Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chaos Came Early ❯ Boys and Their Toys ( Chapter 13 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: KD Sarge 
Crawford makes learning fun.
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 08.11.2007 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.4K | Visits: 497 | Status: Work In Progress
Crawford makes learning fun.
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 08.11.2007 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.4K | Visits: 497 | Status: Work In Progress
Yeah, I know you'd given up. To be honest, I nearly had too. But--I am back. I will not be as prolific or as fast as before, but I will not be abandoning my unfinished stories. I may even write a few more, who knows?
****
“Aww,” Schuldig answered the older telepath, “little Kassy-Wassy having a tough time?”
Crawford braced himself as the telepaths exchanged blows, and didn't stagger though he was between them on the trail. He'd prefer not to be, of course, but they'd already knocked Farfarello into unconsciousness three times, and someone had to keep them apart. Especially now their escort was worried by the Irish boy's tendency to "swoon" and wondering why someone of such "delicate constitution" would even attempt the trek into the rampant greenery of their mountain home.
“Do not hit our guide,” Crawford reminded quietly as the unseen slap-fest escalated once more. “Unless you want to be out here a few hours more.” Or to convince the men the teammates did carry some contagion, as had been batted about the one time Crawford let a soldier keep the telepaths from physical violence. Farf had already "fainted" twice at that point; when the biggest of the gun-toting soldiers went down, it had taken some fancy footwork on Crawford's part to keep from having to kill or be killed.
Kacia staggered; Crawford steadied her. “I thought you said he was untrained,” he murmured. “A half-assed, half-trained, piece of not-so-pretty ass, wasn't that what you said?” Her face firmed. Behind them, Schuldig swore.
“Getting a good handful, Crawford?” he asked, in a voice more strained than he probably meant it to sound.
“At least someone wants a handful of me,” Kacia shot back.
“Please, señors,” their guide put in. “Silencio. It is not safe. The guerrilleros, they will use your voices for target practice. Just a few more minutes, señors.”
Crawford set the woman back on her feet and went on. True to the guide's word, within minutes they were walking into another armed camp. This one was mostly tents made of modern tarps, though here and there stood a pole building and even a couple huts of quickly-rotting wood. Every person in sight wore camo gear and had an AK-47 within reach. All wore machetes at their hips; many had more guns and knives strapped to their bodies. Even after hours in transit, Schuldig started bouncing. Farfarello's fingers started twitching. Crawford caught Kacia's eye, directed her to watch the Irish boy. He caught Schuldig's arm as the boy drifted casually towards a rack of automatic rifles.
“You'll get your chance,” he promised.
“Ooohh...”
“So! You are here!” A big man came out of a shelter, his arms wide. Crawford smiled a little. “Señor Crawford! Bienvenidos! Welcome!”
“Jefe Medici. So this is where you hide now?” Crawford let the man hug him, kissed his cheeks in the traditional embrace. “How fares the revolution?”
The big man chuckled. “We will beat them,” he said loudly, tugging at his beard. “We will take back this country; we will make of it the stuff of dreams!”
“Inshallah,” Schuldig muttered. Crawford pulled him forward.
“Jefe, this is Schuldig, one of the trainees I mentioned.”
“Do not—“ Schu got out before being swept into another hug and kissed heartily.
:Don't hurt him,: Crawford warned.
:A painless death is no fun!: the telepath protested, but Jefe Medici did not drop dead or scream in agony. Instead he set Schuldig back on his feet.
“So! Bienvenidos, Schuldig! You wish to learn the way of the gun, eh? We shall share our knowledge with you! We are all equals here!”
:He does not mean that,: Crawford warned.
:Gee, dad, thanks for clearing that up,: Schuldig shot back.
Crawford helped Kacia pull Farf from a man sharpening machetes and didn't answer.
***
The Oracle, Crawford reminded himself, did not show pain. He did not, he would not, no matter how—
“Did you see me?” Schu demanded for at least the fiftieth time. “I cut that tree right in half! Pow-pow-pow-pow-pow-pow--"
"Thanks to the mighty Schuldig," Kacia growled, "we are safe from that evil tree." She winced. After a beat Schuldig frowned pain. Crawford sighed.
All in camo gear now, his team sat in one of the tents, the sides rolled up to catch any spare breeze that might have survived so far into the jungle. So far none had. Because he had already thought--several times--all possible permutations of I can't believe they are still acting so childish, Crawford pondered the phrase it's a dry heat and wondered why he'd never considered what a difference a little humidity made.
"I can't believe you don't at least unbutton a bit," Kacia growled at him. "How do you stay so cool?"
"Mind over matter," he told her. The Oracle did not sweat. Nor did he show pain. Not even when Schu started again, holding an imaginary rifle.
"Pow-pow-pow--"
"You are talented indeed, brilliant waster of bullets." One of the revolutionaries, a young woman, walked past Schu to kneel in front of Farfarello, who sat on the floor tarp, his new machete at his side. The Irish boy had "stripped" an (unloaded) (Crawford had made sure) AK-47 and put it back together, but something was wrong. "Here," she said, taking the weapon from him. She took it apart, held it out to him. "See? You replaced the bolt carrier, but forgot the return spring. Without it your rifle will never fire."
Schuldig opened his mouth and closed it and sat on a crate. Crawford kept his eyebrows from shooting up at this unwonted restraint. Farfarello looked at the gun, dragged his eyes over the shirt-exposed cleavage framed and lifted by crossed bandoliers, and stared into the girl's face. "Uh," he said. Then jerked, shot a scowl at Schuldig, turned back to smile at her.
"Thank you," he said.
The girl reached between his crossed legs and lifted the spring squeezed suggestively between two fingers. "This will put...power...into your...weapon."
"Uh," Farfarello said. But he took the part.
"I am Estrella. You shoot quite well for a beginner." The girl floated to her feet and swayed away. Farfarello stared after her.
:Oh, she wants you,: Schuldig's mental voice said. :Farfie gonna get lucky!:
:Oh, please,: Kacia cut in. :He's thirteen. And she knows he's only here for training. She just wants to win him to her cause.:
:So? If it gets him laid--:
:Do not think of Estrella that way,: Farfarello warned, assembling the automatic rifle swiftly. He yanked the handle back; the bolt shot home with a satisfying cthunk. He grinned.
Crawford wondered if Medici had any Tylenol.
***
I was supposed to write this back in...February, and devote it to...Katami. Yeah, then the next week I was supposed to have a chapter for Race... *sweatdrop* Sorry so late. You know I love you though, right?
Right?
****
Boys and Their Toys
“Herr Crawford, this is intolerable,” Kacia complained as she struggled through the jungle ahead of him. The guide before her swung his machete steadily though the man swore that he and his companions had come just this way, going to the city to fetch Crawford and his team, and cut a trail coming out, too. The jungle believed in their cause, he said. It hid the soldiers' movements.“Aww,” Schuldig answered the older telepath, “little Kassy-Wassy having a tough time?”
Crawford braced himself as the telepaths exchanged blows, and didn't stagger though he was between them on the trail. He'd prefer not to be, of course, but they'd already knocked Farfarello into unconsciousness three times, and someone had to keep them apart. Especially now their escort was worried by the Irish boy's tendency to "swoon" and wondering why someone of such "delicate constitution" would even attempt the trek into the rampant greenery of their mountain home.
“Do not hit our guide,” Crawford reminded quietly as the unseen slap-fest escalated once more. “Unless you want to be out here a few hours more.” Or to convince the men the teammates did carry some contagion, as had been batted about the one time Crawford let a soldier keep the telepaths from physical violence. Farf had already "fainted" twice at that point; when the biggest of the gun-toting soldiers went down, it had taken some fancy footwork on Crawford's part to keep from having to kill or be killed.
Kacia staggered; Crawford steadied her. “I thought you said he was untrained,” he murmured. “A half-assed, half-trained, piece of not-so-pretty ass, wasn't that what you said?” Her face firmed. Behind them, Schuldig swore.
“Getting a good handful, Crawford?” he asked, in a voice more strained than he probably meant it to sound.
“At least someone wants a handful of me,” Kacia shot back.
“Please, señors,” their guide put in. “Silencio. It is not safe. The guerrilleros, they will use your voices for target practice. Just a few more minutes, señors.”
Crawford set the woman back on her feet and went on. True to the guide's word, within minutes they were walking into another armed camp. This one was mostly tents made of modern tarps, though here and there stood a pole building and even a couple huts of quickly-rotting wood. Every person in sight wore camo gear and had an AK-47 within reach. All wore machetes at their hips; many had more guns and knives strapped to their bodies. Even after hours in transit, Schuldig started bouncing. Farfarello's fingers started twitching. Crawford caught Kacia's eye, directed her to watch the Irish boy. He caught Schuldig's arm as the boy drifted casually towards a rack of automatic rifles.
“You'll get your chance,” he promised.
“Ooohh...”
“So! You are here!” A big man came out of a shelter, his arms wide. Crawford smiled a little. “Señor Crawford! Bienvenidos! Welcome!”
“Jefe Medici. So this is where you hide now?” Crawford let the man hug him, kissed his cheeks in the traditional embrace. “How fares the revolution?”
The big man chuckled. “We will beat them,” he said loudly, tugging at his beard. “We will take back this country; we will make of it the stuff of dreams!”
“Inshallah,” Schuldig muttered. Crawford pulled him forward.
“Jefe, this is Schuldig, one of the trainees I mentioned.”
“Do not—“ Schu got out before being swept into another hug and kissed heartily.
:Don't hurt him,: Crawford warned.
:A painless death is no fun!: the telepath protested, but Jefe Medici did not drop dead or scream in agony. Instead he set Schuldig back on his feet.
“So! Bienvenidos, Schuldig! You wish to learn the way of the gun, eh? We shall share our knowledge with you! We are all equals here!”
:He does not mean that,: Crawford warned.
:Gee, dad, thanks for clearing that up,: Schuldig shot back.
Crawford helped Kacia pull Farf from a man sharpening machetes and didn't answer.
***
The Oracle, Crawford reminded himself, did not show pain. He did not, he would not, no matter how—
“Did you see me?” Schu demanded for at least the fiftieth time. “I cut that tree right in half! Pow-pow-pow-pow-pow-pow--"
"Thanks to the mighty Schuldig," Kacia growled, "we are safe from that evil tree." She winced. After a beat Schuldig frowned pain. Crawford sighed.
All in camo gear now, his team sat in one of the tents, the sides rolled up to catch any spare breeze that might have survived so far into the jungle. So far none had. Because he had already thought--several times--all possible permutations of I can't believe they are still acting so childish, Crawford pondered the phrase it's a dry heat and wondered why he'd never considered what a difference a little humidity made.
"I can't believe you don't at least unbutton a bit," Kacia growled at him. "How do you stay so cool?"
"Mind over matter," he told her. The Oracle did not sweat. Nor did he show pain. Not even when Schu started again, holding an imaginary rifle.
"Pow-pow-pow--"
"You are talented indeed, brilliant waster of bullets." One of the revolutionaries, a young woman, walked past Schu to kneel in front of Farfarello, who sat on the floor tarp, his new machete at his side. The Irish boy had "stripped" an (unloaded) (Crawford had made sure) AK-47 and put it back together, but something was wrong. "Here," she said, taking the weapon from him. She took it apart, held it out to him. "See? You replaced the bolt carrier, but forgot the return spring. Without it your rifle will never fire."
Schuldig opened his mouth and closed it and sat on a crate. Crawford kept his eyebrows from shooting up at this unwonted restraint. Farfarello looked at the gun, dragged his eyes over the shirt-exposed cleavage framed and lifted by crossed bandoliers, and stared into the girl's face. "Uh," he said. Then jerked, shot a scowl at Schuldig, turned back to smile at her.
"Thank you," he said.
The girl reached between his crossed legs and lifted the spring squeezed suggestively between two fingers. "This will put...power...into your...weapon."
"Uh," Farfarello said. But he took the part.
"I am Estrella. You shoot quite well for a beginner." The girl floated to her feet and swayed away. Farfarello stared after her.
:Oh, she wants you,: Schuldig's mental voice said. :Farfie gonna get lucky!:
:Oh, please,: Kacia cut in. :He's thirteen. And she knows he's only here for training. She just wants to win him to her cause.:
:So? If it gets him laid--:
:Do not think of Estrella that way,: Farfarello warned, assembling the automatic rifle swiftly. He yanked the handle back; the bolt shot home with a satisfying cthunk. He grinned.
Crawford wondered if Medici had any Tylenol.
***
I was supposed to write this back in...February, and devote it to...Katami. Yeah, then the next week I was supposed to have a chapter for Race... *sweatdrop* Sorry so late. You know I love you though, right?
Right?