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By day, the cathedral would be full of life, full of whispers of litanies and prayers. The believers had their eyes closed, moving their lips to appeal to the Lord’s cathartic design. By night, the candles shed dapples of light on the muted colors of the stained glass windows, and the scent of frankincense lingered for the ghosts. Donald admired the sacred building, and was not a fan of being sent on a mission here.

God had told him that something wasn’t right. Since the beginning of the mission, Donald could not shake away the knots and nips in his gut. Even more, they put Chipper to be his ‘ally’. Total cow shite. Obviously, Vash was to act as Donald’s supervisor and possible detainer. Granted, it was smart of them to have trained personnel to keep a close an armed eye on the ex-convict. Still, Donald had been in the MI6 for two damn years—and they still could not refer him to a solo mission.

It always felt like he was being babysitted—by his younger half-brother’s mother of all people. Without a question, that irritation carried over to this night, coupled along with the anxiousness. To save face, Donald kept this single emotion dormant, unwilling to let it show under the prospect of punishment. He had been out of jails for years now, yet he was still a prisoner.

Although he was previously talkative in the car, Donald was soundless at the cathedral. Disturbing God’s peace without reason would be a sin.

They traversed down the dark hallway, the candles whickering to the side when they passed it. The angled shadows casted a disapproving look on the Virgin Mary’s countenance.

There were footsteps out there, light but still audible to the trained ears. Donald exchanged a quick glance with Vash as a silent confirmation of teamwork. He slid his hands into the pockets of his coat, fingers stiff, wanting to feel the grip of his gun.

A woman…? His fingers relaxed. Distant screams of crying women sounded in his head. Donald cringed.

He swallowed, recuperated, and returned back to normalcy. This woman—her features were strikingly familiar. At the same time, he didn’t want to remember anything about women at the moment.

“Hello gentlemen.”

He already knew what kind of woman she was. The time of day, the voice, the get-up. They needed to be more creative.

“Evenin’, miss,” Donald replied kindly, doffing his flat cap.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

“We’re lost souls among men. Here te find penance,” He smiled, eyes glinting. “Seeing how heaven lost an angel, and ye are here looking as you do, ye must know the way.”

Donald flarhgharh'; || Northern Ireland || just. my. luck.

Donald fhalrgha | Northern Ireland | at least this pair is still alive

"Sounds about right." Donald replied with a nod. There were a bunch of things he could've said, but he decided to keep it tucked in his pocket. There were a lot of things to be said about the Balkans, especially from all the blathering he had heard from his father. But, well. He had met a couple of really good folks from that area, Marko included. His mind immediately conjured the face of a certain woman, and his face made a brief twist in discontentment.

"Ah, hm yes--" he went on. "I hope te get meself over there one day and git out of this place. Though I might be a toasted ginger if I stay out there fer too long. I git red as a beet. Not a good combination with me hair, y'see? Not that I can tell. Colorblind. Still, I don't think anyone would like te see that."

Ah yes. The great perks of being so light skinned. It was an excellent coat of defense in the sunlight, he would say. It could burn the eyes of the living.

Donald laughed when Marko didn't sound convinced. He assumed it was because of his use of gibberish and metaphors. He would blame his granddad for that, his ma's father. The old man had his ways with words until the grave, and Donald managed to soak it all in to make up for what was lost.

"Sparkling." Donald repeated with a little more enthusiasm. He lifted up his hands and wiggled his fingers for an added effect. "Shimmering, splendid even." Ah--he just quoted that song on accident.

"Just an ordinary day here in the good ol' UK. It sounds great deal better than sayin' that the clouds piss rain eh? Sometimes it can get so gloomy that we just make believe that the weather is gorgeous." He finished with a glance upward.

The rain was dying, its last breath in a sea-salted breath. He had always preferred a bit of sunshine, just because of how inconvenient rain can be whenever he wanted to do something outdoors. "Well," he began as he shoved his fists into his pockets, "I'm going te tend me girl. You're free te tag along if ye like. She's very pretty."

Donald blarhGHh || Northern Ireland || YE G0T A GIGGLE THERE M8??

All he needed was a good line of 'shut up' and its reasoning to properly keep him quiet. Though Donald silenced himself, his lips were sealed with a mischievous grin. Only siblings could treat each other this way, and it was because of this bond that Donald had persisted with his impish behavior. However, the mission had gotten to a point that required some focus. With that, Donald made himself somber from the nascent quips and jokes that had wanted to be said. It was a mission, time to put a lid on it--most of it, not like he was going to let himself go through some personality metamorphosis. To his defense, being a little silly here and there helped him relieve stress; well, it might have backfired since it also causes more stress on Aoife, hm.

"Something's not right here. I don't like the sound of this. Seems like there's a kid there or... something."

"A kid?" Donald repeated, twisting his lip as he thought about it. "That is weird. I didn't think organ smugglers would hire kids nowadays. Then again, who cares why. We'll get 'em anyway."

He wasn't a fan of seeing kids on the enemy side. He had encountered these kinds of situations before, but it still couldn't sit well with him about detaining a child--or possibly hurting him. It would suck, but in a matter of life or death, reasoning with morals would have to be done and acted upon in less than a second, or else.

"You're keeping track of him, right?"

"Why yes, I am," Donald responded, promptly pulling out a little device that had a radar on it. The tiny, slender by frame thanks to nanotechnology, had a screen that indicated Vash's position as a flashing dot on the blueprinted map. It was going to come in handy later when they meet up with him.

"We won't lose Chipper with this fangled contraption right here, he reassured with a chuckle. "Anyway, looks like we're at th'spot te get out. All clear."

After taking off his seatbelt, he leaned over and gave the fellow at the driver's seat a pat on the back. "Thanks, mate."

He reached for the briefcase that was wedged in between he and Aoife and then opened the door briskly. The night air was cold, with a hint of sourness that made his stomach churn. Well, here goes nothing.