Your Good People
Written 14 March 2007
When the doorbell played Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries, Duo looked up from his engineer’s magazine in the living room and waited. It played again, and then three times, and with a sigh he set the magazine down.
“I’ll get it, then!” He heard no reply from the study, where Heero had disappeared some hours ago.
Duo glanced through the peephole, a puzzled frown creasing the skin between his brows when he saw the two older women in prim skirts and blouses standing on the stoop. Fairly certain that they were not the kind of people to show up at the homes of ex-terrorists to wreak vengeance, he slid back the deadbolt and opened the door with a polite smile.
“Hello, ladies,” he said cheerfully, confusion coloring his voice, “what can I do for you two?”
The shorter one gave him a motherly smile, utterly charmed by this sweet young man, but the other—taller, thinner, and more vulture than human—looked the boy up and down with her mouth set in a frown. Duo wondered if she were more upset by his all-black clothing or the long, unconventional braid that trailed over his shoulder.
“Have you accepted Jesus Christ into your heart?” the shorter one asked brightly, and Duo felt his own smile freeze. Somewhere, a kitten was killed.
“…I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “What did you say?”
Maybe it was the golden crucifix he had never taken off since he was a kid, flashing in the late afternoon light, that had so displeased her. The thinner one spoke as though she were permanently smelling something unpleasant. “He is the man that died for our sins, so that we may have divine forgiveness—“
Duo just knew that Someone Up There was laughing His divine ass off.
“—and may we come in?”
The smaller woman's words brought him back to his senses, and he took a few milliseconds to consider possible replies. Say he were Jewish (therefore already saved); say he were Catholic (therefore damned no matter how much he repented); say he had only ever believed in the God of Death, and no guy nailed on a hunk of wood—be it the traditional cross or the stake that the Witnesses fervently upheld—would convince him otherwise.
“’Come in’?” he echoed.
“So we may speak about our Savior’s plans for you—“
A smirk suddenly curled Duo’s lips. Crossing his arms over his chest and leaning a hip against the doorframe, he said airily, “Oh, I already have one of those.”
The two women blinked.
“And I love my savior. Every night. Sometimes several times, if his Grace holds up.”
They blinked again, and Duo felt a little pity. They just made it too easy.
“And don’t get me started on communion. It’s like the war of heaven all over again, and what a silver tongue it is. A guy can’t help but fall on his knees and worship.”
“Duo, who is it?”
Heero’s quiet voice preceded his silent, socked footsteps, and he tilted his head slightly when he saw two unfamiliar women standing at their doorway looking positively scandalized.
“You two will go to Hell—“ the older one snapped, to which Duo lazily replied, “Been there, done that, Belial still owes me five creds.”
The smaller woman sputtering, she was guided away from the stoop by her irate companion. Heero, uncomprehending, watched them leave with a nonplussed expression that only deepened when he saw Shinigami’s smile on Duo’s face.
“What just happened?”
“Just a couple of biddies altruistically concerned for my eternal soul,” he said dryly. Personally, he thought the idea of sitting around for an eternity, with a hundred forty-four thousand or so other people, staring in adoration at his Creator was unbearably dull. “They didn’t appreciate my interpretation.”_______________________________________
-A couple people have complained about this. After dealing with my aunt for years and the two women that showed up at the door when I was a kid who scared me away from Christianity, I don't particularly give a shit. Don't bother flaming.