Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Demon Angelic- rewrite ❯ Chapter 9 ( Chapter 9 )

[ 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 9+

Six more minutes to kill before I would officially be late for my rendezvous with Crawford. I heaved a sigh, stabbing off the Discman with my left middle finger, the pounding drums died mid-beat. I had paced for several minutes once inside my room, slashing the air with my unsheathed talons to blow off the last of my aggression; the music had been a fitting accompaniment, but now it was just annoying.

I took my time, retracting the extended claws one-by-one and repositioning the hastily fitted bugnuks with agonizing precision. The buckles had left imprints in my skin from where I had fastened them in the heat of fury. If I had actually used them, I would have ripped the flesh of my own forearms right along with whatever I was gouging. Lucky for my teammates, I never intended to stain them with their lives. I just wanted to impress upon them how serious I could really be. Nagi, I was certain, got the message. I actually regretted being so harsh with him, but what was done was done. Schuldig regarded my outburst with the same sardonic tolerance as he did most things and Crawford seemed to have discredited the incident entirely.

Farfarello's ominous veneer had been unaffected by the onslaught of my anger, but I was determined he would no longer derive his pleasure from my pain without retribution. When I first came to Schwarz, I wanted to save the man; now all I wanted to do was survive him. It's a futile game we play, move to countermove, striving for victory.

Nagi might be right-- anger could be love disappointed, but hatred, like Farfarello's, was simply that. The maniac doesn't know any better, I chided myself peevishly. Dwelling on this is absolutely pointless…

Bracers securely refastened, I slipped on my halter-top, made short work of the tiny silver buttons, and then belted the hem tightly below my ribcage. Even though it was warm outside, I still shrugged on a white linen blazer to cover my bugnuks. A final once over in the mirror, dab of concealer below each eye and a scrunchie to confine my voluminous mane and I was off to face the doldrums of the Tower. Maybe the stagnant atmosphere would numb my brain.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The fastidious Oracle had made his decree and the hunt was ended—for now… Fucking Crawford and his petty threats. If the man wasn't careful he would find himself with that leash shoved up his tight ass, Farfarello smoldered, throwing the crusty sword onto his rumpled bed. The image made him smirk evilly, a leather tether studded with stainless steel spikes protruding from the bastard's posterior, wouldn't that be a pleasing sight. Even more pleasing to drag it back out again and hear the human icicle screech in agony as the lunatic literally ripped him a new asshole.

And that anathema, with her saucy mouth and mercurial temper, showing him her back as though he were nothing more than a mild annoyance. That was a slight she would never pay him again; if she did, it would cost her life. He hated her in that moment, truly hated her. She refused to acknowledge the precariousness of her position, instead lashing out, snarling like a cornered beast. She had no idea who she was snapping at; he fingered the shallow scratch on his cheek. She had sliced through the first few layers of epidermis, nothing that would leave a lasting mark. She had been out to make her point as had he… she should have killed him.

That was her mistake, one he would allow her to live with provided her reactions continued to entertain him. Her faith in delusions had been throttled, but the mendacious ideals stubbornly refused to sputter their last. Could he be satisfied with that meager sampling now that his palate was whetted? Come now, choking her coveted deceptions broke up the mundaity of Schwarz. Would he leave her to lead an existence sustained by unattainable abstractions and fathomless secrets? She should be so fortunate…

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

“Our father

In a ruined chapel in the depths of the psychotic assassin's subconscious,

Who art in Heaven

Jei knelt amid the rubble strewn pews,

Hallowed be thy name

hands folded in earnest supplication.

Thy kingdom come, they will be done

Head bowed to stifle the hollow echo of his gruff alto,

On earth as it is in heaven,

he prayed--

Give us this day our daily bread

For the life he had lost…

And forgive us our trespasses

For the man he had become…

As we forgive those who trespass against us

For the blameless victims he had slain…

And lead us not into temptation

For the lies the man whole-heartedly believed

But deliver us from every evil…

For the sins yet to be committed…

For thine is the Kingdom, the power and glory.

Forever.

Amen.”

And the construct prayed selfishly for the girl… to set him free.

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

I figured the ride into downtown would be spent attempting to apologize to Nagi and weathering Crawford's arctic clime, but when I slipped into the front passenger seat of the growling Jag, only the American was waiting. Well, that was one less thing to worry about at the moment. I noticed the gaijin eyeing me critically and shifted in my seat to face him as I fastened my seatbelt. Crawford was fanatical about Nagi and me wearing seatbelts—with his gift you would think he should never have to worry about the simple mishaps of everyday life, but he still insisted on caution. That was Crawford in a word—Cautious. The others I had reserved for him at present weren't nearly as flattering, but oh so much more colorful.

“You're late,” flat.

I continued to look at him, tilting my head to a jaunty angle to signify my expectance; a tacit `so whatcha gonna do?' sparking between us. His eyes hardened behind his wire-rimmed glasses; he didn't like the fact that I challenged him. All in all, I suppose he lets me get away with far more than the others, so far at least. No telling when that will change and the devil will demand his due.

“Time is a commodity in short supply,” he reminded me, backing the car out of the garage and coding the bay shut.

“So, what's on the docket for today?” I wondered when he would get around to rebuking me about my raucous behavior at breakfast or the fact that I had openly threatened every male in the household, including him.

He reached into the floorboard at my feet, eyes never leaving the road as we pulled out of our subdivision and onto the main drag. I shifted out of the way as he brought his briefcase up from the floorboard and set it in my lap.

“Open it…”

I regarded him suspiciously for a moment, wondering if something nasty was going to jump out and devour me. But that's not Crawford's style—Farfarello definitely, Schuldig maybe, but not him. Popping the silver plated clasps on either side of the case, I lifted the lid to reveal a shapeless, white, canvas satchel. Curiosity piqued, I lifted the bag from the case, re-secured the lid and slid it back out of sight into the floor. The satchel weighed next to nothing; inside I found a cell phone, two backup batteries and a key pad much like the one the precog had used earlier. What the…?

“I don't understand?” I cradled the objects in my hand as though they were something wholly alien to me and looked up to find the man giving sporadic, measuring glances.

“A compromise…”

“I'm listening,” my voice was wary, apprehensive as to what the terms might include.

“Mundane freedoms in exchange for cooperation,” the words were firm, expressionless.

“I have no intention of aiding Eszet…” I shoved the phone, batteries and key pad back into the satchel. Traipsing around Takatori Tower was one thing, seek and destroy for the occult was another.

“Your physical presence is all that will be required,” his full attention was locked onto the highway. Morning traffic in Tokyo is a beast.

I stopped just short of dropping the bag into the darkness that swallowed my feet. Basically, the price of freedom was to show up? Right… it's never that simple. “So, what's the catch?” I stared at him willing the reticent being to give something nefarious away.

“Further participation in the mission will depend on the demands of the situation and your inclination to survive.”

Standard contract in our line of work, nothing out of the ordinary. Live as chance dictates or die in the moment. I had to wonder, what would it be like to have some semblance of a normal life? To enjoy a solitary moment in the midst of a crowded street or wander aimlessly through the park because the lush colors of nature called to me? “If I refuse a mission or fail?”

“The agreement is null and void.”
Was it worth compromising—abetting a selfish wish? I looked down at the bag I was clutching loosely, inside were the makings of a dream. Could I forgive myself if I let it pass me by unrealized? People always say, you can't miss something you never had, but I don't believe that…

“What's the code?”

“26435.” I didn't look at Crawford, but I could bet beneath that cool façade he was grinning impishly. I couldn't help but feel like a traitor as I branded the number into my memory.

“Phone?”

“I call, you come. If you fail to answer,” he paused, no doubt to add gravity, “it will be determined an act of defiance and will not be tolerated.”

“Consequences?”

“Far-reaching… “

Translation: everyone around me suffers if I fail to comply. I have no intention of failing, but unquestioning obedience has never been my thing. I may be a killer and a monster, but I commit crimes on my own terms. If people are going to suffer on my account, it will be me wielding the blade. Schuldig and I are of like mind on at least one thing, some orders are meant to be defied. And I know some consequences are worth enduring to maintain a sense of self, provided I suffer alone.

I hadn't been paying much attention to the way, so I was surprised when the Jaguar slid into a parallel space in front of Ju-Dan High School. It was the second time in as many days that I had looked on this building; I had no idea why we were here.

Despite the fact that I am usually written off because of my gender, I am actually keenly intelligent. I already have a high school degree and several university credits earned through the use of private tutors and correspondence programs. Most Yakuza prefer their women ignorant, my father did not…

“Did Nagi leave his homework behind again or something?” My question was greeted with the sound of a car door shutting. Crawford moved around the hood to wait on the sidewalk for me to take a hint. I was slow climbing from the car, taking time to put my arms through the shoulder straps of the satchel before I closed the door and joined him.

The dark-haired man strolled to the building without a word, the car chirping as he armed the alarm system with the keyless entry pad. I had to rush to keep up with him; he is a little over six feet tall and quite a bit of that is leg. He held the door open for me and ushered me into the office where a dumpy, young secretary with scary neon-yellow hair wilted under his chill stare.

“We have an appointment with Auimata,” he stated, evincing a tone reserved for hired help. Of course in his opinion, I was sure, most of the world's population fell under that category.

I had to hand it to the girl, Kasumi by the nameplate; she recovered quickly, boning up a cheesy smile as she picked up the receiver on her desk and jabbed in an extension. “What's your name, sir?” she asked, provincial twang sending a shiver down my spine.

“Crawford.”

“Yes, Auimata-sensei, a Mr. Crawford is here to see you….” She nodded a few times, smile broadening, then hung up the phone. “He is waiting in his office for you. Go out this door and take a left,” she pointed with one chubby finger, punctuating each word with a whip-like flick,” and you will see a stairwell on your right, the art studio is on the second floor, room 233. He said just to go right on in.”

We turned to leave, only to be halted by a grating titter. “Sorry, but before you go…” I thought I heard the older man sigh under his breath as he turned another withering glare at the simpering secretary who now seemed oblivious to his frosty charms, “would you mind signing in for me? I could get into a lot of trouble letting people wander around the building without being checked-in.”

I couldn't be sure, but it almost looked like she pulled the pen out from her brazier. Crawford stiffened in what I would assume to be distaste, but took the writing utensil and scratched both our names on the ledger. He laid the pen down forcefully and stalked to the door, herding me out into the hallway without a backward glance.

The art studio was easy to find. The smell of oil paint and turpentine singed my nostrils when Crawford slid the shoji aside and preceded me through. My heart fluttered at the sight. Vacant easels were scattered around the room, awaiting the arrival of budding artisans. Every nook and cranny of the outer perimeter was jammed with canvases, jars and tubes of paint in a myriad of colors, boxes overflowing with brushes and oil pastels. A wooden marionette, draped haphazardly over a high-backed stool, presided as sentinel over the creatively cluttered realm. It was a place where dreams were rendered into an imitation of reality, given shape to be interpreted and misinterpreted by anyone with eyes to see.

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

Not nearly as enthralled with the ambiance, Crawford took a moment to clear the room of any viable threats, a survival instinct that had served him well over the years. Finding none, he cleared his throat to drag the girl back from wherever her mind had wondered. She really was a flighty creature, amazing she had survived so long in a business that did not forgive mistakes.
“This way.” Brilliant green eyes fixed on him, dark fringe of lashes dipping to half-mast, meek. Unconvinced, he trod as straight a path as possible to the small walled in corner of the studio.

A few pecking raps on the glass pane brought the dark-head up from the massive pile of paperwork it was hung over. Onyx eyes blinked at him as the man rose to his feet coming around the desk to answer his summons. A winning smile appeared on the ageless face as the sensei pulled the door open to admit his guests.

“Ah, you must be Mr. Crawford.” Auimata extended his hand in a greeting more befitting to dealing with a Westerner. The hand that gripped his in return was smooth, dry and firm. The aura behind it was darker than the other guardian's; Schuldig's had been vivid crests and fiery troughs radiating amorphous sentimentality and misguided cruelty. This man's essence was frozen, nearly to the core of his being. The artist barely resisted the urge to wipe his palm across his trouser leg, working to keep his smile from falling flat. “Won't you come in, have a seat?”

“Thank you,” the American replied curtly, moving past him only to turn back a moment later to fix the girl, who had her head lowered respectfully, with a neutral eye.

Sensing the tension building in the air, Auimata redoubled his efforts, “And this must be your daughter?”

The child's head snapped up at the word, jade eyes gleaming dangerously at the both of them. He had imagined her eyes to be many shades of brown from near onyx to amber, but he had never considered the possibility of another hue altogether.

The girl's voice was willowy, but firm, “His ward. Mr. Crawford is a very busy man, sir. May we please get down to business?”

“By all means, Uotani-san,” he indicated the chair beside Crawford who had seated himself, choosing to overlook her brashness. Eye contact never wavered as she glided toward him, swaying almost imperceptibly on her low-heeled pumps with all the feline grace of a hunting cat.

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

I stalked past Auimata, with his guileless dark eyes and patronizing grin, and lowered myself into the ratty, paint-crusted chair beside my guardian.

Crawford looked unimpressed as our host walked around to plop down in his overstuffed leather chair, the only habitable piece of furniture in the entire room that was not stacked with canvases, piles of paperwork or various collection books by both the famous and the infamous artists of several cultures. I was sure all the clutter had the precog's skin crawling. Guess foresight can't prepare you for everything.

“We discussed the terms of the agreement on the phone yesterday, but I want to make sure that they are acceptable to Uotani-san before any binding contracts are made,” he informed us, all the while digging around the pinnacles of paper and manila folders littering his desk in vain search for said contracts. From the looks of things we might be here all morning. “Uotani is to report to school every day by no later than two pm in order to prepare for the sessions. I assume her work schedule has already been arranged to accommodate this…” he left off his digging long enough to receive the curt affirmative, “release times will vary, of course, depending on progress and extenuating circumstances should they arise…” His face brightened as he yanked a folder from the middle of a teetering stack, miraculously it didn't topple over and rain sheets of paper down over the three of us. Contracts firmly in hand, he focused his unblinking gaze on us. “She may also be required to make several trips to the salon in order to have her hair set. If this is necessary you will be contacted ahead of time,” head shaken in my direction, “My assistant Hayato Seiko will see to transportation and all bills incurred.”

Great, another person dragging me around. Oh well, at least it wouldn't be Schwarz.

“The process could take the better part of two months, so be prepared for that. The students of my art club and I reserve all rights over the images and ideas that are produced and artistic license is, of course, a given in that. I also reserve the right to publish finished products in any form of media I see fit. Any profits incurred are the sole property of the artist. Are the terms agreeable to you both so far?” Dark eyes shifted from Crawford to me.

I looked to the Oracle for the answer. I didn't know how much control he was going to let me have in this situation. If Auimata thought it was odd that I wanted the man's approval he didn't react. I guess teachers are use to this sort of thing.

“We agree to the terms as they have been stated. However,” Crawford paused and I fought down the urge to hold my breath, “she is not to be exploited in any way. No nudity. Sessions are to end before six pm and her Sundays are to remain free.”

My jaw came unhinged…where had the real Brad Crawford gone?

“I understand your concern, sir. Working with both under aged artists and models put certain restrictions of their own on the arrangement of the composition. I assure you, your dau… ward is in no danger of being mistreated.”

An honest to goodness miniscule smile flitted over the human ice-cubes lip's as both men turned patient eyes toward me… “Hai, I … I agree.” This was getting to be too much. I want a normal life, but I want it to be an honest one. Crawford playing the concerned parent was freaking me out.

“The fee will be paid to Mr. Crawford at the end of every week. Ten an hour is the determined rate.”

I couldn't focus on a single face for very long. The meeting was rolling right along without me, and it just kept getting weirder.

“Is there anything you want to add, Uotani-san?” Auimata inquired, looking at me kindly enough. He must have misinterpreting the expression on my face as dissatisfaction. I'm sure it was an interesting look whatever the assumed meaning.

The man was giving me an opportunity to state my demands, so I blurted out the first thing that sprang to mind, “I would like to have access to the art supplies and the studio after hours…”

Crawford shot me a questioning glare, but didn't venture to protest since the request fell within the parameters of our own deal.

The sensei smiled warmly, approval lightening the sable orbs to a deep brown. “Gladly… you are welcome to come at any time given that you don't disturb classes.”

The rattling of the window pane as the door behind me was wrenched open was enough to rocket me to my feet, fingers stretching for the lock releases on the wrist guards of my bugnuks. Crawford's large hand wrapping around my left wrist stayed me. We were in a school of course… how much danger could there be?

“Ah, Seiko-kun,” a rumbling laugh rang out from the attractive man behind me as his assistant stood in the open doorway panting softly.

Her sandy-brown hair was bobbed above her shoulders and trained to flip outward as per the rage; bronze eyes were brightened by a shimmery gold shadow and chocolate liner, thin lips rouged with pale rose matte. Her face was oval-shaped with large rounded features. She was about my height, curvy with conservative taste in clothes and radiated a sense of good-cheer. She returned the laugh with an exaggerated salute, then blatantly sized me up. “Well, looks like you actually gave me something to start with this time!”

I didn't know whether to be complimented or insulted by the remark, so I restrained my reaction to quirking a brow. The whole incident was reminiscent of Tot. I just hoped this one wasn't an Auimata shi-ne, glomp fan groupie. I don't think I can stand another jealousy management consultation over a male I have no interest in.

Seeing Crawford behind me, the woman's smile perked up to dizzying heights. “I am so sorry, Mr. Crawford,” she bowed at the waist in formal greeting. “I apologize for my rudeness.”

I felt his hand slip from my wrist as he stood, returning the gesture with a rather uncharacteristic gallantry. The assistant is Crawford's type?

“Accepted. Is there anything else that requires my approval?”

“I need your signature on these contracts. They simply state what we have already discussed, just a copy of the forms faxed to your office yesterday.” The grinning artist pushed the paperwork across the desk and plunked a pen down on top of the pile.

Crawford looked over the documents briefly, underlining a few things along the way before scratching his ramrod straight signature on the papers.

Auimata gathered the documents up and held them aloft as Seiko scurried across the cluttered room, hopping a bit to keep from bumping into anything. Giving the contracts a once over, she stuffed them into the large satchel slung over her arm.

“Don't I need to sign anything?”

The three adults in the room regarded me indulgently. Crawford looked more annoyed than tolerant, probably because his role in the charade was coming to a close.

“You're a minor, bishojo, you're not old enough to enter into legal contracts,” Seiko informed me.

I was beginning to not like her. Reserve judgment, I reminded myself, chanting it like a mantra.

“Is there any other business that needs to be attended to? If not, I leave her in your hands.”

“No, I think we have everything we need, Mr. Crawford,” the sandy-haired attaché assured him. Another bow and I was looking at the back of his crème suit jacket as he weaved his way to the door.

“Wait…” My headache was starting to come back. “I thought I was supposed to go to work with you today?” Not that I am one to complain, but I really despise being kept in the dark and this had obviously been planned. No wonder he hadn't made a big deal about my clothes…

He didn't bother to stop walking, just spoke over his shoulder, “Nagi will walk you home at 2:30. All extensions have been programmed into the phone if there is an emergency.” Smug bastard, I could hear the smirk in his voice.

He had enjoyed my confusion… immensely. I felt kinda stupid staring after him out the door like some forlorn puppy, and I cursed myself when I jumped under the heated palm clasping my shoulder. I turned to see the assistant standing very close to me, wearing a rather sympathetic expression that made my skin crawl. “Don't touch me, please.” I glared at the offending appendage as though I could cause it to burst into flames.

“Sorry,” she pulled her hand away quickly, giving a nervous `heh'.

“Ladies, let's get introductions over so I can send you two out on your errands before my first class arrives,” My new employer rose to his impressive stature of 5'11 and tripped around the desk to mediate. His presence had a calming effect on Seiko, who stepped closer to his side as if she needed the man to protect her from the conscious hostility I was displaying. Come to think of it, maybe she did…

“Uotani Hikari this is Hayato Seiko, my personal assistant.” Being a formal introduction, I bowed to her.

“Seiko-kun this is Uotani- san, her preparation will be your responsibility for the duration of this project.” She bowed deeply.

“Hikari is fine.” I was going to regret this, but I was being petulant and she hadn't really done anything to deserve it. I lowered my eyes to the floor, bowing my head as I bent again. “I offer my sincere apologies to the both of you. I have been inconceivably rude.”

“Oh, Hikari-chan, you have no idea what rude is. Try working with a professional model and all their agents sometime,” Seiko's voice was gay and tinkling like the knell of a soprano bell.

I gazed up to find her closing the distance between us, hand about to land on the back of my still bowed head. Auimata looked leery, as if I might snap her arm off and gobble it down in the middle of his office. Instead I straightened and caught the reaching hand, pumping it firmly as Crawford would have done. “It will be a pleasure to work with you.” I squeezed only hard enough to let her know I had meant what I said earlier about not touching me out of hand. I'm not a puppy to be patted on the head because she is in a blithe mood. Nagi had mentioned that Auimata pegged me as a Yakuza; apparently he hadn't passed the warning along to his assistant though, most likely if he had, she never would have agreed to come here today.

The sensei clearing his throat ended my strong-arming session. “Now that you're better acquainted,” she and I both turned toward the soft-spoken man, “you will need to visit the establishments that we discussed yesterday and make necessary arrangements. I want to have everything ready to begin by Thursday if at all possible. All deliveries will be made here beginning at two pm.”

“Yes, sir,” the bright, bouncy smile was back on her face as she gave a muted salute.

“Hikari-chan today will be hectic, but please bear with us. Tomorrow you will have a day to recuperate before your debut.” His face was smiling, but his eyes were still. He must have been concentrating on something else. “Thursday you will need to go to the salon before you come here. Seiko-kun will pick you up after the appointment. When everything is prepared here, I will be photographing and the students will be doing some preliminary sketches in order to familiarize themselves with your bone structure and musculature. It may be chaotic with the deliveries from the Koneko, but we'll manage.”

The woody slide of the shoji and the sound of tromping feet were our signal to leave. Auimata ushered us from the office, uttering a few last minute instructions to the exuberant attaché. The students piling into the room were probably upperclassmen, scurrying to get their supplies and set to work brushing out their dreams and memories for the entire world to see, but only for their own understanding.