Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Dancing with the Devil ❯ three ( Chapter 3 )

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

A.N.: Disclaimers are same as in the first part. I have to apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I had planned on getting it out right away, but one thing led to another and I completely forgot. For give me muchly.

-- three --

Winter slush had turned into spring rains, leaving London wet and cold and smelling somewhat like a wet dog. I walked down the wet sidewalks, shoulders hunched against the rain, hands stuffed into pockets, and chin tucked against the collar of my trench. Other people moved around me hiding underneath their umbrellas or rushing from building to car using newspapers and briefcases for cover. A young woman ran past giggling as her dress went transparent and her eye makeup ran, a man equally giggly following her.

I was going to a meet and greet having been asked by some person or another about the possibility for working for them. I could – if I decided to play with stocks and bonds – live quite easily on the money I had made over the years as the Berserker, but I was sane enough to know that playing with money had been Crawford’s particular talent and not mine. I knew how to save and how to spend, but anything more complicated than credit cards made my fists itch. And since itching fists were not good to have, I was not going to even try.

The only problem with my plan of making the meeting early was that little pricking at the back of my neck telling me that someone was taking too much interest in harmless little old me. Someone among the people walking behind me and around me was actually following me. Someone who was good at following so must be a trained person of the sneaky variety. Someone that made all my ‘insane killing senses’ tingle. Someone that will regret their actions once I got my hands around their throat.

I sloshed down a couple more blocks, shoulders hunched against the rain, but all my other senses peeled open and ready. There should be a place were I could disappear and wait for my follower coming up here soon. Then the plan would be a simple throat grab, drag off into a corner and beat the idiot into a pulp.

Oh yeah, even I think in clichés. At least it works.

A broken streetlight flickered in a slow pulse, making it easy for me to step into the uncertain shadows and move quickly to a hollow made by the bricking up of a doorway. With my white hair and pale skin, people often thought it was hard for me to hide in the shadows until I prove that I could. I titled my head, shifted my stance and stopped breathing, thinking myself into being just another part of the background.

Unfortunately for me, the person following me probably had the same ‘insane killer senses’ tingling away for he – or she – stopped just outside of my reach. All I could see was a silhouette of a slender form against the backdrop of light from the nearest street lamp. I could get a better look at the person if I really wanted to try – my left eye had always been stronger even with all the re-growth I did to my right eye – but that meant moving too much which meant they would see me and there would go my surprise. I really hated it when people acted so smart and did not go by the rules. I was wondering if I could just toss a couple of dangers at the person standing just out of reach when a very familiar voice stopped me cold.

“I know you’re there, Berserker. Come out and act like a normal person.”

I sighed and stepped into the light, scowling at the other man to show that I was not happy. “Fujimiya. Are you trying a new form of suicide tonight? I am in a hurry.”

The redhead glared back at me, the rain having made his hair nearly black and his pale skin blue tinged. The cold of the rain did not hold a candle to the way he was glaring at me. If I didn’t know any better, I thought that I was going to be frozen into place, a giant insane popsicle that would scare away tourists and the polite muggers that fed off of them.

“I am not committing suicide.”

I rubbed my ear to dislodge some water from it and stared at him. He was dressed for work in a trench coat of treated leather, gloves over his hands, heavy combat boots on his feet and some kind of tough trousers. From the rather stiff way he held himself, he also had several weapons strapped to his torso and probably even that damned katana of his. Despite what they show in the movies, those blades were hard to conceal even wearing an ankle length coat unless the blade was held close to the upper body. It was one of the main reasons I preferred my knives or whatever weapon was laying around I could get my hands on despite the advantages of the extra length of a sword.

Besides, it was bloody hard to throw a sword across the room and hit anything.

“Look Fujimiya, you are following a man that has been known to kill priests for saying their evening prayers wrong. If that isn’t called suicide, then I do not know what I am talking about.”

“I would believe that only if you know you’re walking into a trap,” came the sharp response.

I paused, tilting my head to the side while eyeing Fujimiya for signs of any kind of joke or tease or hell even something other than his usual scowl. I ran a hand through my usually spiky hair and then just growled. The scowl cracked just barely into a smug, superior smile. My hands itched to grab him by the neck and give him a shake but I contained myself and instead punched the light post. It shook, bending where I hit it and I scowled at the bend before eyeing Aya.

“I am surprised that no one on any of your teams had tried to kill you yet,” I replied, and then looked around before reaching over and grabbing his cuff. His smirk turned into another scowl but before he could protest the mis-handling, I clamped my other hand over his mouth. He tried biting and stabbing me in my ribs but I barely even felt them as I pushed him back into the dark corner I was lurking in earlier.

The kick to the groin I did feel, but with a lot of restraint, I just leaned my hand harder against his mouth, feeling mine split into a more friendly kind of grin. “Suicidal much, Fujimiya? You should remember that I don’t go down that easy. Maybe next time your should aim for the heart and kick a bit harder.”

I jerked my hand away and patted him on the cheek. He glared, spat and the knife he stuck in my chest was yanked out. “I did.”

”Oh?” I took a step back to look at the hole in my chest then sighed, shaking my head. “There goes that shirt.”

He frowned at the hole, then at the long blade in his hand. It looked like a dirk – long, thin, with no guard and no shine to the steel. I pursed my lips and grabbed his cuff again, dragging him further down the street. This time the dirk went into my arm.

“Would you knock that off? I am not some kind of weird pincushion,” I snapped, looking for a place that was not wet, exposed and empty. I couldn’t tell if Fujimiya’s co-workers were around in all this wet dampness and I did not want us to look too suspicious standing about in the cold rain talking quietly.

I felt the blade scrape against my arm bone as he yanked it out and heard the soft hiss of annoyance. “Then stop dragging me about like I was a stray dog!”

“Then stop acting like you are a stray dog and actually think instead of attempting suicide.”

There. I continue to drag Fujimiya to the open pub until he caught on where I was heading and stepped ahead of me, his dirk going wherever he had stashed it in the first place. I checked the hole in my coat and sweater with my fingers and decided that the rain had washed away most of the blood and the holes would not be noticeable in the atmosphere of the place. Dark clothing was always good when it came towards hiding suspicious stains.

Fujimiya jerked the door open and waited for me, his eyes narrowed and his thin lips pressed together. I grabbed the door as he was about to let it go and followed him inside, ignoring the looks that the locals gave us and jerking my chin at a likely booth. He snorted, and headed for it even as I nodded at the barkeep and ordered two pints of bitters, purposely letting my accent thicken. Paying for the drinks – after a moment’s discussion of the weather and faulty cars – I went to the booth Fujimiya was holed up in and set the glass down for him.

“I hate beer,” he said, glaring at the pint.

“Don’t be such a baby; at least pretend that you’re drinking it otherwise they may think we are truly weird,” I replied, taking a nice deep swallow of my pint.

“First I am suicidal then I am a baby, you need to make up your mind what I am, Berserker.” He looked at me hard then took a tentative sip. The face he made had me biting back a laugh.

“So now that we are safely away in a local pub where no one is about to start shooting at us, why don’t you tell me again what you were saying outside,” I said, eyeing him again. “Also why are you running around in your working clothes and not working?”

“I am working.”

I choked on my next swallow of beer, sputtered for a few moments, and then sat back taking a long breath of air while trying to clear out my lungs. Fujimiya watched me through this like a smug cat watching the pigeons finding out that their bath water had been switched to acid. I leaned forward and snatched his beer away to wash away the taste of bitter bile from coughing up my lungs. Finishing off his pint, I leaned back and sighed.

“And you took some time out to try for me? That isn’t your style, Fujimiya. You need a reason to hunt someone like me down, remember?”

”How about irritating the fuck out of me?” he snapped back, colour rising on his cheeks.

“That would work if you weren’t here trying to rescue me.”

He looked away, sighed and looked back at me, glaring so hard I was surprised my brains weren’t boiling in my skull. “We were listening in to a conversation that talked about a crazy albino and how they were going to ‘fuck the Irishman up’. When Michael spotted you, I put things together and decided to make sure you know what you’re walking in to.”

“Michael. . . The blond?” His mouth tightened and I nodded to myself, looking at the smoky haze of the pub. So the person at the counter was a member of their odd team instead of being filler for when Weiss was working. After a moment’s consideration, I shrugged. I was no Schuldig, with his curiosity and busybody need to know everything about Weiss. The name meant nothing to me as long as he wasn’t trying to stab me.

I finished my pint and nodded a Fujimiya, getting up from the table. “Thanks for the warning, but seriously, if there is anything you need to know, your team better get the information out now. If they try to hit me, they will kill everyone in my path, and you know it.”

“You’re not invincible. All they need to do is chap off your head.”

“Read up on it did you? Most people don’t use blades weapons and those that do go for the chest or face. They don’t think of the neck unless they are trying to slit my throat and that is only a half measure. So, get back to work and maybe I’ll see you later.”

I ignored the hissing of my name as I plunged back out into the rain and headed for the meet and greet feeling a bit annoyed. I didn’t know why Fujimiya had decided to actually warn me, but I appreciated it. I hated surprises and nothing was more surprising then someone turning out to have a grudge on poor little me. It was enough to ruin my faith in humanity if it wasn’t already ruined.

It took a hop, skip and a jump over to the building where I was to meet and greet the possible client from the pub. It took less time because I was annoyed and wanting to get the whole night over with. My flat was calling to me, with its nice deep tub and particularly warm bed and I was getting tired and disgruntle enough to slice my way through London if this turned out to be some weird joke. But stepping into the foyer and heading for the room the possible client had given me, I feel the tingle of my mad killer senses going off.

Why did Fujimiya have to right this time?

The first shot fired hit me right below the belt near my kidney and pushed its way through my small intestines out the front of my shirt. I felt only a dull pressure from the bullet and did not even stop walking down the hall. The next two bullets hit me higher up in the back. I let their momentum push me into the wall and slumped there, waiting until I heard footsteps getting closer. Judging the idiots were close enough, I pushed off the wall and onto the nearest body. He grunted, staggering back and I took the moment to yank out my second best knife and plunged it into his groin slicing up. I brought my foot down, twisted my hip and pushed him into his buddy, yanking my blade free with a laugh.

I was hit with several bullets from behind – machine gun, semi-automatic and military issued I automatically guessed – and staggered from the impact. That gave the one in front of me time to push his bleeding friend to the floor and shot me dead center in the forehead with his .375, which laid me flat out on the floor like a broken doll.

I hated head wounds. They were the only things that I could really feel. And they bleed. A lot.

My fingers twitched and I felt the thuds of more bullets hit my chest. There were people cursing around me, Londoner voices with the added edge of being used to killing. Someone was moaning and I felt my lips curl in what was probably a very scary display to those around me. I blinked slowly, the feeling returning to my body as my system forced out the bullets and rebuilt the damaged tissues lightening fast. There was a muted conversation overhead so none noticed my lax grip tightening on my blade until it was too late.

I downed two assailants by hamstringing them and twisted onto my feet. I kicked out, sending one hamstrung person into the wall then brought my knife around slamming it home into an eye socket. I left it there as a pulled out another knife, already body slamming my next opponent with a laugh. Someone tried to put a dent in my skull with a gun butt. I stabbed that person with a backhanded motion and slammed the palm of my free hand into the exposed throat of the person in front of me. More gunfire, but coming away from me, which probably meant I was no longer the only annoyed assassin in the house. I yanked my blades free of the bodies and paused a moment to wipe them clean on someone’s coat.

The moment did not last. There was some hoarse shouting and the click of guns being cocked. I grabbed the nearest body – still breathing despite the rather large dent in his chest – and tossed it in the direction of the sounds. There was muffled swearing and I charged the knot of people, ignoring the dull thuds of bullets as they hit. Laughing, I sliced into a couple of arms, ramming my shoulder against another body and bringing both knives back to gut him. I turned, slamming one blade into an ear and snapping my own head forward to crack against someone else’s skull. Yanking my knives free, I buried both into the person’s chest, feeling the grating of bone against steel as I jerked them out. The tight knot of people collapsed over their wounds and I licked the blood from my lips.

The sounds of fighting were coming from the upstairs. I tilted my head and looked at the people I had already polished off, noting that they were all of the rough and tough variety. They were hired muscle most likely, which meant that the main force was upstairs where the action was taking place. So whoever set this trap did not figure I was as tough as my reputation would have claimed me as being. I really had to shake my head at the stupidity of mankind. Honestly, there was a reason why Este spent all those years tracking me down when I left home and it wasn’t for my stunning personality.

I started opening doors, keeping an ear out for the sounds of the fighting. The rooms were mostly empty of furniture outside folding chairs and empty bottles. One room had a gin game in progress and I spent a few moments turning over all the cards to see who had the best hand. Above my head, there were some guttural screams and the sound of bodies hitting the floor hard. I had to snort as I turned up seven aces out of the four hands and then picked up a bottle of nearly full whiskey. I took a sniff and wrinkled my nose at the acid scent before going back into the hallway and searching the bodies. I found a lighter on one and proceeded to rip another’s shirt into strips and soaked it in the alcohol. Stuffing the soaked rags into the bottle, I paused for a moment, listening as the fighting grew more intense and footsteps sounded like a stampede heading for the stairs.

The four people running down the stairs was not anyone I knew from either seeing at the flower shop or from my memories of Weiss. I lit the rag and watched them as two turned their guns towards me while two more fired off a few shots up the stairs. They could hold off Weiss if they had enough bullets, but that would only work if Weiss decided to play by the rules and not use windows to go outside and hit them from behind. But I wasn’t even going to give them that chance. The moment they tried firing on me, I tossed the makeshift bomb right at them.

A few minutes later, a rather disgruntle redhead was stepping over the burning pile, a bloody sword in his hands. He wore a mask over his features, something I never seen Weiss do in their native lands. It was a bit funny looking and I couldn’t hold back a snicker as I removed a bit of glass from my hand. His purple eyes narrowed for a moment before he yanked it off and waved his hand over the mess in the hall.

“You’re slowing down.”

“I was playing,” I replied and raised an eyebrow. “What of you? It isn’t like your group to let some bottleneck your team like that.”

He sighed and closed his eyes. “Different people, different tactics.”

“You’re not Weiss?” I raised both eyebrows and shook my head slowly. “Takatori is an arse.”

His eyes snapped opened and he jabbed his sword at me. I caught it between my hands and stuck my tongue out at him. He glared more and I let the sword go, pushing him back on his heels.

“Bombay was a honest man but he’s Takatori now. We both know this and we both know that he chose to become that. He let Bombay go after the Academy. So now he is an arse.”

Fujimiya continued to glare at me his sword dropping to his side, his body tense. I could hear other voices, the lively baritone of the clawed Siberian and a couple that I did not recognize right away. I took a closer step, lowering my voice.

“Weiss was the best team Takatori could have asked for. Just give you a cause to fight for and morals to defend and you jumped through hoops. Kritiker ran through the maze like good little rats just like Este all the way to their mutual destruction. So here we are, no long Weiss and Schwarz, just Fujimiya and Farfarello. So, what is going to be the next move, Fujimiya? Who is going to tip over their king?”

His eyes bore into mine and without warning his free hand had grabbed onto my hair and he was kissing me. The taste was slightly different from when we on that boat a year or more ago – the salt of seawater exchanged for the polluted rainwater we were under a half hour ago. But everything was just the same – the heat, the anger, the struggle. He pushed me away before I could pull him closer, glared and jerked his chin towards the front door.

“You talk too much, Farfarello. Get out before Ken decides to kill you for annoying him.”

I licked my lips and smirked. “That doesn’t scare me.”

“No, but maybe I do not feel like bandaging you up later on.”

I eyed him again wondering if he had finally snapped. “Is that a promise?”

He turned his back on me, bending to wipe his blade clean before sliding it into its sheath. “Take as you will.”

I laughed, gave him one last look and left. I never even questioned if he knew where I lived. Fujimiya was trained to find people. He could easily find me. After all, I was not hiding.