Obsession

"Ushishishi, the prince is going to get there first!" The cackling laughter bounces off the dark museum as distant footsteps skip away, and Fran finds himself abandoned in the deserted hallway. It is silent and grave; the tiniest noise will amplify into the loudest disruption. He turns around, being met with a Renaissance portrait, the man's eerily shadowed face and richly attired vest surprising him slightly. He sighs, shrugging and mumbling to himself.

"Don't blame me for going the wrong way, idiot prince."

A half hour spent on cheating surveillance and dismantling the cameras, the other half used to maneuver through mysterious rooms enhanced creepily by darkness and unnerving paintings, sometimes with the additional presence of skeletons guarding doors, Fran finally emerges into a small compartment. The password used to hack into this room is stowed into his uniform. There are apparently four columns supporting the glistening ceiling, but aside from the carefully encased item in the center, there seems to be nothing else. It is simply too dark to tell. He decides not to take risks, proceeding to rummage in his backpack for the spy wear that will detect any disturbances the naked eye cannot see. He feels triumphant to be the first to use this device, and he'll have the chance to gloat to his senior after all. Knowing the "prince's" personality, he doubts he will be pleased. Fran smiles, putting on the glasses. Feeling for the start button, he locates it on the left side and presses it. There is a moment of stillness, and suddenly he sees thin red lights all across the room, crisscrossing each other, and there is one in front of him, barely touching his nose.

He pulls back, not at all surprised with the security. Since the Varia has deactivated the main source of energy in the control room, the barb wires should therefore stand alone in their power. In other words, he can turn them off if he finds the source, which should be in the vicinity. The problem is whether the lasers will cut or block. Hopefully, they will only cut and let him through. He gingerly touches one of the produced lights, biting back any utter or yelp when it slits his index. The lasers are starting to change directions, moving about in a rippling movement, and Fran quickly dodges a descending ray, consequently backing into several painful wires which delightfully tear open his uniform. Thankfully the cuts aren't too deep, and his undershirt manages to protect his skin.

"Phew. Saved," he mutters, wiping his forehead and grinning sheepishly. The smile leaves his face when cuts start appearing on his calve, along with the unbearable stinging pain. He winces, trying to get away from the lasers yet at the same time remaining still so that he doesn't get more cuts. He needs to find the source before he dies of blood loss. He maneuvers the glasses around the room, uncovering tapping devices and hidden trapdoors, and there, just behind the display case, is a row of different colored buttons. "Lock on target," he whispers, all the while moving to spaces where the lasers aren't occupying and kneeling whenever they're close to slicing his head. Actually, his senior makes him wear a stupid frog hat for no reason other than humiliation, but he finds the thing to be of use for the first time. Something nicks his forearm, and he decides he needs to get a move on.

Bracing himself, he springs across the room, hiding his face with an arm, and all he can feel is hundreds and thousands of strings cutting into him, skin-deep, and blood spurting. He doesn't make a noise, grimacing in pain, and he's suddenly on the controls, pushing twice on each button until he finds the one that makes the lasers disappear. "Nope, not green, red, not that either? Blue, then. Oh." He leans back appreciatively when the red beams retract, nodding at his own handiwork. His body hurts all over, but he supposes this will be worth it in the end. All he needs to do is break in the case, steal – uh, borrow the wanted item, inform the captain that everything's taken care of, and then sneak out as inconspicuously as possible. Sounds nice and easy. This isn't difficult. He makes a move to walk, but immediately his body rebels in a spasm. It seems that while he may only feel half of the pain, his body is taking it full force. He lets himself rest for a moment before extending a foot, and stinging hurt overwhelms him. "Ow," he groans.

When he reaches into his backpack, his hand struggling to do as he wishes, he fondles around for the hack codes in the darkness, straining to keep the effort going. He feels the paper and pulls it out, almost dropping it during the painful transition. Pressing a control on the gadget he's wearing, dim light floods from the lenses. He can now read the code. Seeing the number pad just below the display case, he reaches forward, and his fingers hesitate, twitching against the pain with blood continuously trickling. He will need to do something about his fingerprints later, but right now he must take the painting. Fran hurriedly presses on the numbers, looking down to recheck the code every few seconds. Finally, the glass case slides open to reveal the wanted item, "The Apocalypse." The boss had ordered for the Varia to steal this painting. It will be horrible if this is a fake.

He stows the item into his backpack, taking off the battered frog hat and hiding it as well. Mission accomplished. He has never felt as satisfied as he is today. The emerald-eyed agent turns to the door with a big smile, ready to taunt his blonde senior about his spectacular win. What he doesn't expect is to have a girl with an overflowing mane of blue hair down to her feet wearing a black overcoat trapping him at gunpoint with her back to the door. Fran's mouth opens and then closes, shocked. He carefully lowers the glasses to check if it's a hallucination, and when he still sees the young girl, he knows that he is in quite a bit of trouble. "May I help you?" he asks helpfully.

The childish looking intruder glowers at him. "Who are you and how did you get in?" she demands, glancing at the dark crimson spots in the equally dark room. When she notices the opened display case, her jaw slacks in a very unladylike manner. Fran takes the chance for a mind-blowing run, dashing over with the speed of light, and instantly he can hear rounds and rounds of glass-shattering gunshots. He smiles amusedly albeit the situation, not realizing that his body can't take anymore of a struggle with the rush of adrenaline pushing him against his limit. Within a few seconds he's past the short girl, jumping over her attempt to trip him, and now he's flying out of the targeted room, panting heavily. He sways to the side as a bullet crashes into the wall, leaving a mark there. The blue-haired girl is shrieking a whole lot of words that sound like gibberish, and he chooses to ignore them, concentrating on escaping the craziness.

"Agent Fran on the left wing, gotten a hold of the target, mission accomplished, over," he speaks into the intercom breathlessly.

"Ushishishi, what."

He pouts slightly. "I said agent Fran has got the painting, ingeniously princely sir."

"I don't believe you." A mad cackle sounds through the earphone. "I've already got the painting! Yours is a fake, ushishishi!"

"I've thought of that already, Bel-senpai, but do you have a batshit insane girl chasing after you for it?" Fran grabs the helmet off a medieval soldier and uses it to guard himself from the bullets.

"...No. You mean you actually accomplished something ahead of me this time, froggy?"

"Senpai," he whines, mood going sour, "I'm not a frog. By the way, I shed that stupid hat off while completing the mission. I look much cooler now." He grins, retrieving said item from his bag and throwing it behind him with hopes that it hits the mad girl. Making a turn to the right, he should be only minutes away from the exit, which is technically the window on the second floor. When someone needs to steal into some place, the best bet is to use escape routes, which does not include the front doors, seeing as that's the area where you get arrested. Fran makes a surprised noise when he trips over something on the floor, and then he becomes victim to gravity, skidding across the hallway and then falling gracelessly face-first. "Ow." His chin has been scraped. It's a small injury compared to the status of his numb body, and if he is in perfect condition, he would have gotten out of here a long time ago. He has been weakened more than he realized. He struggles to move his legs, succeeding in a twitch, and he grits his teeth, wincing as pain shoots up. "Cooperate with me, please," he begs himself, voice no more than a strained whisper. His anxiety heightens when he feels another presence an alarmingly close distance away.

"Do you know what's going to happen to you when I find you? I'm going to make you suffer! Bluebell isn't letting a third-rate thief get away with stealing Byakuran-sama's precious paint – eeeeek!" the girl yelps, and Fran suddenly feels an extra weight come slamming into him. He groans, trying to get away. He's already in enough pain as it is. The exit is just around the corner, he can make it. Unfortunately, the weird specimen sprawled on top of him keeps threatening to break his eardrums with her high-pitched shrieks, and her punching and kicking only add to the annoyance. He can't concentrate.

Fran shifts under her weight, forcing his body to turn. The girl is still holding on, even though she's been complaining about hating giant spiders and roaches and planning to roast them in the oven and feed them to her pet, all the while hammering his shoulders with her small fists, and god, she sounds like she's crying. Upon twisting around to lie on his back, he's met with a slap, the stinging pain waking him up somewhat. His hand instinctively goes to rub his poor cheek.

"Eeeek! What are you?" From the light spilling in from the windows, he can see her surprisingly pretty, cerulean eyes, which are glimmering with frightful tears. If her personality isn't so messed up, he may have tried hitting on her. And maybe if the circumstance is different, her voice wouldn't have been so irritating.

"I am a perfectly defined homosapien. You?" Even if their position is a little uncomfortable, common courtesy is common. He will live up to a good human life so he doesn't reincarnate as a ladybug the next. The girl just stares down at him with disbelief. She doesn't see like she understands the situation very well. Fran sighs. "And can you please get off me? If you haven't realized – " Finally, she scampers off of him. He notices that she's acting slightly different than before. Maybe it's the absence of the bangee-like she made, or perhaps the hesitation and dampening of her murderous intent. All in all, this is a once in a lifetime chance of escape. He strolls step by step, each distancing himself from the ticking bomb. Is it all right to just leave without some form of salutation? After all, he is taking a possession from the museum. He can feel the girl's eyes on him, and he flashes her a quick smile. "I will be taking this with me," he points out the obvious, gesturing to his backpack. "It was a pleasure to meet you, uh..."

"Bluebell," she supplies unexpectedly, raising her chin proudly, a trace of her high-and-mighty personality returning. "And you?" she murmurs, surprising him with the almost shy way she presents that question.

"I'm Fran." He keeps a secretive watch on her as he lifts the window, wondering why she's suddenly so idle. She may be setting up a trap. "Right, so I'll be going then..." He lingers to see if there will be a reaction from Bluebell.

She has her arms folded across her chest. "Go already," she snaps.

"Got it, ma'am." Fran does a military salute and then lowers himself over the ledge, finding a spot on the brick wall to keep his balance. He wonders how long he can keep up with pushing his limit. He looks up to see Bluebell leaning out the window, her eyes unreadable. "Hi," he greets, willing himself to not glance down at the threatening depth.

"The security is going to be here in five minutes." She hesitates, glancing elsewhere. Fran waits. "I'm not helping you if you get caught." There is an edge to her tone that influences him to think that she doesn't think he can truly escape unscathed.

He beams up at her, observing the way she tries to put up an unattached front with interest. "Thank you and don't worry, I won't get caught. I guess it's a bye-bye then," he says, waving a hand, breathing deeply, and then dropping his hold on the ledge. He tumbles down the two stories, the wind lashing at his face fiercely and prickling his wounds, and lands safely on the ground with precision. Every bone is aching, and not to mention how much everywhere hurts. His immunity to pain is only helpful when he isn't cut a few hundred times, it seems. Stumbling across the pavement, he can hear cop cars and see those red lights blinking, reminding him of the lasers. The intercom buzzes, and he has no time to brace himself against the outrageous roar of his captain.

"VOOOOOI, Fran!" A cackle of electricity accompanies the vicious shout.

"Oh, lively as ever, Squalo-senpai. Can you come pick me up?" He maneuvers himself to the back of the building, and the whizzing noise of wings make him look up to see a helicopter hovering in the air. "Is that the delivery service?" he asks with amusement.

"Get in, froggy," Bel's voice comes through.

"All right, all right. I just wasn't expecting such a welcome party for me. I feel like such a hero, guys." He extends his arms towards the rope being lowered from the plane. "Uh, I don't think I can move anymore. The security was rough."

"Idiot," Squalo snaps, standing in the open door looking down at him, probably glowering, and Fran grins.

"So." Bel crosses his arms, leaning against the wall in the hallway. His eyes are concealed as always, but Fran knows his superior is watching him. "It was luck that got you into the targeted room."

The green-haired Varia member raises his pointer and says, "Actually, Bel-senpai took the room I was going for originally, so I went to another one."

Lips turning downward, the blond makes a disgruntled noise. "But you were beaten pretty badly, it seems." Bel grins suddenly, bad mood gone. "That treatment is not fit for a prince. I won't bother with something like that over boss's selfish want."

"Don't be so sour, senpai. Look." Fran holds up two tickets, smiling proudly. "Boss awarded us a vacation, even though you didn't really do anything. Now that's Varia quality." He skillfully dodges three daggers, but is slow enough to be kicked in the shin by his irritated superior. Lying on the floor, he manages to mutter, "I'm glad we're going to different countries. Ah, sweet vacation."

"Shut up, froggy. I'm happy to get away from such a useless subordinate as well, shishishi," Bel cackles, skipping away to the gathering room. "And for shedding my hat, I'm going to make sure your room a mess by the time you return."

Fran stands up slowly, glancing down to see his bandaged hands. His whole body has been suppressed with first-aid, but he's been moving fine. The cuts aren't deep; it'll just take a bit for the skin to regenerate, which is possibly around a week, but with Lussuria's nursing, his body will heal faster. Heading to his room leisurely, he rereads the ticket. He will be going to a five-day trip to the west hemisphere, the United States of America. The booked plane will land him in the San Jose airport in California, and then a shuttle bus will retrieve him from that point on. He will then enter the five-star hotel (boss is being a little too generous – it makes him nervous), check himself in, spend the rest of the evening settling himself in, have a light dinner down in the pasta restaurant if he so wants, or he can look for someplace else, and then sleep the day away.

He stretches his arms, yawning. This vacation will be nice. Not to mention all the faces he'll be able to forget during it. He can't wait. It seems as if he will be going with a tour group on the second day to Disneyland, and the third day an amusement park, The Great America, if he remembers correctly. Well, this occasion requires a lot of packing. He nods to himself, marching into his room, and then instantly stepping back from the doorway when a bucket of soapy water splashes down. He looks to the side and sees an arrow pinning a paper to the door. It says: "Ushishishi! Got what you deserved, froggy" with a thumbs up and a devil. Fran plucks the thing off, throwing it behind him, and then calls security.

Only when everything's taken care of does he lie down in bed for a restful sleep, preparing for the long flight tomorrow.

"The first-class passengers may proceed into the plane. Attention all first-class passengers, please go ahead, have your luggage sized up, and then proceed into the airplane."

Fran is the last to head into the tunnel, and when he arrives at the open door, dragging his luggage, a stewardess and the pilot greet him. He nods, going inside and searching for his seat. A-11, A-12, A-13...there it is, to the right. There is a free space in the storage above, and he quickly heaves it up without breaking a sweat, though his injuries do protest a bit. He moves aside to let a flight attendant through. When he finally sits down, he sees that the window seat is occupied by a very familiar young girl. Her long, blue mane is obscured by a wool fedora, waves running all the way down her waist to rest on the seat, and she has her knees pressed to her chest while her eyes remain concentrated on a book entitled "What Men Hates in Women." Fran is tempted to make an acknowledgment, but his senses tell him that the girl has been watching him since his arrival. Why is that?

"For the remainder of the flight, don't you dare do anything funny," she speaks up from behind the novel, looking over at him directly for the first time with a suspicious glare.

"Um. Nice to meet you too?" Fran says, his eyes lacking emotion though his lips turn upward as if amused.

"Stop pretending, we've met the other night when you stole a painting from the museum. And I helped you escape," Bluebell adds proudly.

Fran picks a magazine from the enlarged pocket of the chair before him. "Thank you very much, princess Bluebell. I bow down to thy grace, thy beauty, thy soul," he rambles off casually, but from the corner of his eye, he sees rouge coloring the girl's pale cheeks. Turning to look at her, he comments blatantly, "Royal complex, miss?"

"S-shut up, of course not! I told you to not harass me, stupid," she snaps, hiding her face with the book.

The Varia subordinate stares at her for a couple more minutes, his head tilted sideways, and then he shrugs, returning to the sports magazine. What a strange girl. "Hey, that guy looks like Levi," he marvels the page, thinking maybe he should capture it on cam to taunt the boss-obsessed man later.

"Who's Levi?" comes a voice from his right.

"You don't want to know. Oh, but, I can tell you that he's a perverted pervert," he murmurs absentmindedly, skimming through the pages, all the while feeling eyes on him.

"What do you mean by that?" Bluebell is trying to hold back her curiosity, but she's failing.

"He worships my boss a hell lot. I think his closet is a personal shrine. Hmmm..."

"Oh." She sounds relieved for some reason. "Well, I thought you meant it in a different way."

The flight attendant's voice filters through the speakers, asking everyone to put on his or her seat belt and going over safety procedures while a stewardess demonstrates the gas mask. Fran turns off his phone, takes out the iPod, and wonders what exactly the girl is planning. This is more than just coincidence. Maybe. They're going to the same place at the same time, there definitely must be a higher being at work. Nonetheless, he should do what everyone does during a plane ride: sleep.

He finds that it's more difficult than he thought, as he can somehow always feel a presence lingering over him, observing in a somewhat...obsessive behavior. There's no doubt to whom would be up just to see him sleep, as the only person on this plane who would is the girl beside him. Fran tries to ignore the obvious glances here and there, decidedly turning his back on his neighbor to face the neighbor across from him who has headphones on, already asleep. If only he can sleep as peacefully. A tempting urge makes him want to tell the lady to stop eying him like he's some kind of animal on display, but at the same time it'll only make things worst. Still, she doesn't look like the creepy type – the complete opposite, actually. She looks like she's only twelve. Well, this feels kind of weird. Maybe she has a fetish for green. He should dye his hair or something. And get contacts.

An hour later he manages to grasp sleep, and gradually wakes up hours later to feel the plane descending. He yawns, about to stretch his arms when he notices the head leaning on his shoulder. Bluebell is still sleeping, and apparently had decided to use him as a human pillow. He gently pushes her away, trying not to awake her. So a stranger has been leaning on him the entire plane ride, albeit a pretty familiar stranger, but still. Probably an accident. Maybe intentional. He sighs to himself. "Definitely Mister Popular Pants."

"Please remain seated and buckled in until further instructions. All passengers must return to their seat at this time for safety purposes until we land in San Jose, which is around ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit."

From beside him, Bluebell murmurs something, her serene face twitching. Fran leans on his palm, glancing around to inspect little details about the passengers idly. His earphones are sounding out a random song through the setting on shuffle, and he recognizes it as an English song that he has grown attracted to, "The Enemy" by White Tie Affair. He smiles slightly, closing his eyes and lightly nodding to the beats.

When he next opens them, he sees people getting tense in their seat and feels a finger jabbing at his arm where a cut is the deepest. It hurts just a little. He looks over to see Bluebell scrunching up her face in irritation. He cocks his head inquiringly.

"We're leaving the plane now, idiot. Can you hurry up?"

"Why so serious, princess?" remarks Fran sarcastically, but nevertheless standing up like the others. He hears the girl making an utter of disbelief. A grin overrides his stoic lips with his mental self frolicking over the one point for himself. Tugging the luggage down from the overhead storage, he then tows it behind him all the way to the exit, occasionally tripping it over some seats. Another set of rolling wheels is behind him, and he glances over to see Bluebell following him. Maneuvering onto the escalator, he turns to see her doing the same. "So you're going the same way as I am, miss?"

Bluebell huffs, cheeks puffing out. "Why would I be going to the same place as you?"

She reminds him of a certain blond who has his own royal complex. Fran replies frankly, stepping off the escalator and dragging his luggage with him, "You don't seem to be going on your own way anytime soon. Lost, maybe?"

"Of course I'm not lost! Bluebell isn't stupid!" her shrilly voice greets his ears.

When he gets on the shuttle bus after a suffocating wait under the sun outside of the airport, it comes as no surprise to him when the girl climbs into it as well, taking the seat right across from him. He supposes he just gained a stalker. An outright stalker who acts if she's being stalked. If she wants to take the painting back, it's not with him. She's kicking a dead horse – or something like that. He will try his best to evade her once he arrives at the hotel. When the vehicle stops moving, the driver motions that this is their destination. Fran tips him and heads out, looking up at the towering hotel with its many windows and triangular roofs. The walls are white, and there are three front doors. Grand Plaza Hotel.

"This is perfect," Bluebell remarks next to him, her face for once adorning a pleasant smile in satisfaction.

Fran doesn't respond, heading straight into the reception hall, where everything is lit with chandeliers. Across from the desk is a massive dining room with people gathering around candlelit tables looking like important businessmen or just plain rich vacationers. Applying his information to the receptionist, he receives two card keys, one which is a spare in case the first is lost. He thanks the man and proceeds to the elevator, which is empty aside from himself. Maybe he'll finally be rid of the other party. "Sweet, sweet vacation," he sings in no recognizable tune. He's happy to have escaped his annoying Varia crew back home, but he feels uneasy at the same time. If something happens, there won't be any backup.

A few minutes later, he finds his suite, which is number 666. Fran smiles at that. "This is rather convenient." He swipes the card key, and the door automatically slides open to reveal the black marble floor, several lush couches, a bathroom to the right, and one queen-sized bed. "I feel like a superstar," he says, pressing a hand to his heart. After inspecting the oak work desk, the wide window overlooking the city below, and the plasma television, he goes to unload his luggage. Where should he go now? Maybe to the game room for a target practice, because if boss finds his aim slacking, he'll be sentenced to the gym 24/7. When he comes to a strange, rainbow shirt with rebellious text ("B-tch I'm the bomb") and rips across the abdomen, he shakes his head, throwing it on the bed.

Must be Lussuria and Bel at work.

He decides to explore the hotel, winding up going to the game room after all. The people there are all older and some looking like ancients, and he can smell whiskey and all kinds of affluent wine mingling huskily. He covers his nose. Some glance at him, but he ignores them, going around a pool table to reach the target area. He picks up a dart, waiting for a kid to finish his round, and then he throws it. The feathered object embeds in the center of the target, swaying precariously. "Bull's eye," he announces to keep track of his achievements. Although this is more of a hobby.

When he gets bored of playing around with darts, he decides to retire to his room. Swiping the card key once more, he heads inside, and freezes upon the almost nude figure on the bed. Bluebell has a towel wrapped around herself, but she remains scandalously naked. "Uhhhh," Fran utters in shock.

She raises her chin and demands, appearing not really ashamed of exposing herself, "Are you just going to stand there?"

"It's not necessary, or wise, to be naked," he says, working his mouth. "I think I've got the wrong room, by the way. Bye." He steps back and the door closes.

What kind of vacation is this?

Rori's Corner: Yeah, well, what the hell did I just write?

For Great Question's Questionable Crack Pairings contest.

Prompt: Painting

Pairing: Fran/Bluebell