Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Always ❯ Life in a Northern Town ( Chapter 3 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Rating: R for violence and bad language
Disclaimers: I don't own Weiß or Schwarz, I just like to drool over them. I am not writing this for profit, but rather as a bit of fan appreciation. The only character here I do own in the chibi Farf ^^;
Warnings: Umm, there are probably some, this fiction takes place a while after the Dramatic Precious series and uses some information from the Schwarz dramas. Possible AU since the only copy I have of the DP series is some half-baked translations.
Pairing: Farfarello x Sally in the first part
italics = hand signals; thoughts
// taking // = telepathy

*~*~*~*~*

-- three --

His fingers clattered lightly on the keyboard, the glow of the thin screen hollowing out the traces of baby fat clinging to his cheeks and aging him beyond his years. The teen paused in the middle of his typing, looking out the dark window of the car, looking at the black eyed ghost of his self reflected back at him. Outside, buildings flew by, children blocks of mismatched heights and colours; some of the blocks alight while others were dark.

A frown touched his lips, watching with a vague yearning to by like the inhabitants of those blocks. Of being normal with normal concerns of living life without fear or worry save for the more mundane fears. None of them had to worry of fighting a dark mirror of themselves, of killing to survive, of the soul weary tiredness of the darkness that was a part of living. They did not have to worry about having a power- - Gift he had heard Farfarello call it- - that could rival a nuclear explosion. They did not have to keep such a power contained; they did not have to suppress their emotions or risk loosing a force that could tear apart a building. And for that he mistrusted them.

He could easily hate most normal people but for three people. They had token him from the miserably cold streets of Tokyo, they had nurtured his fifthly, starved body and mind, and had taught him the joys of a power that could also be a terrible burden. Those three that played such odd roles in his life despite of how the world might have viewed them. Crawford, calm, controlled, always making sure they stayed true to their goal, and also filling the place of a stern father-figure, quick to correct and rare of praises. Schuldig, hyper, intense, always smirking like he held the secret of the world behind his lips, he was an older brother to the young Japanese boy, showing him to have fun, to relax and to live. Then Farfarello, lean, sardonic, a sharp mind hidden behind the façade of a raving lunatic, he was like an older friend, his fractured mind twisted enough to logically work it's way through all sorts of legal and moral twists, able to master any weapon or fighting style with an ease that made the teen feel inadequate until the Irishman took him under his wing and showed him how everything had a pattern and how to tear that pattern apart.

Together the four of them formed a team of unusual strengths and skills, each one strengths boosting the other's weaknesses. They had commanded the best prices, and were the darlings in a world of cutthroats and lunatics hidden under the still surface most people lived in. They were also a highly dysfunctional family. He could remember how Crawford would spend hours in the kitchen, making homemade chicken soup for his spells of illness. Of how Schuldig had snuck him out to watch movies and get stuffed on theater foods, junk foods, and stay up laughing over old soap operas and B movies. Of how Farfarello had spent hours with him over books, teaching him with patience that most would never believe, a knife in one hand used to point at something of interest, his lips curling in a sardonic smirk at the histories and religions he was teaching. There were even games that they played, though he now knew them to be lessons as well, of stalking quietly, of hunting others at night, of opening doors and cracking codes, a hundred and one games all to teach him how to survive in their world. Then one day they gifted him with his first computer, a battered thing rescued from a house marked for destruction.

He shook those memories from his head, bending his head over his laptop and trying to concentrate on his task, but his fingers remained stilled, eyes looking at the numbers scrolling down the screen without seeing. The four of them had stayed together for a long time. He had thought that nothing could break them apart. But then their plans went astray; they became hunted by those they set up for a fall and then Farfarello left. The cracks that they were always able to repair could not stand up to that and the rest of them drifted apart. He lost contact with Crawford and Schuldig, and it was only through a chance encounter with Takatori Mamoru that he learnt of Weiß continual survival.

Crawford once told them as they were going to 'bodyguard' Takatori, that the grandfather was completely cracked, the sons cracking, but they might have a grandson that would prove to be useful. Mamoru still has some of his youthful idealism left but it was slowly being destroyed by the manipulations of the boy's grandfather. He had played on that idealism, proving himself to be trustworthy and impartial, drawing upon his memories to say what needed to be said. The older boy had fallen for that trick, and now, he was speeding through the quiet Swiss night, heading for Germany as the unknown backup for two men that know nothing about Este or Eptitaph except a few names and dates. He knew; no one growing up among Este assassins would be too stupid not to catch rumours about it, but not enough to give any accurate information. Crawford might know, but he did not have any way of asking him.

So he had to find information the hard way. Computer hacking, industrial sabotage, breaking and entering, dull work for someone who killed for most of his young life. A refreshing change but he wanted to do more. Eyes narrowing at the screen, he shut the program down and opened a different file. This was a private project he started on, having heard it mentioned during the mad rush through those mountains after their Irish team member. The Schwarz Protocol. Some clever person or people in Este ranks had taken all the data of the four of them, distilled it, then implanted it in several test subjects. The results were fascinating.

He re-read the files like someone re-reading a favorite old book, ignoring his surrounds and imagining what he was reading. But as he read, he felt his muscles twitch reflexively, as if he was in a crowded room being stared at by hundreds of people. He tried to shrug it off with a twitch of his shoulders, leaning more firmly back into the soft seat of the compartment. He took this train because it would not be so crowded and that he could have a compartment by himself. There was no one in the room, nor did he hear any footsteps outside in the hall. Yet the feeling persisted.

Sighing about his over stretched nerves, he raised his head to confirm what he knew then froze, eyes widening underneath the soft fall of his bangs. He froze, hands gripping his laptop, mouth going dry. Like a ghost called by his thoughts, a pale ivory and gold figure sat across from him, scarred lips turning upwards in a familiar smirk. He was dressed in white leather from head to foot, the heavy boots scuffed along the toes, soft fingerless gloves a shade lighter than the skin of his fingers, a cross glinting on a black cord around his throat. The apparition tilted its head to the side, the antique gold eyes glinting like the cross and earrings, the hands tracing signs in the still air.

He frowned for a moment, wondering if his mind brought on this vision, remembering how they devised hand signals for when Schuldig couldn't link the four of them together. And he wondered why this vision did not speak instead trace the signs over and over again. He shook off his musings, watching the hands flash their message. Wait followed quickly by We are coming, stay in one place, we'll find you. He frowned at that, glancing up at those pale yellow eyes.

"You are not a trick of my mind," the teen stated, feeling something stir in his blood.

No, the hands flashed. Will explain later.

"When we meet?"

Yes, we are at the next stop.

"I see. Why there?"

Oracle says that staying on would be misfortunate.

He closed his eyes at the familiar phrase, holding back the excitement of seeing them again, of working together again. Opening them again, he smiled, the muscles in his face feeling strange and stiff as he did so.

"I'd be looking forward to it, Farfarello."

The hands stopped their motions as the apparition smiled. It was a dark grin, showing how animal like his teeth were, turning those eyes into golden flames. Then it faded into the seat and was gone.

Nagi's smile didn't fade as he bent over his laptop, not seeing the data before him as he basked in the glow of his excitement and the strange sense of coming home.