their teenage years, he's sure Vega isn't on stage singing chior or, given his apparent people skills, working as a waiter.


OOC: sorry it took so long. I had to drive back up here to VA and that drive really wipes you out when you go it alone.

(('s perfectly fine, truly. You had a safe trip though, yeah?))

Vega's answer is bundled with an immature snort, and his brown eyes barely lift to study Kione while he offers mentioned response. He idly shrugs a shoulder and waves the hand with the lit cigarette balanced between his flexed fingers (the left, we must assume) in a languid gesture of flippant indifference. "Stuff," is the measly monosyllable reply that leaks forth from his pale pink lips, delivered in a way that suggests he should learn some etiquette and grow the fuck up. This aforementioned 'stuff' includes his visit with his oh-so-favorite god, but of course he doesn't mention this nagging little fact.

He proceeds to take a drag from his cigarette and drum his fingers on the desk in an annoying, childish manner.

"Some place across town." This time he has the presence of mind to offer Kione a brief sidelong gaze before once again examining a photo of Molly. "A garage," he clarifies, waving his left hand again. "Johnson's," he finally states, speaking the name as if it were an unimportant detail.

"Besides the obvious... you?"

Tap, tap, tap of the ashes into the tray. His fingers continue to keep a steady tempo.

“Stuff?” He repeats in not so much of a questioning tone as a flat, irritated answer. “What stuff?” And as Vega drags on his cigarette so does Kinoe.

His eyes drift downward and focus on the tapping fingers, staying there for a while, watching them drum out very little beat. He wants to reach out and cover that hand with his, put an end to the tuneless sound. He doesn’t.

His eyes come up to meet Vega’s sidelong gaze. “Johnson’s? Is he fair?” He had heard that he charged his customers too much and paid his employees too little. Of course, he was competition, all competition would like to think a little ill of each other.

The tap tap continues, easier to ignore now that it isn’t made in complete, deafening silence.

He shrugged. What was besides the obvious? He’d taken care of a funeral all week this week. The week before he and Molly had left town for a picnic in the country. It was so hot that she, in an uncharacteristic streak of wildness, had stripped off and convinced him to swim naked in the lake. Vega didn’t want to hear that. The obvious was that he had been running the garage.

He shrugged, drank. “My life was always the same every day really,” he managed. What was it going to be like now, now that Molly wouldn’t demand all of his attention in the evenings? Probably too-long-workdays and a hell of a lot of chain smoking.


OOC: Fairly safe. It was pouring most of the way and I almost go ran off the road once but that’s typical when you enter VA. They’re crazy.