A Faustian Bargain

Chapter 1: The Basement

A/N: ObsidianSorrows here! My first full-length Chrno Crusade story! The reviewers of "To Fulfill a Fantasy" actually inspired me. I decided to give this a go, and this time the plot was thought out specifically for Rosette and Chrno.

Plot: Rosette is a young woman who visits prisons and listens to men's sins. When her curiosity gets the best of her, Rosette somehow ends up listening to the sins of a devil. In this a relationship is begun, as well as a very dangerous bargain. Will it end in disaster?

For some background…this story is going to reference Faust the play a lot. Faust is the story of a German scholar who makes a pact with the devil. In some stories, Faust falls in love and is saved from being condemned. When used to describe something, "Faustian" usually means something that will end in disaster. I will not be taking that statement so seriously in this though, because I do not favor angst that much.

The first reference to Faust is the name of the devil, Mephistopheles.

There will also be several Biblical references throughout the story. I doubt any of them will insult anyone.

This will be a Rosette and Chrno romance. There is none existing in this first chapter, but please bear with me!

Read on!

OooO

Never lose a holy curiosity.

-Albert Einstein

OooO

"…and ten Hail Mary's for your penance. Go forward and sin no more."

The man nodded at the providential woman. He was dressed in a scruffy, orange jumpsuit—standard prison garb. The man wore plain, tattered brown shoes, had unkempt brown hair, and was sporting a few rotting teeth. The faded teal paint was peeling off the walls of the cell and the whole establishment smelled strongly of sweat and faintly of blood and puke. Not for the faint of heart, but last she checked, the prison wasn't signed up for any Nobel Prize any time soon.

"Thank God for you, missus," the man said, bowing his head close to the junction of her legs. As the action was made she subtly slid her hands further to the side, away from him. She had one two many episodes were she would find her small, feminine hands cupped in the dirty digits of a strange man begging for an angel. She was no angel and she didn't wish to be intertwining fingers with incarcerated prisoners in the near future, if ever.

"Hmmm," was all she hummed back to him as he fell prostrate, presumably to begin his penance prayers. She slid quietly out of the cell, the lingering scent of vanilla the only sign that she was ever there. She nodded silently to the guard who had stood watch as she administered. He locked up the man's cell, throwing her a lewd look in the process that made her insides churn. She stalked passed him, the man praying quietly on the floor the only thing keeping her from sending a projectile through the guard's skull. She quickly exited the building without so much as a backward glance.

"Whew," the girl muttered, hitching up her modest blue skirt (ankle length) as she loaded herself into the driver's side of her car. She tossed her Bible, rosary, and holy water into the passenger's seat, where a half-empty box of donuts already resided. She slid her key easily into the ignition but did not start the car. She rested her headed calmly against the steering wheel, which was hot because it had been roasting in the sun.

"Thank God for you, missus."

The blonde girl sighed. "Sure," she responded, imaging the man's face: his eyes shining with the prospect that she really was some heaven-sent creature. He couldn't be more off the mark though. Of course, in a hell with peeling walls and the stench of barf, she was an angel. In the real world she was a teenager who spent her time listening to criminal's sins because it kept her from landing in jail. An extra-curricular activity, so to say.

"Thank God for you."

She heaved another great sigh. "All in a day's work," she muttered, and drove off.

OooO

"How was work?" was the first greeting she received as she entered the room.

"Hello to you too," the girl started sarcastically. She plopped herself down on the sofa and it sagged under her weight. She picked a chocolate chip cookie off the plate on the coffee table and nibbled on it.

"Hello," the woman said flatly. Her name was Kate and she served as the girl's adoptive mother. She was a strict, austere woman who had raised the girl to be as holy and pure as the floating clouds in the sky. She had fallen short somewhere though, apparently, as she listened to the girl curse excessively for spilling a small cup of coffee in her lap.

"Oh Rosette, it would not be a normal day if you did not cause some sort of disaster," Kate mused, handing over napkins to clean up the mess that was quickly permeating Rosette's skirt. "Now, tell me about work. How many did you save?" She watched as the girl threw some of the soaked napkins on the table. "Rosette, don't just throw—"

"Why do you call it saving?" Rosette asked, smoothing out her ruined skirt. "I don't save anybody. I sit in a rickety old chair and listen to confessions of rape, murder, and incest—all while trying to keep my bile down. Then I tell them either to pray the Hail Mary or Our Father—which, by the way, I don't even know what the difference each of them makes—and hope that they'll never do it again."

Kate tsked at her, not bothering to lighten the action with a smile or affectionate nod. "Pessimism fell the giant," she reminded Rosette. Rosette in turn leaned back into the cushions of the couch and fixed her with a skeptical glare.

"You made that up, didn't you?"

Kate frowned at her. "Don't talk back to me, child."

Rosette rolled her eyes and looked out the window. In Kate's world, that meant "Hell yes, I did." She didn't press the matter and instead gazed pensively out the window, picking idly at her nails. The sky was completely clear and the sun shone brilliantly. It was only a few degrees cooler in here than it was outside. Rosette had to wonder how Kate sat in her modest clothing without getting sweat stains over it all.

"How many, Rosette?"

'Here we go again'. Every day, the same persistent question bombarded her. How many? How many? Kate turned into a broken record player with the question, repeating and regurgitating it until Rosette gave a satisfactory answer. She couldn't for the life of her figure out why it was so important. She liked to imagine that the most probable reason was that Kate was keeping a tally somewhere and was going to send it in to some divine organization so Rosette could get a scholarship or a wad of money. Listening to people's dirty pasts had to have some sort of payoff, right?

"Five today; forty in total since a month and two days ago."

Kate's fingers slid around the lip of her cup and she stared passively into space. Rosette sat muted too, running her tongue along the rough serration of her bottom teeth. She waited for an answer.

"Five?" Kate finally inquired. "An awful big number, it seems."

"They had more interns today. There was a robbery at the Oxford Bank again."

"Again?" Kate huffed and delicately set her cup down on a plate covered in a white doily. "They really should think of getting more guards…"

Rosette, already in a cranky mood, asserted her two cents of pessimism. "Or just go out of business," she suggested.

Kate didn't answer for a moment. Rosette took the doily out from under her now empty coffee cup and attempted to relieve herself of the heat. The doily was useless. The valley between her breasts was going to be a swamp soon if she didn't get fresh air. It was so hot in the room that she partially feared catching on fire. (Her long skirt happened to be a flame disaster waiting to happen).

"Well, I don't know what the point of it all is," she finally started in, seeing as Kate was slipping into Alzheimer's Land with no intention of picking up their former conversation. "Men like that can't be saved."

It had never occurred to Rosette that Kate's silence had meant that she was upset. Now her wrath was turned on her full force.

"Rosette, what is wrong with you?" Kate demanded, her aging hands clenched into fists. They were squeezed so tightly that every prominent wrinkle was smoothed out, making the hand look as youthful as one of Rosette's. "Why do you speak of those men in such derogatory terms?"

Rosette bit her lip. Why did she do it? Perhaps she was upset that visiting prisons constituted her version of "free time". Other girls her age were out shopping and looking for men who would lie between their legs. She was here, wearing old ladies' skirts and keeping company with social outcasts. Or maybe she really was repulsed by all of the things the men had done.

"I just don't think any of them are a challenge," Rosette said instead, in an effort to pacify Kate's lividness. It worked to some extent. Kate, who seemed on the verge of shattering a pot over her head, slowly slipped back into passivity. She sat more comfortably in her chair and fixated her eyes on Rosette. Her hand was tucked under her chin, signifying that she was thinking intensely about something.

"You want a challenge?"

'I want a life,' Rosette thought bitterly. 'I want to be running around with skirt-chasing boys.'

"Yes," Rosette said, trying to cover up her bitterness. She didn't notice that with her answer Kate let out a quiet sigh and folded her hands thoughtfully in her lap. She didn't realize that perhaps Kate was seriously thinking about her words. All she could think about was the group of girls that day that she saw on the street: pretty little creatures that laughed and joked. She wanted to be like that, not a nun-in-training.

"Why do you think you need a challenge?" Kate queried, watching Rosette's movements like a hawk. She was aware of the possibility that Rosette was lying; the little cookie wasn't very good at it, after all. But Kate also considered that maybe a challenge was exactly what Rosette needed. The girl had too much energy pent up and felt cocky, and maybe working with some crack-case would knock her down a few pegs.

"The men just accept that I can save them," Rosette said, surprised by how easy it was to say it. Was this really a lie? Or was this how she had really felt all along? "I want to meet someone that is really depraved. Someone who won't just take Hail Marys and Our Fathers as their saving grace."

Kate had begun to drink her coffee again as a means of occupying herself with something. She had a mouthful of hot liquid in her mouth when Rosette said her next words.

"I want a demon."

Kate coughed so hard that coffee nearly came out her nose. Everything went down the wrong tube and Kate wanted to strangle Rosette for almost giving her an aneurysm. Her skirt and shirt now as ruined as Rosette's, Kate shot Rosette a venomous glare.

"Rosette Christopher," she coughed, cleaning up her mouth with the remaining napkins. "Do not ask of such things." Kate turned her head away, her expression troubled. The child couldn't possibly know what she had just implied. Of course not—Rosette was unaware of the "other side". To her, there were two kingdoms in the world: the animals, and the humans. Demons did not play into any equation, and Kate was not going to add more numbers any time soon.

"It was a joke, geez," Rosette muttered, disturbed over her mother's reaction. "You looked like you were going to go into a coma when I said that."

"I might have," Kate snapped. She stood up and walked over to her desk. Papers were organized into their proper receptacles and the only thing out of place was a pen sitting in the middle atop a checkbook. Rosette, strain as much as she could, was unable to see what it was written out to.

Rosette glanced down at the stain on her skirt again. That wasn't going to come out so easily. Washing it quickly would probably be her best course of action. "Sister Kate," she called, addressing her by the woman's proper title. She was a nun of some sort, after all. Rosette just wasn't sure what type, and Kate never bothered to tell her. "I'm going now."

"Rosette."

She stopped at the door. Her hand rested against the cool golden knob in the center. "Yes?" she called back wearily, not bothering to around. The heat had made her slothful.

"Don't ever go to the basement."

What an odd request, Rosette thought. It was a general, elusive appeal that could've meant anything to Rosette. Peculiar that Kate would mention such a thing and not elucidate on the subject…

"Yes, sister."

She'd never dream of doing it.

OooO

This was killing her.

Rosette stepped out of her beat-up red truck, the kind that made a deafening roar when started up. Kate had taken the nice, black Sedan that she liked to cruise around with, and she was stuck with the bottom of the pot. As she closed the door she had to be careful not to slam it, lest the whole thing fall off it's hinges.

"If I was a nun," Rosette whispered to herself as she ascended the steps of the prison. "If I had some crazy daughter who wanted to talk to demons…"

The guards winked at her as she passed, apparently noticing her change in garb. Because of the rising temperatures, Rosette had trashed her lampshade skirt and donned a dress that had slits halfway up her thigh. Her black spandex shone through under the dark blue attire (which she was starting to discover was her favorite color). She wore a heavy lead cross the size of her palm around her neck and had a brown belt with a few capsules of holy water on it. Archaic and childish, she had to admit, but the overall effect was amazing. She felt like a holy warrior.

Her sturdy brown boots thunk, thunked as she walked into the concrete halls of the prison. Instead of pacing down the endless corridors of prisoners, though, she made a quick left into the receptionist's office. A middle-aged woman sat behind a faded wooden desk, chewing gum and flipping through papers with bright pink panther claws. She glanced up as Rosette stood in front of her.

"What can I do ya for, honey?"

Rosette made a quick glance around the room. Walls painted a gentler yellow and shelves stacked with books of various genres. A water cooler in the corner and pictures of flowers on the walls. All were meant to calm and soothe, something that was crucial when dealing with convicts. She wasn't looking for anger-surged convicts though. She was looking for evidence that Kate the Ninja might be spying on her.

Comforted that Kate didn't have cameras planted anywhere, Rosette asked, "Where is the basement?"

If the secretary's disposition had been sugary before, now it was as sour and cautious as a dried salamander. "Oh, toots, I don't kno' whatt you're talking about."

"You must have a basement," Rosette pushed. She could see the way those inch long nails nervously tapped on the table. She saw the way her gauzy eyes glanced anxiously around the room.

"Honey, an extra floor for this establishment would take wads more of funds," the lady said, regaining her calm a little. Her hands didn't shake as much, but her eyes still darted.

"Funds?" Rosette's mind flashed back to the check sitting on Kate's desk. It was sickening how quickly her mind snapped back to that. It was even more perturbing how she could already picture the words "New York Penitentiary" on it.

"Well, say there was another floor," Rosette rapidly changed tactics. "What would be there?"

The receptionist sighed. She set down the stack of papers that she had been filtering for the last few minutes. She took out another piece of gum and popped it into her mouth. "Oh, I don't know."

"Can you guess?" Rosette pleaded a little. She glanced quickly down at the name plaque on the woman's desk. "Mrs. Partone, you seem like you sure know a lot about this jail…" It wouldn't hurt to fluff her plumage a little.

Mrs. Partone gazed at her testily. Finally she replied, "Well, I'd imagine that's where they'd keep the most harmless of criminals."

She had been trying to slight-hand Rosette; unfortunately Rosette knew all about that tactic. If panther claws said the most harmless of criminals, then she meant the most dangerous. If she said there was no basement, then there sure as hell was.

"And what would one have to do to get into this basement?" Rosette asked with a smile that alarmed the secretary.

"Well, however you get into imaginary basements," the secretary shot back in an annoyed tone. Rosette quickly followed her course of action.

"And does the imaginary basement have an elevator or stairs—"

"Babe, don't you have some convicts to convert?" Mrs. Partone demanded. Her hand slid inconspicuously beneath the table, where a button would alarm the guards and drag the interrogating girl out. She hoped it would not come to that, since the blonde was a kind little thing after all. Rosette had managed to placate more men than she had ever done.

"I just want to see the basement," Rosette snapped, becoming irked. "I know you have one."

The old hag wouldn't give in! The lady was going to drown in her lies. Rosette internally sighed. She'd break into the forsaken jail if that's what it took to see the basement. "Let me—"

"ROBERT!" The lady screeched impulsively, not even bothering with the guard's button. This teen was sending her bonkers. Rosette momentarily shrunk back in fear, recognizing that Robert was the warden of the penitentiary. He was often seen walking around with a beating stick and a rifle. She didn't want to be on the end of either (or both) of them.

"Edna, don't you go screaming like that!" An irritated man said as a door labeled Robert Shelk, Warden, was thrown open half way. "The hell is going on?"

"The visiting nun keeps asking about a basement!" Mrs. Partone shrieked. With all of the shouting going on, Rosette could clearly see the white gum rolling around in the woman's mouth. It wasn't a comforting sight. If anything it made Rosette's stomach do a turn for the worst. She was very, extremely nervous.

Rosette also caught the way she said basement. She said it like you would say "Oh, that one." Rosette thought that maybe it would serve her right to go to an acting class. She was sure an easy person to read.

"Basement, eh?" Robert had a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth like a wet noodle. Rosette fought the urge to crinkle her nose in disgust. "We don't got a basement, lady."

Rosette frowned. She felt like she was on those shows where everyone played a practical joke. Everyone was in on it and she was be the only one caught unawares. They were so adamant about their lies that Rosette was nearly falling for them. Nearly.

"I know you do," Rosette tried, conscious of the warden's defensive stance. She was praying that he wouldn't decide to run her over like a footballer.

"We don't."

"I have a confirmation number," Rosette said, remembering how each prisoner had a number identification. The numbers were used to easily locate the convicts' information in the computer's database. It also served to dehumanize the criminals. It was easier to condemn them when they just appeared as a jumble of numbers.

They didn't budge for a moment. She continued. "And a name." She knew numbers were often less attainable than names, but she figured having both would make her more believable.

The warden peered scrupulously at her. The cigarette butt was burning dangerously close to his lips. "And what name would that be?" He was humoring her, she knew.

Rosette's back stiffened. What name? What name was there to give? Would they recognize it if she made a name up? Her mind went into a sudden flashback. "I want a demon." She frowned at the memory. Would that be of any use to her now? She wasn't sure if saying that name would go in her favor but…

"Mephistopheles."

The warden broke into uncontrolled laughter. Apparently he thought she had said some incredibly long made-up joke. The cigarette fell out of his mouth and landed on the floor. It was crushed underfoot as the man stomped his foot on the ground, unable to quell his roars. Rosette's whole frame shook but she didn't dare laugh or show anger. She wasn't sure what he was laughing so hard about anyways.

"The hell is that?" he demanded, righting himself. He had tears in his eyes. Rosette's eyes were cold on him. He disgusted her. She couldn't believe how clueless he really was. How'd he get to be appointed warden? He didn't even know if he knew left from right.

Mrs. Patone had an opposite reaction though. She had frozen completely behind her desk, utterly petrified. Her hand was perched in midair, stopped in time. She looked like a statue. Slowly she looked at Rosette's face. "You—" she stopped herself. She managed to break herself out of her stupor for a second. She turned to address the chuckling man. "It's the name of the devil, Robert."

"I want a demon."

Those words produced haunting effects on people, Rosette was quickly learning. Why did words like demon, devil, and evil cause such fear and hate in people's hearts? They were mythical creatures, after all. Nothing to worry…right?

"Oh." His eyes had turned to steel in a few seconds. Rosette couldn't help but glance nervously at the gun in his holster. She was regretting ever coming into the office.

"I just wanted a challenge," Rosette suddenly blubbered. She couldn't stand it. She had to somehow try to cover up her foolish words. "I heard a rumor that there was an extra floor, and I was curious. I just—" she pulled on the grace words of her mother. "I just wanted to save more people."

Those words weren't having the positive effect Rosette was praying for.

"Some things can't be saved," Mr. Shelk said with vitriol. Rosette didn't miss how somehow the noun had switched from people to things. She was getting the creeps just listening to him.

"Everyone can be saved," Rosette asserted, her cerulean eyes burning. This man was more than disgusting; he was a repulsive, sickening monster. She wanted him to disappear into the center of the earth.

A hand wrapped around her wrist suddenly. He had surged forward without her realizing it. His grubby hands were hot and uncomfortable on her thin wrists. A scream tore from her throat before she could even think.

"Let me go!" Rosette snarled, trying to punch and kick the man. He evaded her easily. He dragged her out the office, where Mrs. Partone stood, shooting death daggers at her. She had a feeling that a visit to the secretary office wasn't a friendly offer in the future. The woman looked as if she'd be glad if she never saw Rosette's face again.

With the warden's hand around her wrist, Rosette believed that wasn't far from true.

Rosette was forced into a room that she was completely unfamiliar with. Her heart jumped to her mouth and she became frantic.

"Where are you taking me?" She didn't like the feeling of Mr. Shelk's hand on her bare arm. It felt too intimate and unwanted.

"The basement."

The door they had traveled through did not lead into a room but a long, dark hallway. It was twenty degrees cooler in here, and it only got worse as they walked further down. The lights overhead flickered, giving Rosette an intense morbid feeling. If it weren't for the man dragging her along she would've been scared out of her wits.

At the end of the mile long corridor was an elevator door. Mr. Shelk reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a key with a vertical black bar on one side. He slid it through a pad on the wall. The pad blinked a small green square and the elevator doors creaked open ominously. Rosette half expected smoke and flames to billow out as it opened.

"Come on," he snapped, trying to pull her in. For a moment she resisted, fearing being in a close confinement with the man. She didn't want to be raped in an elevator. She finally consented though, cursing her choice of the skimpy dress all the while.

"You wanted a challenge?" he demanded, as the elevator came to a stop. It opened up into an even darker passageway. This one was much larger than the last though. Heavily armed guards stood on either side of the door. Even more of them stood between each cell.

She assumed them to be cells. They did not have the standard metal white bars that she was used to seeing. Skimpy little padlocks didn't hold them together. These cells were gargantuan sized transparent walls that looked as if they had three-foot-thick plastic encasing them. Even more peculiar, heavyset crosses were engraved into every corner of every cell, created what looked like a giant barrier. Rosette wasn't sure she wanted to know what required such confinement.

It was freezing down here. Not only in the physical sense, either. Every other part of her felt restricted, too. Her soul felt chained and it was a little difficult for her to breathe. She didn't know why, but she felt like her heart was going to collapse.

She thought they were going to continue walking down the oppressive, dark hallway, but the warden stopped her. She wished he wouldn't. She was struggling to breathe and she wanted to escape the place as soon as possible.

"You said everyone can be saved," he whispered, a sadistic smile turning his lips. "But does that apply for demons, too?"

"Yes," she whispered, finding it hard to keep her senses. The conditions were making her scatterbrain. "Please…"

But the warden shook his head at her. He grabbed her wrist roughly and hauled her down the hallway. They passed by guards whose eyes were so vapid and dark that Rosette thought they were vampires. They had to be something inhuman to stay in such conditions. He pulled her further down.

Slam! A terrifying sound alerted her senses. It sounded like an explosion. There was a static noise and then a faint, horrible roar. Her whole body felt cajoled. She was losing her mind. What the hell was that? She couldn't regain herself enough to look.

"You'll receive your Mephistopheles," he whispered. His voice sounded like a far away condemnation.

They finally stopped moving. She was in a near coma-like state. He grabbed her by the shoulders and roughly pushed her against the large plastic wall. Her forehead thudded against it painfully and she was forced to stare into the cell's dark depths.

At first she saw nothing. It was difficult to penetrate through the darkness. Then something caught her eye.

It took only a moment for her to focus. As she recognized what they were her temperature dropped another ten degrees. She had lost touch with her limbs. She was immobile.

Piercing, heated, ruby red eyes.

The eyes of a demon.

OooO

A/N: So how was it? I felt like I cut a lot of things short. Overall though I think it's OK.

The first religious reference in the story is when Rosette says she's saved forty men in all. Forty is a very symbolic number that is usually associated with hardship. Forty is going to be a very important number in this story.

I tried to keep Rosette as in character as I could, considering the situations. This isn't set before World War II as it is in the manga and anime. Rosette is pretty clueless about militia, demons, and other things that are very important in the original story. Also, because she didn't grow up with Chrno or Joshua, I think her personality would be different. It'll become more in character as the story progresses though.

Read and tell me what you think!