Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction / Noir Fan Fiction ❯ There Can Be Only Two ❯ Nightly Chitchats ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer:

Hey, this is the third chapter. So if you are:

 

- still reading this story (for the various reasons - e.g. you read the previous chapters),

- still thinking I claim the characters or settings in this story to be mine and

- also trying to gain profit from it, which

- you find intolerable and

- think I should be severely punished for (or at least be sued for the money)

I have the options of:

- Ignoring you.

- Assuring you yet again, that you are completely mistaken, because this piece of fan fiction was created only for personal entertainment and in no way was meant to infringe on the rights of the respective owners.

- Wondering what the “§$”& you did until you got to this point, and/or what kind of retarded moron or lawyer you are to sincerely believe in the above.

 

Combine as you like.

 

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There Can Be Only Two - a Weiß Kreuz/Noir crossover Fanfiction by the one known as the SilentHypoCrit (at least around the 22nd of October 2005)

Also Hosted at the moment under my nick at:

www.animexx.de - (http://animexx.4players.de/mitglieder/steckbrief.php?id=103930

At both places you can leave reviews or comments, if you like.

 

A FanArt for Chapter Two can be found here (if the Graphics Serve is on that is):

http://animexx.4players.de/fanarts/output/?fa=562314

 

 

 

[#] foot notes, see end of chapter

 

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Chapter 3 - Nightly Chitchats

 

The night sky over Tokyo was bright, but not because it was a full moon night. Actually the bright yellow satellite accompanying the planet, origin of countless myths and dreams, could not be seen at all. It was the light of the millions of street lamps, neon signs, the light of the metropolis itself, reflected by the low hanging clouds, that was bathing the city, making this night brighter than any star lit night could ever have been. Though silent it was not.

 

While in most parts of the city only the never resting sound of traffic could be heard, here the ambient sound of cars intertwined with the sound of metal clashing with concrete and metal clashing with metal, yet nothing else.

 

The one knife he had dodge had been followed by several others. Non had hit so far, either hitting concrete or being deflected with his own blade. The origin of the attacks was apparently moving around the big flat roof, hiding behind the air-condition exhaust, the water tanks and skylights strewn across the roof. He did not mind though. He liked to play himself.

 

Another blade appeared out of the dark. It hit. That, too, he did not mind. Absently he pulled the knife out of his upper arm. A crippling blow, but not to him. He briefly inspected the weapon. A long thin blade, double the length of its handle, a ring connecting both, no decoration or anything else. A perfect throwing knife he mused tucking the knife away and reconcentrating on his unseen enemy. A second blade headed for him. This time it tore into his upper thigh. A wound that would have brought anyone to his knees. Farfarello tore it out and placed it with the first one, intensely staring into the semidarkness with his one eye.

 

“Very impressive!” sounded a feminine voice over the roof. “It might be harder than expected to kill you! You are Schwarz indeed!”

 

Another blade flew over the roof. Farfarello watched the knife he had thrown towards the source of the sound disappear into the shadows, forcing his assailant out of it. In the soft ambient light he could make out his opponent for the fist time, as the obviously female figure jumped out the way.

 

A long dark turquoise cape flattered behind her, revealing a black bodysuit she wore underneath, complemented with several leather straps for protection or fastening weapons. But most prominently shone her dark red almost purple hair in the low light as she rolled from her dodge, coming to a halt in a kneeling position, on hand resting on the ground the other hidden within the folds of her coat. Unmoving for the moment, her face hidden between her low hanging bangs and the high collar of the cape with only her eyes shining out from underneath. Farfarello just returned her stare.

 

*

 

No sound could be heard out of room 202 other than the faintest hint of someone slowly yet steadily breathing. Someone sleeping.

 

“All to easy, all to easy.” Schuldig whispered to no one particular.

 

He went past the bathroom door towards the sleeping area of the room. The girl was lying in the bed closest to the window as he had expected. The barrel of a silenced gun in her hand, pointing at him, though, he had not.

 

“Shit” was the only thing he could utter. The bullet hit the wall behind him. It would have hit him straight between the eyes had he not let himself fall and roll back towards the door . That saved his life, but did not gain him much breathing space. The shot was followed by three others instinctively fired into his direction. He answered them with two rounds from his own gun, preventing anyone in the room to gain access to the entryway without getting hit.

 

The sound of his gun rang loud and powerful through the confinement, in strong contrast to her silenced ones, accentuating the gaping difference between the two enemies even more. Schuldig ducked into the bathroom. Pressing himself to the wall separating the hygiene cell from the sleeping area, he extended his senses. He could feel her somewhere in the room, somewhere close. Behind him. Her back pressed to the same wall he was.

 

“Shouldn't a young girl be asleep by know?” his voice rang not through the air but the mind of his target. An answer he did not get.

 

“Why so serious little one? You have no chance anyway? I will come to you and I will kill you! No need to play the heroine here.” he formed, not only projecting those words and letting them ominous reverberate inside her head, but sending them together with an image of himself standing over her dead body.

 

“I have got you and there is no way out for you!”, the comment accompanied by mockery and derision.

 

Schuldig moved. A wink to fast. His elbow hit one of the perfume viols on the shelf over the sink next to him. It fell spinning. Bouncing off of the edge of the white porcelain basin as if made out of rubber, not fragile glass, it gave off a single loud tone.

The same instance the sound filled the room he could feel her move. Away from the wall, turning towards it. He tried to stop her, flooding her senses, trying to grasp her mind. But there was nothing to grasp. For a moment Schuldig wondered at her. She had thoughts yes, she had a mind yes, a complex one with many hidden abysms. But at the moment they were not controlling her actions. Something else was. `Running on pure instinct. A perfect Killer', he marveled for the fraction of a moment. Than she shot. The bullets of her Berretta, even though slowed by the silencer, had no problems tearing through the thin wood and plasterboards of the wall while heading very accurate for the probable location of the noise's cause.

 

Inside the bathroom the spinning viol hit the floor shattering into a thousand pieces.

 

*

 

“Yes impressive indeed, Farfarello! Eszett has chosen you wisely for this.” The words carried with them nothing but the faintest traces of joy and excitement. Farfarello's only reaction to the statement was a questioning tilting of his head.

 

“You seem surprised. Well they could not have told you of course.” she continued insouciantly. “But I am not here to tell you that.”

 

Still nobody had moved. Ready they were but something held them back as they stared at each other. Eventually Farfarello did something that he did not very often, he asked something: "There is indeed one thing I would like to know. What is Eszett's role in all of this?”

 

“That should be nothing for you to be concerned about. But maybe I can talk to you a little, IF in return first you can tell me where the rest of Schwarz is.”

 

That moment the sound of breaking glass and gunshots could be heard from down below. The two opponents though were not distracted.

 

“Well that should be Schuldig hunting the girl. Crawford is looking for the other woman in town. Satisfied?” sitting down like a monkey on a handle Farfarello tilted his head to the other side waiting for her reaction. A few more shots could be heard while Chloe quickly moved to the edge, with merely a glance took assessment of the situation down below and returned her attention to her adversary.

 

“And you were waiting for me?”

 

Farfarello only nodded.

 

“Well thank you. This indeed makes things less complicated.”

 

If in that moment someone had asked the Irish man, what his impression of the girl in front of him was, he might have said, beaming and happy - but no one was asking.

 

“It is kind of a waste to tell you since I will have to kill you afterwards anyway, but the teams are already equal and I think I like talking to you. Kind of funny isn't it?”

 

A slight smile appeared on her face. Not malevolent but a genuine one, making Farfarello smile as well in agreement, despite the fact that the smile was implicating his own demise, but who was he to complain about a strange sense of humor.

 

“So what is the deal?” he simply asked.

 

Slowly Chloe got up and jumped on top of one of the water tanks sitting down on the edge and crossing her legs: “Actually that is pretty easy to explain.”

 

*

 

“I suppose I do not have to introduce myself to you, do I?”

 

“No…You certainly do not! Mr. Crawford.” she confirmed his assumption with slight hesitation in her voice yet with astounding control: “Please sit down.”

 

“I will, but before let me present to you these. Don't worry, they are really nothing more than exquisite flowers. I had them picked out by an old acquaintance of mine. One that would never allow harm to a beautiful woman.” With those words and he gracefully stepped around the table a let her take the still wrapped bouquet.

 

She was a real cat Crawford noted. From the moment on she had seen him she had tried to find an opening, an exit a weak spot, intensifying her alertness when he came closer and turned over the supposed flowers, carefully observing every motion of him. But not franticly, not like a mouse cornered by a cat would have done, shivering and shaking. The changes in her behaviour were no more than subtle, her face had - if changed at all - turned even friendlier towards him, yet her appearance told Crawford's trained eye that one mistake, one opening would be his doom.

 

Accepting the flowers, but not opening them, she smiled pleasantly: “Oh I am sure that good acquaintances of yours is masters of his art, but you should not have. I will have to leave soon again.”

 

He smiled: “Yes I just heard that you were residing in the area, so I decided to drop by and have a nice chat with you concerning the two of us. But before we start with business…. the wine you drinking… Can you recommend it?”

 

Without a break or inquiring more about what kind of business the supposed stranger was referring to she replied: “Well it is nothing extraordinary. Though it is a pleasant surprise to find an establishment in this country that is not committing the atrocity of serving its red wines cooled down, but at pleasant 15 degrees Celsius. But why don't you try for yourself.”

 

Without turning her eyes away from Crawford she addressed the still present waiter in flawless Japanese: “Please bring us an open bottle of this 1995 Merlot” pointing to her own glass: ”and another glass for the gentleman.”

 

“Any other request Madam?”

 

“No thank you that would be all for now!” Mireille smiled. Crawford smiled. Together they sat in silence until the waiter returned.

 

*

 

`That was too close for comfort!' Schuldig thought lying in the bathtub. Above the rim the room's back wall sported several bullet holes. `Seems it's time to get serious. No more Mr. Nice Telepathic Guy. Every thing you can do I can do better, isn't it?'

 

Again extending his senses he aimed and fired over the rim. While the 9mm Beretta bullets had had no problems cutting through the wall, his magnum caliber literally ripped the thin material to shreds littering room and bath with plaster dust and pieces of wall. And again he marveled how she was able to dodge the unnaturally accurate shots raining through the wall, for he obviously did not hit her and it couldn't be just sheer luck.

 

But there was nothing else she could do. There was almost nothing in the adjacent room to protect her from the magnum bullets that tore through the wall and the beds. If she stayed in the room eventually he would hit her and the only way to the exit let by the bathroom door.

 

“What know, little girl? Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide?” again seemingly in control he just couldn't stop himself from playing with his victim despite the difficulties so far. As an answer he was again forced to duck back into the bathtub while projectiles rained through the wall heading for him.

 

“Wasting bullets, huh?”

 

She did not. Again he tried to stop her. This time with a couple more bullets. It did not work. He rushed out of the bathtub back into the room. The curtains were fluttering in the wind that flowed through the broken window.

 

`I can't belive it. That crazy bitch jumped out of the window' Schuldig just could admire the recklessness the girl had shown to escape a seemingly hopeless situation. Neither wanting to get shot while taking a look out of a window she knew him to appear at, nor to lose her, he did the next best thing. `Everything you can do…huh?' He jumped after her head first out of the window.

 

As Schuldig had expected she had been waiting for him a little down the street. Too far away for his senses to notice her, too far for most people to surely aim a hand gun at a person in a second story window. Not too far for the petite girl with the short black hair. Two shots were fired the moment he flew out of the window. One went straight through the broken frame. The second one, already having been adjusted to a falling target instead of a steady one, tore through his pants; only grazing, but also distracting him. Even in midair the falling man had returned the fire forcing her to seek cover. But instead of elegantly flipping forward and landing in a crouch, he crash-rolled onto his back too close to the building across the small alleyway leaving him staring up at the night sky while his legs were pointed skywards leaning against the wall.

 

`Damn. This must be looking so really fucking stupid' he thought to himself absently firing another round in the direction he had seen the girl disappear.

 

Schuldig got up, casually inserting a new magazine into his gun.

 

`Oh well, why not a little fox hunt by night. Let's see how many bullets you took with you and how long you can last. A gun you might have, but I can't imagine it being very pleasurable walking around in pyjamas and without shoes on a February night, even in Tokyo.

 

*

 

The wine was served and carefully poured. Crawford took a nip carefully testing the bouquet.

 

“What do you think?”

 

“Yes indeed a very good choice. Ms. Bouquet. You seemed to be experienced in this particular area.” Crawford's smile mirrored Mireille's, “But I think we are both aware that you true talents do lie with another craft. And I am particularly interested in other parties that have shown appreciation for your services quite recently.”

 

“Mr. Crawford…”

 

“Brad, please! I insist!” he interrupted her.

 

“Then please call me Mireille as well, Brad. But as I was saying you should be well aware of the fact that even if I could give you that information I have no reason to comply with your request.”

 

Crawford faked a frown and continued in playfully hurt tone: “Oh Mireille don't be that mean. The two of us should be beyond that point and your friend Chloe has been so much more helpful than you.”

 

If the name had caused any reaction, Mireille did not let it show yet she asked: “Chloe? She is here?”

 

“Well she was so nice to write us a letter, depositing it at your hotel. How do you think I we found you so quickly. We are good, the best there is maybe but even we cannot point a finger on the map of Tokyo and pick the right bar or find the real names of the infamous Noir on the net, especially when they were hired to kill us. Anyway it seems like she has personal interest in Schwarz clashing with you two.”

 

He ignored a silent whisper from her and continued unperturbed: “I was curious as to why a young woman like her would give away the cover and location of the persons she seems to be protecting at the same time.”

 

“Protecting?”

 

“Well while we are speaking Farfarello - I assume you are aware of all our current members - is facing her on your hotel's rooftop, equally dividing our forces. One might say that her behavior is rather interesting. So maybe we can exchange some information here to satisfy our - possible mutual - curiosity.”

 

“Hm. If Chloe is here…” she said more to herself than to the man across the table. Carefully she studied his face, evaluating the given information. Crawford only waited.

 

“Ok. Brad! Maybe we can really exchange some information here." she finally stated: "Beyond that... we will see about that later. What do you say?"

 

Without breaking anything Crawford simply stated: "Sounds reasonable enough. Please continue!"

 

"You mentioned that she, Chloe that is, seems to have been planning our meeting on equal terms with the possibility of killing one another.”

 

“Well that at least is my impression. In addition she mentioned a person called Altena with whom together she has interest in our meeting.” he agreed, waiting for her to continue:

 

“We have encountered her before and the name Altena has been mentioned as well. Her or their intentions for us are not clear. Though setting us up would fit the pattern…. One weak ago we received this contract through the usual channels so there is no use in asking for the clients, we do not know either… though, now I have a suspicion. What was unusual about …shall we say Your case… were the mass of detailed information we received from the client, especially concerning your special talents, but also your organization, habits, enemies etc.. Status as of roughly six months ago. The hotel booking and fake identities came with it and appeared safe enough at that time.” She paused as if to carefully evaluated how to continue: “The… idea for the first hit, eliminating the worst threat, at least in the eyes of the assessor or assessors, came also with the briefing. Considering the circumstances now I think they left out some details to prevent recognition on a personal level. Details concerning your private history for example. And having the pleasure of meeting you, especially you Brad Crawford, the same evening as a result to our hit was not in the book, I assure you.”

 

Crawford only nodded in agreement.

 

“Summarizing: there is not much that we and especially our unknown client do not know about you. So whoever you pissed off this time must have been pretty powerful or at least very good informed about you. So much for my side of this deal, but I don't think that there should have been too many surprises for you, especially taking Chloe's interference and her role in all of this into account.”

 

“Do you have second thoughts about…?” The question was never finished.

 

She regarded him with a grim smile accompanied by a little sniff: “Dou you expect me to have a reason?”

 

She too paused, coldly regarding him with her blue eyes: “I think other options here should depend on you ability to create an acceptable scenario befitting us both. Maybe you could start by being able to supply some information that may be related to all of this.”

 

“Sure, what do you inquire? Though, I as well, would like to hear a little bit more about that suspicion concerning your client.”

 

“Befitting! That, actually, would be one and the same topic: What do you know about an organization called Soldats?”

 

*

 

“Soldats,” Cloe began looking down on Farfarello, “is an organization that has been influencing and manipulating the underworld on this planet for a long time.”

 

Her soft playful voice drifted down to the now cross-legged sitting man, together with her relaxed demeanor giving the impression of an older sister telling a bed time story to her younger sibling:

 

“Soldats' particular goals and reasons are of no importance here, though you should be informed that your own Eszett itself was originally nothing more than a sub-organization of Soldats. A very independent one and maybe a little too autonomous, since there have been …shall we say discrepancies about certain topics between the two organizations, especially the goals and methods of Eszett, with whom you should be more familiar than I am. The momentary status though is quite…disputable. But before I continue with the relations I think I need to tell you about something else.”

 

She paused. Another person might have wanted to asked where she was going with this tale but not Farfarello. He just began to absently play with his knife again and continued listening, his only reactions a blinking of his one eye from time to time:

 

“Noir. A name ordained in the past. Two maidens who rain over death. May your black hands in the fields of green protect the newborn's peace. That is a prayer Altena has taught me a long time ago, and that is what she wants to create. One true Noir. Two persons to bring death upon the unlawful to protect the innocent. A perfectly crafted sword to be wielded by Soldats. A goal which you are part of.”

 

Had it been Schuldig to hear those words he would have probably made some sappy comment along the lines of: “Yeah, yeah. Fighting fire with fire. Killers to bring justice to the world where the law cannot. bla, bla. Heard it all before. Know some guys doing the same. Basically they suck. Here let me give you their number if you don't want competition and leave me out of your little game.” Farfarello though only nodded and made a little chirping noise in acknowledgement.

 

“The two making up Noir have to be perfect in every aspect. But to craft such perfect weapons, equally perfect tools are needed, tools to work against the unpolished raw material to form the most beautiful of brilliants. Many of Soldats have been used for that purpose. Be it some lowly henchmen or the paranormal elite of Eszett. You, all of Schwarz that is, particular were chosen to be one of the final tools to craft and test the chosen. You are the hardest and most accurate tools. It is no coincidence that your team has been named Schwarz. A little historical reference if you will. In all of history Germany and France have clashed again and again on the battlefield and elsewhere, bringing hardship, ruin, and misery to their people, yet in the end also forming two of the most powerful nations on this planet. It was only befitting to give you the same name as the jewel you will help to craft. Noir, Schwarz, in the end black is black.[1]”

 

During the last part of her explanation Chloe had changed. Not much, but in addition to the controlled killer, that had been there before, now there was a gross cross between an exited schoolgirl, a religious zealot, and still a very dangerous person sitting upon the water tank. Farfarello did not mind:

 

“So what is your role in all of that?” he simply asked.

 

“I am the true Noir. Or at least one half of the whole. I am here to direct this forging for Altena, to control the tools and the unpolished stones, but sadly how does the saying go: You cannot make an omelet without breaking eggs.”

 

“So you expect us to die?”

 

She though for a moment, acting like a schoolgirl asked to answer a math question, acting…cute…even if cute was a word nonexistent in Farfarello's vocabulary.

 

“Yes, pretty much. Though as I wrote you, I hope that you won't die too fast, that would kind of ruin the point of the whole game. Maybe not all of you will die, but in the end there will be only two to form the one true NOIR.” The cheeriness in her voice was almost eerie.

 

“Does it matter that we left Eszett some time ago?”

 

Again she contemplated for a moment only to reply in the same manner as before: “Nope. Why should it matter for the task at hand?”

 

“Okay.” It was the same kind of `Okay' someone might have given as acknowledgement for the fact that another person was running ten minutes late for a meeting or something alike.

 

“So what now?”

 

“Well. The teams are evenly matched. Everything is working fine. I have told you the story. And explained the mechanics somewhat.” Chloe counted with her fingers: “Well I guess that leaves thanking you for listening to me since it has been a pleasure to have you as an audience,” Farfarello nodded slightly, “and last but not least killing you since that is what I have to do in the first place, for I would not qualify as the true NOIR otherwise. Though only with reluctance, as I have to admit, which is rather unusual. Anyway…” lightly she hopped down from her seat facing Fafarello: “Are you ready?”

 

Standing up he readied his knife and only slightly bent his head in agreement.

 

And they began.

 

*

 

“Well, I hope that satisfied your curiosity. Mine it did by the way.” Crawford finished his recount of information told elsewhere: “Does that change anything?”

 

“I don't know, Brad, you don't suppose there are things you forgot to explain? I was kind of left with the impression that you are the guy to do so.” all faked pleasantries had disappeared from her voice, replaced by a cold hard business tone: “Like for example why exactly I got the impression that you were getting prompted. It did not sound like you really knew something about Soldats before.”

 

“Ok Mireille. Besides that you are right, lets end this game and decide how to proceed.”

As the French's, his voice as well had suddenly changed from amused and almost playful to something incomprehensible, firm, even hasted, yet not aggressive. Halting he looked in between her and the still wrapped flowers before continuing:

 

“I do not know what you truly feeling about all this. I can only hope.”

 

Again he pause.

 

“After you have heard what I have to say, I will be waiting outside for your decision. Take all the time you want to decide, but I fear that there will not be any other choices for you. You will have make a decision, on way or another. Now please listen…”

 

Sadly the waiter shook his head as the tall dark haired man made his way to the exit. It did not seem as if the evening had gone well with the two. There had been no fight between them, but seeing the blonde beauty sitting there lost in her thoughts, and the unreadable mask of the departed guest did not bode well.

 

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[1] Or did anyone really believe, that international operating Eszett would care about, what some silly Japanese vigilant group calling themselves Kritiker at the other end of the world did, and name their team in opposition to those lousy Weiß guys?

 

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Well does it get interesting? I at least hope so. After this there will be kind of an interlude giving an explanation about how exactly this story will be coming to "an" end.

Drop me a review if you have the time, won't you.