The levitating woman's head came of no surprise, bar Joseph and Gerald whom let out twin shrieks of sincere terror. This was like candy for a toddler to the faux-apparition, causing her to give a laugh of joy to her success. "Alright, alright, you found me for once!" She climbed out of the two-by-four or so box, revealing the five-foot six form of a quite real young woman. Her eyes glittered with her scattered chuckles that were born of her victorious bellow a moment before, and her long, brown hair gave little springs with their reverberations. When the woman finally realized that there were three younger men in her midst that stood just behind Isaiah and Glenn in two-thirds contentment one-third recovering from fright, she gave them an acknowledgement. "Hello, who're you?"

With a quick look to his left, Allen saw that Yoshimata was looking for him to say something of significance. This was a peculiar situation for Allen due to the fact that for the past few years he had Kanda, Lavi, or Lenalee along with him to help. Sure, sometimes he bickers with Kanda and his disagreeably semi-nihilist attitude on life or Lavi with his rogue-gone-wild esteems, but they still were professional Exorcists when Allen had started out. Now, he was standing in the middle of some darkened room with two rookies sitting at his heels, both looking to him for guidance as he had done for his own wary friends oh so long ago.

It's just like that little newspaper story! His mind exclaimed that thought with absolutely childish remiss. Long ago in the long-ago time of barely a month ago, Allen was on vacation within the British colony of Bermuda; however, whenever he ever went out of Headquarters before it would have been on official business, and not this unexpected and frankly unwarranted holiday. Still, he had to find something to do for what amounted to be a month of actually unnatural Bermudan humidity and useless water (he had little money, and not enough to purchase the swim-wear he did not possess). With all of these detracters brawling in his mind and to the fact that Allen Walker is a seventeen-some old boy from desolate beginnings on the streets of London, there was only one logical solution to this concern of boredom: reading the newspaper. Indeed this idea was a grand gambit with his worry that the print would be too small or be too daft for his liking, but it actually proved to be a lot of fun! For the entire stay, there was this one anonymously submitted multi-part story about a group of comedically bumbling British soldiers fighting to survive in an actually hilarious parody of the American Revolt. Long story short there was a squad of young buffoons whom followed the orders of their sure-headed leader, and he made sure that each man kept following the right paths despite their follies. It was one of the most hilarious things he had ever read in his spare time (but that is not saying much, since vacations by themselves were unorthodox) and the brave and suave captain became a sort of print-to-life hero for the socially awkward, unrounded and hard-pressed teenager within Allen. Maybe I can be just like him?, the question whispered within the back of his mind; he was far across the Atlantic Ocean where no one could see his childish ruse. So, to fit himself a bit better to the role, Allen did his best to straighten his back and reaffirm himself as well as he could to try and impersonate some sort of commanding official. "We're here on official orders by Director Komui to check in on the North American Branch." And in almost record time for regretting tomfoolery: barely after the word 'branch' left his mouth did Allen feel like a total jester.

It did not help that immediately after his little 'soldiering' play-along, the woman tipped her head to the side in simplistic curiosity. "Komui sent you?" Her nonchalant reaction spelt embarrassment for Allen, whom tried his best to contain his nervous blush since she seemed so informal compared to him despite the fact he normally was not formal! The woman stepped out of the box to get a closer look, her framed-glasses suggesting some sort of vision impairment. "Why in the world would Komui send you all the way over here to America just to check on us? He could've just sent a telegram, a note, or-" She stopped in mid-sentence, and a dark glower grew over her face as well over her voice. "Oh, so that's why." Direct Naomi Alders seemed to force her way past the Exorcists with a force of anger and fury that humourously overwhelmed their physical significance as powerful human beings and caused her weakest underlings to disperse like rats (being that only Isaiah remained). The whole group followed the angered woman all the way up the rickety old stairs and through another set of dreary upper-level hallways to a room that was, of course, boarded up except for small and almost specific beams of light that went through the glass windows. Naomi took her seat behind a desk that had foregone any work or overtly necessary fixings as of recently. Almost immediately did she reach over to a nicely-opened envelope with its parcel still inside and hid it in a drawer; she did it with such ease and dexterity that not a single one of the entering Exorcists even knew it was there. The ease of her movements soon were took over by emotionally-dramatic exaggerations; her hand took hold of a nib-pen, dipped it into some ink from a small reservoir-glass, and began to scrawl across a piece of parchment in complete silence.

Isaiah, being the elder of them all and by that logic inferior to only Director Alders herself, stepped forward from the darkness and let a little light shed upon his brown-leathered shoes. "Ma'am, are you feeling alright?"

Even though she gave an outward impression that she hardly cared for what he had said, Isaiah still received his desired response. "I am perfectly alright, Isaiah." Another scrape upon the paper to punctuate her 'alright'-ness, "This is simply a correspondence letter to Chief Director Komui Lee in response to his concern about my Branch." She wagged her head once in amusement at the thought with an accompanied sinister chuckle. Placated, Isaiah took his leave by casually strolling towards the door for somewhere unknown.

Allen looked to Yoshimata and gave a small whisper of inquisition, "Do you know what's going on?" His companion shook his head and mouthed a negatory. His Japanese friend did not seem inclined to further incur the obvious wrath of the woman in front of them, so it would be up to Allen as the senior Exorcist in the room to try and find a solution to their long journey that seemed to insult her. "Miss Alders?" She looked up slightly, having stopped two moments before to tap her fingers in contemplation. "Why are you so angry? I thought he sent us over to handle something important." He gave a small shrug of unknowing. "Sure, it was a bother to come all the way across the pond to see you, but I think it'd be better that we talk to each other, to get to know what is going on, right?"

With those kind words offered by the British visitor, Naomi began to calm herself down. A quick breathe of fresh-air to stifle the urge to throw the newly-formed parcel all the way across the Atlantic Ocean let the Director reorganize herself in a more mature manner than she was acting in, and she gave a nod of agreement. "You're right. What's your name?"

"Allen Walker, Madame." He said it like a human being this time instead of like one of Komui's mechanical, laboratory creations or a child being a tough-guy.

She nodded her head in confirmation. They shook hands like grown adults with the understanding that they would unravel this conundrum. The brunette Director showed the Exorcists to some seats, and she ordered her remaining workers to busy themselves in some way; it hardly mattered how.

Meanwhile a few hundred miles away, Yoko Kyoukan was living her life as normal as she could. Well, as normal as living in a humongous cathedral surrounded by unbelievable technologies sent by God through these strange men in white coats. Her remaining friends shared their honest opinions over this day's breakfast, with the notable person-exception of Joseph and Yoshimata, who were off with Allen on a mission. Well, Allen is probably already used to this place, so I guess he wouldn't be as surprised as we are. The first one to respond was Sami, who said that the place was like a wonderful painting brought to life; it was filled with amazing things, and plenty of friendly people that seemed to be completely fixated on helping them out. The other member of their small, globetrotting circle, Dairu, also weighed in his thoughts.

He, on the other hand, was more poignant then Sami; his eyes betrayed a small flicker of doubt that remained, if only a bit cautious of their situation. "It seems to be rather odd, no? They picked us up from the ground and gave us a one-minute brush-off. In the next minute after that, we had our most precious things taken from us, put through some sort of incomprehensible process, and now we are here." The Ottoman Turk lowered his head slightly, dipping down to take a bite out of the freshly-made bread he ordered from the kitchen. He swallow, then said "And after that, they gave us barely a week's time to train, let alone a few minutes of training the first time we got these weapons, and they called all of that 'all the training we needed'!" He took another bite out of the bread and gave a look specifically to Yoko. "In the Greek Army, how many days did it take to train new recruits?"

This question, especially coming from a Turk, perked her interest quite a bit. She raised her eye-brow in contempt and said "We gave them several weeks of basic training if they were regular ground-infantry, but it varied on conscription or specific duties." Yoko lowered her head in contemplation of his question, but only out of suspicions she was trained to have growing up. "And why exactly would you like to know this information?"

Hands up in the air by shoulder-length. "I was just wondering! You are the only one among us with significant European-orientated training, so the thought occurred to me that perhaps their training regimine would be mimicked by the Order." He gave a polite shrug to try and disperse the bad mood. "So, apparently the Order is not up to Greek standards in terms of training new recruits; does that concern you?"

The kindness of Dairu's words allowed for Yoko to tame her subconscious prejudice like the veracious lion it was. Out came a sigh of relieved stress, and she began to relax herself. "You're making a fine point, I have to give you that." She made a quick look to the left to see if any of the other Exorcists were within earshot; No one. To her left towards a different table of Finders, And no one. All of the Finders were too busy laughing at some unknown quip, while the Exorcists were making small-chat amongst themselves. "Now that I think about it, a lot of the Order's members seem to be unfit for their duties. Look at the Finder's first." She gave a subtle nudge of her head to the men that usually wore tan-clad robes and various equipments but now were out of uniform and now in casual dresses. "Some of them seem to be in top physical form, and all the others seem to be only partially adequate; however, all of them are adult men, at proper age for service in combat." Now, an even further muted nod to the opposite direction, towards their black-and-red cladded compatriots; "However, not a single Exorcist is up to age, except for that pale chap over there." Arystar Krory was that very man, meekly cutting a piece of unidentifiable meat on his far-side of their table. "It seems to be a real mix-up here; those men should be the ones fighting these Akuma, not us. Why would a Catholic organization make children-near-adults like us fight? Could we not just give our weapons to them so that those of us too young to be in battle can sit out and not be in this kind of danger?"

Now, even Sami seemed concerned by this apparent moral lapse, despite being apparently absent-minded to these broader issues. "It doesseem weird. Lavi-kun didn't tell me how old he was, but he can't be older than nineteen." A quick scoop of the chocolate ice cream in front of her made Sami go silent for two seconds. In worry, she gave a whispered confession; "He's young, yet he already wears an eye-patch. Did- did something happen to him because of the Order?"

"No, not really." Lavi appeared from no-where standing directly behind Sami and Yoko, whom were looking to the opposite side of the table where Dairu was.

The sudden, not-so-much dramatic entrance of that rambunctious red-head caused all three of the group to react in surprise. Yoko was the one to speak once the shock wore off, "How much did you hear?"

He gave out a light-hearted laugh, as if their concerns should be considered ridiculous by default. During this little guffaw, he said "Practically everything! And even then, you shouldn't try and hide your worries, especially when you're in the cafeteria. The only time you should keep your mouth shut and 'keep your mind holy' is when the Vatican sends someone competent here, or when you're out in public." His visible eye gave a hinting wink to them. "But don't worry, both are really rare."

Dairu intervened with a thought. "Being in public is rare for an Exorcist?"

A nod. "About a year ago, before our number of Exorcists became as little as they are right about now, we were required by the Rules of Exorcism to openly display our uniforms as a way to lure out any Akuma whom may have disguised as humans." He noticed that Sami offered him a small bite of ice cream on the sly, and he gladly accepted it. "Don't worry about doing that; now we're so few in number, we are suddenly worth more then ever before. Instead of just marching out in the open, we now try to covertly pick out the enemy, or by confronting them at areas where there is a suspected Innocence or at least no public notice. Although we have crack-teams of brilliant scientists and Finders searching areas of great folk-lore or strange occurrences around the clock, the Akuma somehow manage to find these locations at least at the same time we do." He seemed to sway in place due to discomfort from standing up for so long, but at the same time did not want to take a seat.

A look in her dark eyes seemed to show that the haste of their strategy was important, at least in some respects, and that it was all coming together for Yoko. "You're right, Lavi; everyone's first mission took place as far away as imaginable: I went to an abandoned factory in Belgium, Yoshimata went to a closed cathedral in Russia, Dairu and Joseph went into an ancient castle in Portugal, and Sami took a boat into the canals of Paris."

Lavi broke out into an embarrassed blush and started to scratch the tip of his nose. "Well, we went to some of the local bazaars after the mission was over." This prompted a quick thought in Yoko, which was How did he learn about how I reacted to that?

But, instead of showing that emotion, she decided to play it cool and sip her cup of tea. Then, a shrug, "Just as long as it's after the mission, all right?"

An exaggerated stage-sigh. "As you wish, Madame; I'll have her home before noon, you have my word as a gentleman." Lavi's little performance was flawless as a submissive suitor; it caused Sami to openly giggle.

"Yeah, yeah." She went back to eating, playing along as the high-strung-yet-resistant Madame.

On the other end of the cafeteria from where they were eating, the doors were opened to reveal Yu Kanda and noise Marie walking in a straight-line for the table with the new Exorcists. Noise is taller than Kanda by a long-shot, as well as far bulkier in terms of muscle-mass. He, however, followed the lead of Kanda, whom was now merely ten metres away before Lavi opened up. "Hello, Yu! I see you're no longer a chocolate bunny!"

That small, verbal jab earned the head-band wearing teenager an angered glance from his comedic target. Obviously, the public humiliation in being covered in sweetness was going to follow him everywhere. For even but a second, the anger in Kanda's eyes seemed to growl Which limb should I remove first? It'd help to make an example of him for the other's.However, he did not dare say these bloody threats. Instead, his footsteps on the ceramic blue-tiled floor transformed fro ma light military march to a boot-stomping from Hell.

He reached the precipice of the table, and despite his obviously sour mood and even worse demeanour, he managed to grunt a small greeting. Whether that greeting was "Hi", "Hello", or "Good afternoon" is left to anyone's fair guess. "You're Yoshimata Hakitawa's friend, correct?"

The question caught Yoko off-guard, so she looked from him to her friends; he was definitely looking directly at her. In apprehension, she put down her bread and looked him right in the eyes. "Yes, and what do you want?"

"Do you know where he is?"

She raised her eye-brows in increased suspicion. "He was sent on a mission to the United states with Allen and Joseph a few days ago. Why didn't you know that?" She leaned forward to get a closer look at the man just around her age at eighteen. "And why do you want to know that, exactly?"

In return, Kanda narrowed his eyes to show how determined he was. He would not be deterred. "I was in the laboratories non-stop, getting that damn chocolate off my entire body. They finally got it off this morning." There was a temptation to lie, but instead he decided whether she knew or not was a completely moot point; he would not be deterred. So, as if he were simply stating a cute, little fact of the day that you would hear from a grandmother or an adorable little child, he said "I want to duel him once he returns."

After taking a moment to absorb this information, Yoko continued to apply pressure to know why he would seek such a match. She had seen him and his speed in the forest before, well outside of the Order's headquarters. The speeds this strange man could reach would well rival both hers and Yosihmata's combined. Besides, Yoshimata was away on a mission and would never hurt a fly unless provoked; Why does he want to fight him, then? They continued on like this for who knows how long, with Kanda and Yoko squaring off in an attempt by one to grasp information about this dueler's intent from a steel-cage mind, and the other trying to keep the cage from accidentally opening.

Indeed, it was a long way to go for them. Meanwhile, however, Dairu and Sami had finished their meals and were off on their separate ways. Sami looked back as she was walking away from the table, seeing how Kanda and Yoko were still talking to each other as if they were both constables interrogating the other. Well, there's no stopping them once they start, I guess. So, she left the two to return her plate to the kitchen for washing. Jerry the Chef was the very man to greet her there, and in typical fashion began to over-flow with effeminate 'you're welcomes' to his new found friend. So, about three minutes after returning her plate, Sami managed to tear herself away from the similarly over-enthusiastic chef and made her way towards her room. By the time she was only one hallway away she could see Lavi waiting patiently for her, leaning right by the door. ""What're you doing here, Lavi?" she asked in curiosity.

He lowered his head in casual greeting, but he did not try and speak before she was just at the door. "I heard you as well, you know." With a smile to disarm her after she let a small gasp leave her lips. In a quick motion to halt her before she entered the room, he positioned himself in front of the door and placed his left hand behind his back, onto the brass door-handle. Whispering quite softly yet still maintaining his friendly tone, "You don't need to worry about me getting hurt. Even if I do, we both know it would be for our friends, I swear it." Just as those words left his lips, he paused to look straight forward in realization and let out a small chuckle. "The Old man always says only an idiot would make pledges like that. I like to think they're true, though; it makes the job all the more worthwhile."

But his reassuring words were not enough to squelch her concern; she pressed on. "But why're you using that eye-patch if you're not hurt?" Her hand moved up to his face, rubbing the cheek up to the first black strap in visible awe. It was as if she had just appeared before him, and had only now begun to see him and that black hill that covered his eye.

Luckily, Lavi was able to keep his composure to make himself appear nice and steady, all the while his heart began to pick up a race. His voice did not dare to waver from a normal, friendly tone or reveal his sudden heartbeats. "It's not a wound, Sami; my eye is just a little bit special, that's all. Think of it as, as-" his voice trails for a moment as he seems to think about it for just about the first time in the entire time he's had it. Then, "As a secret weapon, all right? You need not worry, Sami." A broader smile formed upon his face, and he took her hands into his so the reassurance would be compounded between them. Also, he needed to remove her hands from his cheek or he would blush like a mad-man in winter.

His luck ran strong, for she accepted his hands and help them in the space between them, albeit in a shy-strength. "All right, if you say so." And just then, Lavi could have sworn her deep, brown eyes sparkled like the clearest water in the world, and that the warmth of her smile melted some of the ice that formed over any human heart in worry and doubt. Now that was something worth fighting for.

In spite of her previous behaviour, Naomi Alders managed to allow herself to look over her new arrivals. They had impressive mannerisms: the white-haired Brit, Allen Walker, seemed to take the head of the trio in a sort of way that a bigger brother would carry himself amongst his youngers. On the other hand there was the second companion whom seemed most Asiatic than everyone in the entire city, yet was just as Anglo as Allen himself, and just an inch or two from as tall; his name was Yoshimata, and seemed to be the thoughtful brother that merely chirped in out of observance or necessity to help the elder. By the looks of it, he was a well-enough person in the form of conversation, but seemed withdrawn from it for some unknown means; perhaps he is a new Exorcist? If that were the case, then it would probably be the same with their smaller, brunette-haired partner whom held a sort of suspicious look in his eyes as if he had only half-a-clue as to what everyone was talking about.

Regardless of such a weird group they seemed to form with their at-odds personalities and the fact that two-thirds of it was comprised of practically pristine new-comers, Director Alders now knew that she was in the presence of those whom would fight and die for her if it so came to it; she would act respectfully even if that were not the case, of course. "About five and a half days ago, a person whom claimed to be a Black Order scientist arrived in the usual back-water harbour we 'commissioned' with almost no fuel left in his boat, and half out of his wits with worry that he was spotted with such an out-standing looking piece of machinery when compared to the other ships on the water. When we finally calmed him down, he explained that he had been sent to take me to Europe for a meeting of the Directors." Her eyebrow raised inquisitive rage as she began to choke her own knuckles. "Unfortunately for him, he had run into mechanical troubles as well as fuel troubles, which meant that I would never arrive in time for a trip that would take perhaps days on hand."

This seemed to surprise Yoshimata, whom for once made himself apparent in existence by asking, "But if the conference was only days away, why did you not leave for it to begin with?"

Naomi shook her head in remorse. "Apparently, not a single person cared to let me know about a reschedule for the meeting." She took out a small calender, and turned immediately to December. "It was supposed to be in one month, but somehow the secreted message never seemed to arrive. So, not only am I officially humiliated by my peers for missing a letter of such grave importance when it could turn up God-knows-where," The waving of her hands in exaggeration of huge proportions cemented her argument. "But also I had to find a place for that scientist to stay until we could figure out how to exactly fix a machine whose private-schematics are all the way back in Britain! And do you know who exactly is charged with telling me these things, and was responsible for sending that scientist?"

With a drop of sweat that creased across his left temple, Allen knew immediately whom would be so drastically forgetful, even o the point of sending a heart-felt and sincere 'rescue mission', even when it was his fault entirely for the problem in the first place. "Komui."

In exasperation, the Hispanic-American woman gave a clap of her hands in once-applause and pointed her left index finger into the air. "Bingo! You know our idiot!"

To these two regulars of the Chief Director's both childish antics and forgetful attitude, this was fanfare unto personal forgiveness for the man's momentarily intolerable behaviours. However, Yoshimata simply could not understand as to how they could be like this when there was such huge problems at hand. "What will you do now, if I may ask? Will you be reporting Director Lee for this?"

Even in this state of exhaustion, Naomi managed to give a very vocal "Huh?"; the thought had never crossed anyone to report the good-hearted man for his down-fallings, even if they backed up so much in bureaucracy or efforts. This helped solidify the suspicion that he was a new recruit for the Director, since she had never known anybody to talk about actual rules when it came in time for Komui's forgivable failings. I've gotta say something, though, or this kid might just do something if no one explains it to him. So, she leaned forward slightly to clasp her hands in front of her bespectacled eyes. "Listen, it's not that much of a deal; sure, I feel utterly embarrassed because that chronic imbecile can't keep his mind straight and on task sometimes, but that's alright! He's Komui! He works long and hard to make sure that any serious work, like something that could save or kill an Exorcist or whatever; he is right on the ball then, and he never gives up even when the person is safe and sound." Naomi gave a soft smile at the remembrance of how hard that man had worked when quite literally all the Exorcists were trapped in the Millennium Earl's trans-dimensional Ark back on the Japanese islands; Bak said that he had to give real thoughts to having to intervene during and almost five hours after the crisis had proceeded, for the sake of Komui's well-being. Every single person whom had worked with him, whether it had been as a colleague in the Traditionalist Academy constructed for the teaching of Branch Directors within the British-soils of Hong Kong or any single professional at his hard-earned position as the Chief Director of the Black Order Headquarters could attest to the universal trend of Komui's competence and bouts of under-competence. "You try to think of him as a superior and as a superior alone, don't you?"

The mild-accusation seemed to catch Yoshimata off guard; in turn, he bowed his head in submission. "You are right. I had no prior occupation before this, or any way to prepare for the duties that were laid before me." His voice gave no hint of lying, instead it was impregnated with humility and remorse. "I'm sorry."

In an effort to calm his new friend down slightly, Allen placed his own right hand on Yoshimata's left shoulder right above the Rose-Cross insignia. "Don't be so, Yoshimata; I doubt anyone in the world could be prepared for our jobs." He threw in an endearing smile just to seal the deal, "You'll learn fast, trust me."

This cavalcade of seemingly off-topic proportions that ranged from Chief Director Komui Lee's comedic negligence all the way over to Yoshimata's misinterpretations of regular-job scenarios in place of some kind of protocol within the Order's higher calling was interrupted by the poignant yawn of Joseph Colombo, who had sat and done not a single thing when they entered the North American Branch. For whatever reason, this gave Director Alders something to giggle at out of sheer need for a necessary segue to bridge the conversation to its end. They needed to get back home to the Headquarters, after all.

So, with a swift finishing of the letter she had started before in undetermined rage but now was ending in righteous rancor, Naomi knew she would be able to intimidate even her stall-hearted friend. When Allen, the one she trusted to deliver the letter due to his seniority in age and experience, had asked her what exactly she wrote down the Director could only give a contemplative smile and a preposition that "it'd be best if Komui read it; it'd lose its' meaning if anyone else did". She knew that she had creeped the group out once again, but she could not help it: Komui had managed to corrupt her to be just as insane as he was. To justify this brief lapse into her own whims, Naomi pulled some strings within the local harbour-system to acquire some loose-landing tickets for a trip back home for them. It was a good thing too, for the ship had almost just sailed off without the three precious passengers and without Naomi and her staff waving a fond farewell.

On the boat's deck two out of the three Exorcists gave smiles back to the North American Branch, all of whom sans the rackety shack they holed up in were giving them the same in return for their kindness and understanding during this debacle. Now, the three Exorcists were given several more days of weird-eyed glances at their cross-holding leather clothing that made them obvious and apparent, as well as several more days of either sleeping or boredom upon the high-seas'. With a sigh of slight amusement to the waters below after he shook his head, Allen was at least thankful that this mission was at least peaceful; no one would go home with bandages, no one was going to cry. Everything was as it should be in the world, albeit one unread letter of unimaginable-written consequences for Komui was steadily on its way with them.

It only took Naomi a few seconds to choose a best-looking outfit. Of course, that took so little time because she could only afford one set of formal clothing; all of her other clothes were simple, manufactured uniforms bought in bulk by the Order. The outfit itself was a nicely-frilled dress that was mainly white, but the ridges were overwhelmingly yellow, so that when she stepped out into the gray streets she would at least brighten the world up a little. She hailed a taxi to pick her up, and she made her way to the location that the letter had asked her to go to: the center of American democratic leadership, rebuilt from the ashes of its predecessor building almost a hundred years ago. She was off to the Presidential Palace, the Executive Mansion, The White House.

The trip amounted to a ten-minute drive through the outer limits of the city, where she was located, right into the heart of the capital itself. Buildings varied from Greek-styled architecture to that sort of bland 'American' style that, while a national treasure, seemed artistically castrated when compared to some of the beauties even just across the borders in either direction. Then again, there would be no arguing with the will of the people; blandness may reign as beauty. Anyhow, the entry onto the grounds took about seventeen minutes by itself, with the armed guards at the gate checking her identification twice and her invitation thrice. But that was merely six minutes; the second time she had to go through this ate away the rest of the minutes when she was inside at the lobby. While the guard was checking her invitation against a pet-list of important persons, both publicly known and privately acknowledged. Naomi was so anchored by boredom that she could not help but let her eyes wander across the room, wall-to-wall. Adorned upon these walls were portraits of the presidents of long past, as well of their wives or notable aides. Eventually the three tall, overbearing white men allowed for her, a diminutive Hispanic, to walk for the innards of the House. Accompanied by guard escort, of course.

The quiet mountain of a man led her not for the Main Office, but instead to the middle of the first floor, where there was a mahogany door ajar with a large visage of red light, coned into the dark hallway. While Naomi continued to approach the door without hesitation, the guard seemed to back away in instructive humbleness. Naomi opened the door just a crack more then the crack it was already in to look inside the dimly lit room. A spun purple-and-gray carpet covered at least half of this dark-blue room, and various objects owned their places on the wall. Within two feet of the fireplace did the carpet end; on the outside of its reach stood the contemplative figure of President Grover Cleveland. There he stood, looking over the fire in a somber gaze of meditative thought. When his short by plump body turned, the ice in his hand clinked against the glass walls of their alcoholic prison. Since she was the one to enter the Executive Mansion on invitation, it seemed by the rights of guest-and-host that she should initiate the inevitable conversation. "Good afternoon, Mr. Cleveland."

At last his mustachioed face came to life. His greeting was one he managed to just whisper. "Hello, Miss Alders." Grover stepped way from his spot near the burning fire towards a larger case of alcohol. When his guest declined the nice beverage, he simply made his way back to his destined spot near the fire. Although his voice rose, it still sounded cracked and weak, somewhere between holding back tears or a mild-mannered scream. "I assume you heard of my bad teeth last year? It wasn't that much, but after the economy of this fair land crashes into flames, I find myself here in private every week, wondering about how the public can still find independence and bravery in me. I certainly can't." A deep drink from his glass seemed to renerve him, so he put the glass on the top of the wood shelf that overlooked the fireplace. "Sorry about that, ma'am. Now, I do wonder if you know why I cordially invited you here?"

She gave a small smile to show that she was without ignorance. "Is that group of thugs of yours so good that it figured out three Exorcists had entered the country before I had even the tiniest inkling they were even on American soil at all?"

He gave a small bow of his head and a wave of his hand in a small twirl of very sarcastic nobility. "I'm glad that their reputation proceeds them." He stood straight again in fine stature. "They're just small-time privates, don't think they'll be around to wreak havoc on my friends and enemies."

Naomi raised her eyebrow, her smile long gone. "But why were you looking for my Exorcists, Mr. Cleveland? It's rather odd for investigators acting like some sort of secretive unit; seems rather imposing on others, don't you think?"

Grover nodded his head, simultaneously rubbing his mustache as he looked directly into the fire before him. The President was enthralled with the flames' mobility and ease of life. All the fire had to pray for was either a few more branches of wood or just an easy burn-out death. The days ahead were like a watchful man with a bucket of water, watching the fire known as Stephen Grover Cleveland in the most wicked of ways. That foreign spot on the top of his mouth scared him a mighty bit, and he may not be around for the future. It's only fair, so he began to speak his mind for the truth in what seemed to be a long time. If a man is to be bound by his word, then I'll be bound by this: a confession of my thoughts of this crazy world. He would talk as if he were talking to his closest childhood friend, his best-tempered colleague, or even to his own wife. "Miss Alders, I fear for you and your Order. Ever since James Madison was forced to submit to the Address of Pius, the United States has stood by its promise to turn a blind eye to the Catholic Church's designs." His breathing became heavy, even for just a moment. "The republic has since been giving birth to further malevolent ambitions as its power grows. I, amongst others, have tried our best to preserve the peace and to promote prosperity by means of politics and secular activities. But there are those whom are vipers who seek control, Miss Alders. They see the things I try to hide from them, and I have no idea where they get the information that's supposed to be in the hands of only the few. Ma'am, even Aldai is scared stiff, if you want to know how my Vice President is. Poor man is looking to the horizon for when the Hell he and his formers have taken on in that office. Their only job seems to take in all of the terror they can muster about-" his voice fades as he realizes that the door is still ajar. Naomi took the hint; this was no longer a meeting between friends, it was now a relay of private desperation that must be heard.

"Soon, a President will be elected without respect for the Address, and he will seek the power for himself. Those 'investigators' might just be only a taste of what could happen. They were only four; imagine a hundred, or a thousand. Two organizations, even, filled to their brim with instinct to divide and conquer, to stab in the back, to be ruthless beyond all means in the name of their leader. From east to west, they would not stop until the power their master orders them to find is finally within his palms, and they will continue to practice on the monarchies over-sea's until the kings, queens, princes, princesses and all the loyal citizens of their countries are put up for the ax's thirst for blood." He raised his hand towards his companion, not in accusation but in warning. "Be on your guard. I can only hold them back so far, but I face an uncertain future." With a turn of his head, he decided to hold what peace he could find within the confines of his soul. It was hard, saddening, infuriating and sort of humiliating to have to turn to one of his citizens for an outlet of his fear of the world that only he and she in this entire district probably knew of, but it made him feel like a millennium of endless, sleepless nights were over. A new, lighter weight was upon Grover Cleveland: fatigue. All he could ever want now was to sleep, and see if the morning sun would be heralded for truth, instead of just another night of sitting next to Aldai, encouraging him to continue reading the facts of the matter over and over again as a painful reality-check.

Throughout this entire relay, Naomi stood in stunned silence as the man unloosened the facts unknown. It was a harsh wake-up call, as well as a frightening one that almost certainly could change everything. Suddenly, the world that was already cold as the snow became that of a corpse, detached from warmth except for the physical sense of heat. Brooding. Evil. She managed to summon a question, any question at all, to try and solidify the President's revelation. "When did this start? The plotting, the treachery."

Grover leaned back, moving through his thoughts to find a proper answer. "I would say that they started right before the war with Mexico, during the birth of Manifest Destiny. There were so many inquiries into why in the world the British Emprie went to war with us in eighteen-twelve with almost a disciplinary conviction in their actions that did not shadow that of a conqueror, but of a harsh teacher. We have made sure that future generations will see it as a stalemate at worst, that the whole issue was over the impressments of American sailors into the British Navy. " He cleared his throat at the listing of 'facts' that would become so, if only after a few handy modifications to choice novels, notes, and so on. "It came out to 'status quo ante bellum', officially; no one gained, no one lost."

The wording of his sentence caused the Director to lean forward to help him press on. "And unofficially?"

"Unofficially, Miss Alders, we had lost overwhelmingly. Impressment was only partially ended, our trade embargo against the warring powers was ended out of economic starvation, and the capital was still burned down to the ground. Absolutely no one will admit it, but Jacksons' army at New Orleans was the only one standing in the way of our nation's demise. If they had wanted to, they could've marched right in and taken us back as colonies, state by state. The one thing that managed to save us in the end was the treaty, which publicly stated the status quo would be ensured from before the war. Behind the scenes, however, war was declared on behalf of the fact that we refused to collaborate with the Catholic Church on the Address of Pius. Without its approval, the entire continent and its people would be open to those, those…" He shook his head in awe: Survival by utter defeat. It has a nice ring to it, once you boiled down to it.

"Should this meeting exist, Mr. Cleveland?" This turned into a cautious affair for the Spanish-American, whom was only learning truths about the country she loved as well as the Order she served. The chilling warning would have to be reported, because there was no possible way or reason a president of an isolationist country would be able to attend to the Pope, or be represented amongst the European powers, whom all secretly agreed to the Address of Pius all those decades ago when it was formed. All of them, even the then-invasive and ambitious Ottoman Empire, agreed to allow Exorcists of the clandestine Black Order to travel through their territory freely to exorcize the Akuma, the demons that plagued society that were not in the daily newspapers, government documents or the school books of the world. Now, the Russian's Tsar was demanding a massive scale-back of the Black Order's powers, being even less loyal to the Address than the Muslim Sultan, who actually encouraged further empowerment of the Catholic Black Order instead. Quite ironic, really.

Grover's few moments to think were over, with him saying "As President, I will deny this breech of diplomatic isolation t oever exist. As a friend to your Order in person, I will make it known as truth if it were to mean your friends survival." With a few steps to the door, the portly man re-opened this squalid room to the world. "Please have a good day, ma'am."

"Thank you, Mister President."