Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Demon Angelic- rewrite ❯ Chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: I don't own the men of Schwarz or Weiss and will make absolutely no profit off of the events that take place within the framework of this story. All recognizable characters belong to their creators and FunAnimation.

 

+Chapter Two+

 

I woke up feeling oddly rested, that is, until I took in my surroundings. I had been dimly holding onto the idea that this had all been a nightmare that would be shed on my rise to wakefulness. I was sadly mistaken.

 

The sun drenched room was nauseatingly bright due to its total lack of color. The walls, the carpet, the bed clothes were all hard, unyielding white. What do these guys have against colors anyway, I wondered as I slid from the bed and padded across the carpet. I found the small bathroom to be adequately stocked with single use shampoo and conditioner and a few bars of unscented hotel size soaps. I had to give them this; at least they were cautious and consistent. And again, not even a mirror. I decided to forego the shower since I had no clothes save the ones on my back. My mission clothes had no doubt been burned. Not a loss really since they were near to unsalvageable. I had no idea what had become of my weapons after I lost consciousness in the warehouse. I had been holding my sword as I dangled from the skylight, afraid I might land on it if I were to fall. It was my favorite--nothing to be done about it now though. The bugnuks had been expensive, but they were replaced easily enough. I sighed, dipping my hands into the stream of cold water running into the sink and splashed it onto my face.

 

I needed a plan, but what could I do? The bastard had been right last night. I had no where left to go. I was dead to the world after all. As much as I didn't relish the thought of serving the ill-conceived ideals of a cryptic religious cult and working with a bunch of psychotic superhuman killers, I had to admit my options had been burned down to nothing. I'm screwed, I realized.

 

Cutting the water off, I sat down on the closed toilet lid and contemplated the merit of crying. I quickly discarded the idea. I hadn't cried in a long time, I'm not even sure I really remember how. There is no escape,… if Eszet has telepaths like Schuldig, they can find me where ever I go. I hated the killing I did for the Yakuza, but at least I knew my victims were evil men, just like those I served. Semantics are a small comfort, but sometimes the only one I have to cling to. Besides, when the targets were not rotten to the marrow, there were ways around killing. I had once let the wife and children of a corrupt usurer go unharmed after eliminating my target even though the organization had a strict “no witness” policy. I had been severely beaten for my failure to comply with orders and the family had died in a car `accident' shortly thereafter. I had been upset that I couldn't save them… but at least I had the opportunity to try. With the power that the telepath had, I wasn't even sure refusal of any sort would be an option.

 

The moment of introspection was shattered as I heard the bolt on my door being thrown and the quiet whoosh of wood on carpet as it was pushed in. I was in no hurry to greet another member of the household, so I took a few moments to get my head together. When I did finally leave the haven of the bathroom, I discovered the telekinetic, Nagi, sitting on the edge of my unmade bed. “Ohayou gozaimasu,” he intoned, his expression measured, but not unkind.

 

“What do you want?” I was not in a mood to be tactful or indulgent.

 

“Crawford-san sent me to fetch you to breakfast. I was hoping to talk to you before we go though. If you don't mind, that is…” His voice had tightened a little, perhaps due to my rudeness.

 

“What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” I had decided on a position close to the still opened door in case I felt the need to escape the situation. True escape was impossible, but at least the illusion was somewhat comforting. I leaned against the wall as nonchalantly as possible, considering the impressive array of bruises that seemed to have materialized on my shoulders and upper back overnight.

 

“We were never formally introduced. My name is Nagi.”

 

I wasn't sure how cozy I should get with my captors, but I had been raised properly. “I'm …. was Shimazu Kayia.” I had forgotten that my untimely death had stripped me of my name, on top of any chance I may have had at a life of my own choosing.

 

“Have you given any thought to what you wish to be called now?” It seemed an odd question, but appropriate considering the circumstances. He had leaned forward on the bed, peering at me curiously. I suddenly felt like a caged animal at a bizarre.

 

“I haven't thought about it…”

 

“Might I make a suggestion?”

 

This was just getting too weird. I nodded mutely.

 

“Hikari is a fairly common name, forgettable even.”

 

It's not like it matters what they call me. It wouldn't change who I was. I stared at him, unmoved.

 

“The kanji means `light'. It may help you to keep a sense of yourself.”

 

I nearly let a scowl creep onto my face at that. I wondered then if Schuldig was the only telepath among them. I continued to regard him mutely, taking in the carefully pleasant expression he wore.

 

“Crawford-san's orders were to bring you downstairs, so if you wouldn't mind me escorting you…” He rose from the bed in one graceful movement and extended the crook of his arm in my direction.

 

“If you don't mind, I'm not much for being touched.” I doubt he would understand… nor did I want him to. He was one of my captors after all despite any prettying up of the situation.

 

“My apologies…” he looked at a loss for a moment, before a more serious expression forced his mouth into a thin, tight line. “Just so you are aware, Schuldig is not as accommodating when it comes to people's preference.”

 

“Is that supposed to scare me?”

 

“No. Now please hurry. You don't want to get me in trouble, do you?” His voice was barely above a whisper as he cast a parting glance over his shoulder, moving off toward the staircase.

 

Nagi seems relatively normal, odd ability or no. But it's best not to jump to conclusions, I reminded myself as I descended the stairs and headed toward the rustling sound of a paper being folded and the scraping of a chair across hardwood. The scene I walked into could have been a twisted, pop culture rendering of a Norman Rockwell print. Crawford sat at the head of the table, sipping coffee and reading a copy of the Wall Street Journal that had to be imported at an inflated rate, while to his right in front of a draped picture window the kage perched precariously on the edge of his chair, skewering sausage links with one of his many knives. The sword snatcher, Schuldig, sat across from him, nibbling blithely on a piece of toast and staring at me as though I had just sashayed out of the folds of an erotic magazine. My stomach turned at the sight.

 

The scraping noise I had heard earlier was Nagi reseating himself beside the leering red-head. “You can come sit by me,” Nagi offered softly, drawing my attention away from the brazen German. I crossed the kitchen, giving Schuldig a wide berth and sat gingerly on the edge of the chair that had moved itself back from the table for me. Of the occupants of the room, the brunette boy seemed the least threatening.

 

Moments later, the table head lowered his paper and cleared his throat.

 

I didn't waste time letting him speak. I wasn't interested in anything he had to say. “I still have not accepted your proposition, nor do I intend to…” I met his self-possessed gaze with steely resolve.

 

“I have accepted on your behalf.”

 

“Who are you to accept anything for me?” I growled in wide-eyed disbelief.

 

“As of eight a.m. this morning, I am your legal guardian, Uotani Hikari.”

 

I shot Nagi a sullen glare, before returning the brunt of my loathing to Crawford. “You may, of course, choose how we will refer to you.”

 

“I will not….”

 

At my raised voice, the man slammed his paper down, making the dishes jump crazily. “You will do as you are told. Eszet owns you.”

 

His voice was the coldest, clearest thing I had ever heard in my life, and I hated him instantly. Seeing red, I leapt from my chair and snatched the closest sharp object I could get hands on, Nagi's still occupied fork, and launched myself across the table at the unfazed man. My vision blurred out as my body slammed into the hardwood floor just behind and to the side of Crawford's still seated form. Willing myself to focus, my eyes zoned in on a grinning Farfarello and a slightly startled Nagi. Schuldig's weight was draped solicitously across my lower body, keeping me pinned to the floor. I miss my weapons. Wonder if I could convince these maniacs to return them peaceably?

 

“If you insist on continuing these idiotic antics, I will allow Schuldig to escort you to your room and keep you company for several- long hours. He seems to be very fond of you already.”

 

The predatory gleam in the glacial green eyes made my decision rather easy. I let the fork fall to the floor and remained perfectly still, ignoring the lingering weight of his lanky frame over my thighs. The man let out a derisive squeak as he was lifted none-too-gently from my prone form by Nagi's telekinesis. “Nagikins, you are absolutely no fun…!” The boy dropped the German on his face less than a foot away from me, but it was enough room to up my comfort level by 110%.

 

“Arigato,” I offered weakly, as the young man scrambled out of his seat to pull me to my feet and retrieve his discarded fork.

 

“My pleasure, Hikari-chan.” The name sounded strange.

 

“Time to go.” Nothing seemed to truly faze Crawford. Again I noticed he was dressed in the familiar linen suit, while the others were arrayed in various forms of causal dress. Nagi, my rescuer was dressed in a pair of charcoal cargo pants and a loose black t-shirt with gray piping. Farfarello was again in his monochrome black: leather pants, motorcycle boots and a mesh shirt that revealed an impressive set of abs. Schuldig on the other hand was an explosion of loud colors; his button down shirt was a solid red stitched through with metallic blue thread to make it shimmer when the light struck it just right, his pants were a pure, starched white and the bandana used to tie his coppery mop back was a splash work combination of reds, blues, teals, purples and oranges. Thankfully, I hadn't noticed his outfit until after I had a few shocks behind me; I might have been scarred for life otherwise.

 

“Why do you expect I'll just cooperate?”

 

“You're out of options, I'd say,” Schuldig smirked up at me. “Nagi could crush your heart with a thought, and I'd have no trouble reducing you to a vegetable before you even realized you had decided to act.”

 

I didn't dare disbelieve him. I remembered the agony of his influence in my head, how crippled I had become and then being forced into unconsciousness against my will. The widening of his smirk let me know that he had no need to read my mind to know what I was considering.

 

 

The peacock finally hoisted himself from the floor as Crawford bustled off to put his breakfast dishes in the sink and retrieve his keys from a hook near the inner door leading to the garage. He didn't wait for us to follow, just strode to the car punching the door code in as he passed. Farfarello, Schuldig, Nagi and I slowly trickled out the door and into our chosen places in the car. Nagi had claimed the center seat in the rear affording me some cover from Schu while Farfarello assumed shotgun. The ride was blessedly short, but I could have cut the tension with my blade had it been handy. A thought occurred to me; I peered over the seat to make sure my blade wielding escort was temporarily unarmed. He seemed docile enough, but after the manic gleam I had seen in his eye upon our initial meeting I was far from at ease. Luckily, one of my other companions had seen fit to divest him of deadly embellishments. I had a sinking suspicion that he didn't really need them.

 

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Being a Wednesday afternoon, the mall was crowded. The three stories of shoppers' nirvana really brought on an unbidden case of anxiety. It had been seven years since I had been allowed into a place like this… the noise of the crowd jewed at my nerves. To help speed up the collection process, Crawford and his eye-soring German sidekick elected to acquire mundane items such as toiletries and everyday essentials while the two younger males and I went in search of replacements for my wardrobe. A parting gift from the German was a raging headache, his reminder that should I get any bright ideas, not only would he know, he would drop me where I stood.

Nagi led us to his favorite store, HOT TOPIC, and wandered into the ladies' section calling out greetings to clerks that, I presume, he knew from past patronage. It didn't take me long to find what I needed in my size.

Farfarello, I noticed, wandered about the store aimlessly until he came to the novelty shirt wall. A black shirt that stated simply “Don't annoy the unmedicated person” seemed to catch his eye. Nagi helped him find the shirt in his size before taking our purchases to the register. While standing there, I realized we had one more important stop to make before we could track down Crawford and the human peacock. After Nagi's blushing episode in the bathroom, I wasn't too sure he was up for a trip through the lingerie shop I had seen a few storefronts down, and I was pretty sure our thankfully, well-medicated sentinel would rather gargle crushed glass than be drug beyond the threshold. However, essentials are essential.

“Ummm, I need to ….” Two inquisitive and one slightly annoyed eye regarded me calmly. “I need to go buy …” the sudden red flush creeping up my youngest companion's neck stopped me from elaborating.

“Well, Crawford-san said we had to be your constant companions, so I guess that means we go too. Right, Farf?”

The Irishman refused to comment, just headed toward the direction of the shop in question.

 

“When we get in there, exactly how close do you have to follow me?” It was my turn to blush a little. Buying intimate apparel with a lover would be one thing, but I wasn't even sure these two could be considered amiable yet. They were under orders to maim me if I tried to bolt after all.

“I suppose…”

“Forget I asked, okay?”

The shop loomed up before us and Nagi balked. One look at the window display was all the deterrent he seemed to need. Farfarello and I left him leaning against a giant potted plant and ventured into the air condition atmosphere of the store. I found what I needed as quickly as possible… my companion was drawing a lot of attention. People seemed to steer clear of him if at all possible, but they weren't shy about looking. It was no wonder really with his bevy of scars and provocative clothes.

 

The clerk at the counter smiled demurely at me while scanning my purchases and wrapping my plain cotton underthings in the extravagantly scented tissue paper that made my Schuldig induced headache worse. The young woman chatted gamely while, pointedly ignoring my companion's presence, until he snagged my bag out of her hand and strode quickly from the store. His retreating back rated a level six Shi-ne glare as she handed me change. I accepted the money with an `Arigato' and ambled out of the maze of nearly naked mannequins and into the mall proper.

I found my escorts waiting just outside the entrance to the boutique weighted down with several slick black bags and one garishly bright fuchsia. They regarded me with varied degrees of interest that were better reserved for a program on discovery channel, and I was sorely tempted to retrieve my new panty stash from them. I let it go however when I spotted a washroom four doors down. Without preamble, I turned on a heel and started threading my way through the sluggish crowd. It's odd to think that as bloody as I am, that I can pass through this sea of innocent, oblivion without tainting it. Alas, I have little time to marvel at life's wonders before I am flanked again.

 

“Where are you going?” Nagi inquired softly, his blank expression a precursor to the invisible tendril that wraps my right ankle.

 

“Toilet. Plan on joining me?” I challenged, making a b-line for the cheap, white door. The little plaque displayed a single icon, clearly wearing a dress.

 

The two males exchanged a glance before backing away with Farfarello's warning a quiet snarl for our ears alone. “Three minutes. After tha' Ah'm retrieving ya.”

 

Exhaling a sigh of relief, I shove through the door into the sterile whiteness of the washroom, feeling the invisible grip fall away. Moving quickly into the last stall, I jerked the gaudy neon green shirt I had off, sending buttons ricocheting off the walls. The shirt, an unobtrusive black knit halter, I had stolen from Hot Topic replaced it. I tried not to think of what I was doing. Maybe if I distracted the German telepath, I could buy myself time. I thought of mundane things, observations I had made while crawling the mall today. A child with his mother, a blood-red balloon trailing after them as they strolled… I stood on the toilet, shoving aside a ceiling panel. A young couple leaned across a table in the food court, devouring each other, heedless of the envious glare of an elderly man at the next table over… I sprung, gripping the metal struts and pulling myself into the darkness above, replacing the panel and tossing the remains of my other shirt off into dead space.

 

I began to crawl, mind skipping from one innocuous moment to the next. My time had to be nearly up. If the German didn't know to scan for me yet, he would very soon. I headed in a straight line, hand walking my way across the panels, listening for signs of activity. A clothing shop, an empty storefront, a bakery and then the boutique we had just visited. I breathed shallowly, trying not to inhale the fine layer of dust being stirred by my passage. My knees hurt as they scraped over the struts holding the ceiling together, but I replaced the sensation with complaints of my various bruises. I dare not dwell on any one thing too long.

 

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