Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Demon Angelic- rewrite ❯ Chapter 8 ( Chapter 8 )

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

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 8+

The first rays of dawn speared through the thin shields of my eyelids, inciting a riot of oppressed neurons at each temple. The only hangover I ever had paled in comparison to the jeering rampage that made my eyes throb in time with the pulsating veins in my brow. I wasn't sure sleep was worth the annoyance; especially when I still didn't feel rested.

The clock by my bed informed me that it was six thirty. Nagi had school in an hour and a half and, it being Tuesday, I was to go with Crawford to guard Takatori's worthless hide. Throwing back the blankets, I stumbled from bed only to stop a stride later to wait for my head to quit spinning. I don't know exactly what Schu did to me, but if he ever does it again I am going to kill him, I promised myself. When the tilt-a-whirl perspective ceased its revolutions, I took an experimental step toward the bathroom. As long as I took small steps, the room restrained itself to creeping vacillations.

The door gave me a little trouble, I hadn't remembered closing it last night, but I guess I was just overtired. I began to sober up a bit as the coolness of the tile soaked into the soles of my feet, sending a chill up my legs. Flipping on the overhead light, I leaned back against the door's solidity to scrub the sand from my sleep-swollen eyes. I had no memory of dreaming after my visit from Schuldig, yet I woke with the strangest feeling that the creature from my nightmares had been nearer to catching me than ever before. I still had no inkling as to its true form or face, but the notion that my escape had been the apparition's whim plagued me through the dulling throb of my headache.

A hoarse squeaking permeated my thoughts, and I looked around for the source of the sound. It was coming from the toilet? I padded across the small distance and nearly tripped when a tiny blue paw lashed out at me from the practically non-existent space between lid and seat.

“What the hell?” I clambered into the safety of the tub and threw the lid open. A very wet, very angry blue furball streaked from the bowl and skittered to a rebounding halt in front of the bathroom door. She looked like a periwinkle blue porcupine with her water-sculpted spikes. “Asha?” The poor little thing's chest was heaving as she dug frantically at the bottom of the obstacle blocking her escape, claws raking criss-crossing furrows in the wooden panel.

I climbed out of the bath and sank to the floor, cursing Schu as I watched the tile and ceiling trade places in nauseating repetition. I shut my eyes, took a deep breath and waited for the feeling to pass, all the while soothing the frightened kitten. “It's okay girl… Asha, I'm here, it's going to be okay now.” It was most likely my fault. I must have shut her in the bathroom last night getting ready for bed. Silly thing probably got too brave exploring and fell in.

I cracked one eye and was glad to see that the room was stationary again. Taking my time, I slid over to the now pacing feline and patted the floor beside me, waiting patiently for her to acknowledge the gesture. After a few more minutes her croaking cries and infuriated pacing ceased, and she butted her relatively dry skull against my inner forearm.

I scooped Asha onto my lap and rubbed her sopping back with long, steady strokes. I could feel her heart thudding double-time against her spine; marching out the rhythm of her subsiding terror. Bright amber eyes stared into mine as I fingered the dry patch of fur between her velvety ears, faith shone there.

It was strange to know that she trusted me completely, that my touch could alleviate her fear. My sister had looked at me like that when she was alive, and I had betrayed her trust--I deserved to be caught by that thing from my dreams. I huffed a dejected sigh, forcefully knocking the back of my head against the wall to watch a cascade of rainbow sparkles dance against the insides of my eyelids. The dreams were getting more and more vivid, harder to leave behind just like I feared. I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth, forcing calming breaths through my nose to quench the liquid heat of worthless tears. The tang of coppery salt on my tongue and the impatient digging of the ginger kitten's back claws wrenched my eyelids opened.
I plucked Asha from my lap with undue gentleness considering the spurring I had just received and used the wall as a support to make my feet.

Thankfully the ache in my brain had died back down and did not flare up again as I made my way to the mirror that now hung over the sink. It was made out of some unshatterable, reflective plastic. Crawford had it installed the same time that the door Nagi had ripped off the hinges was being framed. His one concession to my femininity; I snorted at the very idea. I knew what I looked like well enough; what the hell did I need to torture myself for?
The girl reflected back at me was sleep rumpled, hair hanging in a mangled braid, puffy flesh beneath the eyes, cheeks flushed, lips caked with rust colored smudges. Had I bitten my lip? It didn't feel sore… I turned on the water and bent to wash, paying meticulous attention to my mouth. After a thorough scrubbing, I cut the faucet off and pressed into the mirror to inspect my lips. No broken flesh, not even chapped… Hnnn, very interesting.

The soggy rub of wet fur demanded my attention as the discarded kitten mewled hoarsely at my ankles. She was really going to hate me, but I couldn't let her go around with disinfectant soaking into her skin. She was probably going to feel bad enough later as it was, without letting her absorb any more toxins. I shucked my flimsy night clothes before I knelt down, petting the blue creature with one hand, while I dug under the sink for a clean towel. I had done all the wash yesterday, or I would have used a dirty one to wrap her tiny body in. Asha cocked her head, regarding me with trusting curiosity, until I turned on the shower—the great betrayal. Then, it was every woman for herself…

I coddled the kitten to me despite the chorus of feral hissing and throat rolling growls that warned me to run screaming for mercy. She clawed impotently at the bunched fabric of the towel, fighting to free herself, to no avail. I pitied her efforts, but admired her for her persistence. It took two latherings with unscented soap to wash most of the dye from her pale golden coat and coax the nose-curling stench of ammonia-based cleaner from her tender hide. When she was finally clean and near to exhaustion, I stepped out of the driving spray of the showerhead, pushed aside the curtain and lowered her to the floor. Asha lay huddled and panting in the soggy folds of the towel, staring up at me with somber gaze.

“Sorry, girl, it couldn't be helped…” I whispered placatingly as I withdrew into the steamy atmosphere of the shower.

The heat of the spray made my flesh tingle as I laved the lavender soap over my skin. The scent was so relaxing, unlike the rest of my surroundings. I hated the idea that Schuldig felt free to wander into my room at his leisure and rifle through my mind like he owned the place. Sure, he was privy to some of my memories, but that didn't give him joint ownership of my subconscious, and it sure as hell wasn't an open invitation into my quarters. The whole shower bit was not cutting it this morning. The longer I stayed under the pounding spray, the angrier I became at Schuldig for the receding headache, Farfarello for his fickle lunacy and Crawford for his oppressive restrictions. Nagi was still in the clear; at least someone had avoided being added to my shit list this morning.

I abandoned the loofah when I realized I was rubbing my forearms raw. Guess it's not smart to drive or bathe when you're really upset, neh? I shook my head at myself in disgust; I was letting them get to me. Slowly, but surely they were wearing me down and I was just watching it happen. Calliou would be disappointed in me; she never let anyone push her around--not even Kazama Hisoka, the Teniawai Klan head. That's part of why she died so young, I reminded myself, going through the motions of washing my hair. She had refused to give me over to the Yakuza per his orders, held the messenger at gunpoint and forced him from our home. She had signed her own death warrant to preserve the autonomy of my soul… I wasn't worth it.
As soon as the water ran clear of suds, I wrenched the knobs to off, slid the curtain aside and stepped onto the chilly tiles to leave a trail of quivering puddles in my trek to the sink for two more towels. I dried myself with one, wrapping it securely around me and then used the other cloth to swaddle the damp kitten in, rubbing her little body vehemently. I felt sick and sad and pissed in equal measure. Asha could tell I think because she was trying desperately to squirm out of my grip.

When I opened the door to carry her into the bedroom, she wiggled free and hopped to the floor, seeking refuge under my bed. I decided to let her be, I hadn't realized that I had been in there for almost an hour. Pretty soon somebody would be pounding on the door demanding I present myself before our glorious leader—the tyrannical prick! I ripped my closet doors open and rooted through my growing assortment of clothes. Despite it being October, it was unseasonably hot, so I decided on a pair of black, linen capris and a white, button-down halter that buckled above my naval. Not suitable for work according to Crawford but I can only please one person a day, and it isn't his day.

Angry chick music was in order. I stocked over to my desk and cut on the Discman that Nagi had rigged with some left over speakers from his computer. It wasn't much of a system, but it gave me something to survive on. I let my towel drop as the first thrumming chords of Christina Vidal's “Take Me Away” pumped into the room at full volume. If the headache came back, I would just deal, I decided as I sang along with the lead, reveling in the gravely timber of her voice as the tiny speakers belted the lyrics in English.

Yeah, yeahhhhh Yeah, yeahhhhh
Get up, Get out
We're number one there's no doubt
I'm all wrong, you're right
It's all the same with you

Vidal apparently had experience with someone like Brad Crawford. I dug a pair of black thongs out of the basket in the floor of my closet and slipped them on.

I'm too fit, too fat
You ask why
So why,
So why,
So why,
So why

Yep, that was the question of a lifetime wasn't it. Why?? So many whys and not enough answers. I snapped the capris off the hangar and stepped into them, dragging them up nimble legs onto narrow hips.

On and on,
And on and on,
On and on,
And on and on,

The beat of the drum raced into a rapid fire pounding of base, thrash of symbols, the guitar wailing in accompaniment. My body began to sway to the pulsing gait of the song; I was willing to abandon myself to the music if it would take me away from the mounting disillusionment of life for just a moment.

Don't want to grow up
I want to get out
Hey, take me away
I want to shout out
Take me away,
Away,
Away,
Away,
Away,
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Hikari's accented voice rang out in time with the braying American singer's, soaring over the flagging drums and electric stuttering of the guitar. At least Farfarello hadn't cut her throat last night that much was for certain. She had apparently not noticed that anything was amiss yet. Wonder how long that will last?

Round and round here we go again
Same old start, same old end
Turn my head
And turn back again
Same old stuff never ends

At least the annoying bimbo had gotten that part right in her lyrics. Same old shit, different day. He turned the knob and eased the door open, sticking his head through the widening crack. What he saw caused the intended “Ohayo!” to die on his lips. Hikari was standing in front of her closet, hips swaying in time with the beat as she hooked the clasp of a satiny black bra over top of her spine.

Do this, do that
Can't deal Can't deal with that

Pale hands accomplished their task with practiced grace before darting into the mass of damp tresses at the nape of her neck. Fingers raked matted waves above her breasts, breaking free at the tips to rocket skyward.

I tune in, tune out
I've heard it all before

Hands throttled the air as shoulders dipped and bounced to the determined rhythm, each motion rippling the muscles of her back, drawing his eyes downward. Across the small of her spine, about the width of a grown woman's splayed hand, perched one of the most realistic tattoos Nagi had ever laid eyes on. A fan formed of glinting katanas undulated seductively along with the measured pull of every muscle and tendon. The tip of each blade was made to appear as if it were pricking her skin, crimson offerings forever stained them bloody. The length of each sword was engraved with a kanji repeated from tip to guard in blazing lapis. Loyalty (chujitsu), Life (inochi), Spirit (kokoro), Truth (shinjitsusei), and Death (shi) writhed before him on the living canvas.

The image was skillfully rendered, using multiple shades of the same hue to give the appearance of light and refraction of light off the surface of the blades and droplets of blood. Whoever had done this had taken great care to capture the turmoil of her soul. The same qualities that defined the blade dancer, worked to destroy the girl she yearned to be.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The mind searing guitar solo had me curling my palms through the air, elbows even with my chin as I dipped and swayed my upper body to the sound. The mish-mash of emotions I had awoken to was eking away with each head bob and vindictive furl of arm.

Don't want to grow up
I want to get out
Hey, take me away
I want to shout out
Take me away,
Away,
Away,
Away,
Away,

I closed my eyes tightly, and let my feet take up the dance; miniscule, sashaying steps that mimicked the sway of my hips. Not satisfied with writhing in place, I started a lazy revolution out of synch with the music.

Don't want to grow up
Didn't have a choice…

I want to get out

But I can't…

Hey, take me away
My greatest wish…

I want to shout out
I want to break free…

Take me away,
Away,
Away,
Away,
Away,
To be wholly me, not what someone else demands I be. But…

Round and round here we go again
Same old story, same old end
Turn my head
And turn back again
Same old shit never ends

Why couldn't the pain go away? Just once, just for a while? I lowered my arms to hug myself loosely. So much for feeling better. I opened my eyes to find Nagi staring at me from the doorway. I suspected he had been observing for sometime, as an incriminating blush crept from collar to hairline. Stupid ass didn't even have the sense to sneak away while I was still oblivious to his presence.

Lacing my arms protectively over my chest, I skinned him with the most scathing shi-ne glare in my arsenal. The boy had just added himself to the list and this was the last straw. I had been complacent and forgiving up to now, but my basic freedoms were being trounced upon.

“What the hell do you think you're doing, you pervert?” Yelling wasn't usually my thing, but it felt good and the fact that Nagi actually flinched brought my righteous indignation swelling to the fore.

Bright blue eyes zeroed in on my face as his throat worked visibly, lips flapping in hopes of fabricating an answer.

I wasn't in the mood to be patient or field the possible bullshit that would plop from his lips. “Out! Now!”

He stared at me stupidly.

So, I marched over and shoved him out hard enough to send him stumbling into Farfarello's door and slammed mine on his stuttering protest.

Asha was watching me from her haven beneath the bed, slitted eyes glittering out of the dimness. I crossed to her and knelt, snaking my hand underneath the frame to scratch her ears. It wasn't her fault that I had to deal with living in a house full of overbearing, control-hungry males with god-complexes. She shied away from my touch; her backpedaling rush sent something skittering out from the side of the bed. I crawled around on hands and knees to see what it was.

Lying on the carpet was a throwing stave that most definitely did not belong to me. That son of a bitch had been lurking around in my room! I snatched the blade up, scouring the surface for … blood. Not only had he invaded my space, he had touched me with this. Protect me my ass! Farfarello had better protect himself…

I whirled to my feet aimed at jerking my shirt from the closet, when I noticed that my sword was resting with the hilt pointed east, away from the “first purifying rays” of the sun. I was shaking when I gripped the leather wrapped handle; the sheath was smudged with oil. I drew the blade with more effort than should have been necessary. The steel was crusted with splotches of thick, white film.

Fuck the shirt…

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Nagi stumbled into the kitchen in a daze, taking his seat beside Schuldig who looked at him as if he were doing something hellaciously amusing. Maybe it's the fact that I'm blushing like a virgin… or maybe he's just enjoying the instant replay, the battered boy grimaced as he bumped up his mental shields. It was an honest mistake; she doesn't have to be such a bitch about it.

Farfarello was perched on the edge of his chair, herding cereal around in his bowl with a spoon. “Ya look like ya saw a ghost, boy,” he commented quietly, rocking forward to scrutinize the uniform sporting telekinetic.

“Just Hi... Hikari,” Nagi stuttered, snatching his juice glass from the table to take a calming swig. The image of the tattoo swaying before him forced the apple juice down the wrong, tube resulting in a wracking cough.

“Caught her naked didn't you, Naggles.” Schuldig swatted him across the shoulders with a resounding whump.

Seconds later, the good Samaritan was rewarded with a breath-stealing gut shot from an invisible fist. Yep, he had caught her all right, and he had a sinking feeling they were all about to catch hell…

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Crawford lowered his paper long enough to shove his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and get a sip of coffee. The caffeine would give him the necessary stamina to withstand the suffocating atmosphere of teenage hormones. Farfarello was the only benign entity in the entire house and that was saying something.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Farfarello watched on, regarding the pair with bored indifference. They would squabble all morning if Crawford allowed it. Same old inane bullshit…

He settled back into his chair to wait; she would show eventually. Her cowed expression would be a befitting change of pace. By now she would have made her discoveries and gotten the message. Back off or die. The sound of a door slamming upstairs brought a malevolent curl to his lips.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I charged down the stairs taking them two and three at a time, never realized I had been in the living room and stormed into the kitchen with a vengeance. Crawford shot me a questioning glare and started to open his mouth. I shut it by tossing my unsheathed Kodachi to the table, sending dishes and food flying through the air and Schuldig, who happened to be closest to me, leaping from his chair in hopes of saving his white suit from being stained. Nagi was frozen in place, eyes wide, while Farfarello straddled the corner of his chair, grinning eerily and fingering his spoon.

“I got a few things to get clear with all of you right now! First off,” I turned to fix Schuldig with an icy glare, pushing my voice down to a growling purr, “you stay the fuck out of my head, German.”

“I was just trying to help…”

“Fuck off!”

He had the nerve to look remised, but otherwise kept his mouth shut.

Nagi paled considerably when I aimed my rage in his direction.

“And you had better learn to knock, you little creep, or you might just lose an eye that way.”

Farfarello's grin was losing some of its malignant luster. He obviously didn't appreciate me threatening Nagi-- tough shit.

“And you,” I placed my hands on the table and leaned in to hiss at the glaring gargoyle, reassured by the weight of the bugnuks I had strapped to my forearms prior to completely flying off the handle, “had better stay the hell out of my room!!”

That must have peaked Crawford's interest because he stiffened behind The Wall Street Journal.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

He had warned the boy about being in her room. If Farfarello wanted to play games, he should either find a willing opponent or seek victims farther from home.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Farfarello was non-plused. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, suspending his face between partially clenched fists. “Ah don't know wha' yer talkin' about. Ah was never in yer fuckin' room,” his voice was soft, eyes darting down to steal casual glances at my bra-covered chest. “Muh guess is, it's a case of wishful thinkin',” he finished with a suggestive smirk, boring into my eyes with that singular amber leer.

I had never pegged the Irish for a liar, now I knew better. “Really,” I gave the word an extra lilt when I switched to English so everyone would catch the speculation. Left hand came up to trail down the lace trim on my bra and slip inside to where I had tucked the stave. Farfarello's heightened reflexes were the only things that saved him from losing his dick as I launched the knife into his seat. It stuck with a ku-chunk, metal vibrating with the impact. “Then tell your dopple ganger to pick up after himself.”

If looks alone could kill, I would have gone down in flames. Farfarello yanked the blade from the chair bottom, settling his weight again. I was satisfied to see I had only narrowly missed; a small gash had opened in the groin of his leather pants.

“Another thing,” I brandished the Kodachi, leveling it at his gut, “clean this…”

“Why should I?” his lips were pulled back in an unattractive snarl.

“You jerked off on it,” I swung the blade, slowing it down in time to slap him across the right cheek with the flat of it; “you clean it.”

Nagi, who had relaxed once his turn was “over” and started to salvage his breakfast, choked on his juice, earning him a second round.

“You got something to say?” I popped the middle claw of my right bugnuk out in his general direction.

He leaned away, shaking his head vehemently, only to open his mouth as if he was interested in elaborating.

“Then shut it…”

His teeth made an audible clack. At least he learns fast… unlike some people.

“And,” I stated calmly, bringing my full attention back to the bondage-collar wearing gaijin, “you owe me a towel for Asha.”

He scowled, shredding me with upturned gaze. A tilt of the wrist brought a thin line of dark blood seeping onto the besmirched edge of the sword, Farfarello never batted an eye.

I tilted my head slightly, feigning interest, “Fetid blood ain't my shade, but it suits you,” voice soft. I withdrew, tossing the Kodachi, innocuous side first, into his lap. He stilled it with a touch, leaving it to balance across his thighs. The stave dangled loosely from his right hand, a passive reminder that he was himself dangerous.

Big fucking deal…I turned my back on him, and headed for the doorway.

Crawford was glacial as always, perusing paper as if the entire altercation never happened, “We have a meeting today. Be ready to leave in ten minutes, and I suggest you put on a shirt.”

“I will be down when I'm damn well ready,” my voice was flat, passionless, menacing. “If you send any of these assholes to fetch me, I'll cut their balls off with a vice, pound them flat with a mallet and ship them to Eszet in a pochi box.” The only indication that he heard me was a tightness around the eye I could see in profile. It was enough to put a spring in my step as I strode from the room leaving the table and its occupants in varying degrees of disarray.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Silence was thick in the kitchen after the girl left; the only sound the muted drip of Schuldig's cereal trickling into his vacant seat. Nagi stared down at his milk drenched toast, before pushing it away. Farfarello was still rooted in his chair, glowering at the empty doorway and the red-head was leaned against the island with arms crossed over his slender chest. A door slammed overhead, easing the tension marginally.

“And what did we learn from this whole experience, kiddies?” the German rumbled good-naturedly, staring at Crawford's newsprint screen.

And Eszet has always wondered why their attempts at dual-sex teams fail miserably, the Oracle scoffed behind the cover of his mental shields. He would tell them why if they ever got around to asking him. It all boiled down to hormones. The next time he overthrew a small country, he planned to dump a tanker-truck full of estrogen in the water supply and wait for the population to tear itself apart.

“Never underestimate prey tha' cun bleed for seven days and not die…” the white-haired assassin pushed up from the table, carrying the sword with him.

“Farfarello.” The conflict mounting between the pair was complex and discordant with his intended goals. Obviously neither would back down willingly. So, Crawford folded his paper over, spearing the scarred teen with murky brown eyes. The youth tried to pass by him without pausing, a ligament-grinding clasp pulled him up short. “Back off of the girl; she is of no use to us if we cannot control her.”

The boy stared at him, jaw flexing, wound dripping.

“Understand?”

He made no move to acknowledge.

“Continue to fuck with her and you go back to life on a leash.”

A slanted glance was all the assurance he needed. He allowed Farfarello to continue on his way, blades still in hand. The American ruffled the paper back into shape, and started to scan the stock market stats. He had millions invested in oil and coffee futures. An Oracle was a very profitable thing to be. The clearing of a stress-clenched throat brought his head up. He had forgotten all about Nagi.

“Is there any way that I could… maybe, walk to school today? Or catch a bus?” the adolescent alto queried. “Because, I am seriously not getting in the car with her!”

“Are you requesting or demanding?”

“Ne?”

“I think you would do well to take her advice,” the dark-haired American re-folded his paper with obsessive precision.

“What?” the boy sounded genuinely confused; pupils dilating slightly in his anxiety.

“Your political science teacher claimed you were combative and rude yesterday…” lean, fine-boned fingers rested lightly along the edge of the lacquered surface.

The fifteen-year-old fired an accusing glance at the German man still at ease against the island. Schuldig's expression was deadpan, all playfulness set aside. :: Don't look at me like that. She called.::

“I'm waiting…” Crawford's deep baritone seemed to boom after the breath of silence.

“Hai, Crawford-san,” Nagi lowered his gaze to stare at the slithering puddle of milk that kept advancing across the surface of the table toward him. “I…”

“No excuses.”

“Hai, Crawford-san…” Then what the hell doeshe want?

“Assurance that it will never happen again will suffice for now.”

Sometimes Nagi wondered who the true telepath was as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Normally, Crawford would have drug him onto the table and made a concerted effort to fracture his tailbone by now. What the hell is going on today? Hikari is mental, Farfarello is relatively sane, Schuldig is serious and Crawford is passing on a chance to subjugate one of his subordinates. Hell must have frozen over and I missed the bulletin, the blue-eyed teen surmised.

“Hai, you have my word,” he promised solemnly, searching the saturnine brown of his guardian's gaze. Something's up…

The dark-haired man nodded once, before straightening his solid black tie. “What did you find out about the target?”

Everything would reveal itself in due time, but for now it was business as usual. “The information is restricted; only the senior executives have access. The system is pretty advanced; the access codes are changed daily, the entry points have multiple encryptions. The information we need can only be access from an authorized terminal.”

“So, where's our in?” Schuldig's patent smirk was back on his face as he shoved up from his slouch at the counter and moved to claim Hikari's untouched seat.

“Seibutsu Igaku CEO Cho Jitsuari… thirty-two, single, deviant…”

“Do tell,” the German cooed, cradling his angular chin in one palm.

“He hangs out downtown at a club called Berubetto Chika (Velvet Underground). Anything goes, you'd probably like it,” Nagi pitted the red-head hentai with a smirk of his own, to which the man dipped his head in a half-bow, unperturbed.

“Get to the point,” Crawford warned, rising from his seat to put his empty dishes in the sink.

“Our CEO is into pedophilic encounters of the professional kind.”

“So, Naggles, you suck a little cock, I swipe the codes and we clean house?”

“Same old shit, different day…” he agreed, smirk darkening his cerulean eyes to a midnight sapphire.

“Watch your mouth,” the American chastised, buttoning the crème suit jacket. The prostitute bit was simplistic, but effective. “Friday night then.” If Takatori Hirofumi couldn't wait that long for his data, then he could send Schrient to retrieve it. Presently, he had more important matters to attend to.

“Schuldig…”

“Ja?” the German was busy trolling his pockets for the pack of cloves he knew he had shoved into the suit that morning.

“Take the boy to school and don't be late getting to the Tower. I have a meeting to attend,” he gave the pair one final, steely glare, then strode off in the direction of his bedroom to retrieve his mahogany, leather briefcase.

As soon as the school boy was certain his guardian was out of earshot, he turned on the still fishing red-head. “What meeting?”

Finally coming up with the elusive cigarillos and a lighter, Schuldig tamped one out from the pack and screwed it between his smirking lips before answering, “An artistic endeavor.”

The boy's usually genteel features scrunched in consternation.

“All in good time, Balg (brat).” He smoothed out, blowing a plume of grayish-blue smoke in the younger boy's direction. “Now, clean up this mess and let's hit the road.”