Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Looking Through Windows ❯ Chapter 1
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: pkabyssinian 
A brief character sketch on Schuldich where I take what I know about him and turn it upside down. What if he could never shut out the voices in his head?
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 04.18.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 387 | Status: Completed
A brief character sketch on Schuldich where I take what I know about him and turn it upside down. What if he could never shut out the voices in his head?
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 04.18.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 387 | Status: Completed
Title: Looking Through Windows
Rating: PG-13 for fucking language
Disclaimer: I still don’t own them. I still wish I did.
Notes: Short Schu character study that is absolutely NOT how I see him. It just kinda struck while I was entering scripts and seemed like a good idea. Plus I’ve been wanting to write more of my favorite bad boy.
~*~
Everything for Schuldich had always come down to one way of thinking – could he see through it or not. As a child, his father had further simplified it; everything was a glass window. Generally the window was clean and you could see through it, sometimes it was smudged with dirt, and occasionally it the glass would be blacked out. His father had been a wise man, at least that what the window-minds of the people who had surrounded his father had shown.
Right now the glass was tinted black, there was light on the other side that much Schuldich could tell but nothing else. Crawford was staring at him with cold eyes that revealed nothing. Schuldich’s training screamed that he should be making a flamboyant gesture, flying in the face of convention and Crawford’s wishes.
“If you ever fucking pull a stunt like that again, I’ll leave you for the kittens. I’ll even fucking gift wrap you,” Crawford hissed at him, anger spiking out to lash at Schuldich.
With his customary sneer Schuldich raised a defiant middle finger at his so-called leader. It was a calculated risk, but he was becoming a master at choosing these battles. It was only rarely that he guessed wrongly and pushed beyond the limits that were invisibly set for him. Crawford grunted before walking away, certain that the German would follow his instructions to the letter. In fact, the tall American knew that his orange-haired compatriot would never cross that particular line again.
Estet, in its ineffable wisdom, refused to see them as people. All of the Talents were simple cookie-cut outs of each other. If the strongest telepath they had on file had certain personality traits, then all telepaths would show evidence of such quirks. If the first precog had fallible limits, then they all did. Bureaucrats, what the hell did they know anyway?
With a bitter smile Schuldich realized that he was parroting what was in Crawford’s head. For certain, the American knew that the face Schuldich showed the world wasn’t his true one but Schuldich was also smart enough to know that the prickly precog was unaware of the truth. Schuldich was a rare creature; he was a totally receptive telepath. He could not broadcast and he could not shield. He was always ‘on’.
Because of this, Schuldich was a mirror, silvered glass that reflected back whatever came close enough to catch it’s reflection in him. The German had no personality to call his own, everything that he felt, that he thought, that he projected was something that he had pulled from another source. From an outside source.
His first memories were from when he was very young, perhaps two or three years old. His father had been a ranking member of one of the occult societies that had been popular then. Schuldich’s father had known what his son was and had cherished the Talent that would forever mark his child.
“Kinder erlernen, was ihnen unterrichtet werden,” his father had gravely stated. Children learn what they are taught. The message had seemed an old man’s ramblings, but as Schuldich grew older he saw the value in the statement. To some degree, all children were like him. They had to be taught what was right and what was wrong, and the learning helped to shape their personalities.
Despite his coloring, Schuldich harbored no fiery temper nor was he hotheaded or quick to judge. He had learned patience as a child, how to hold his tongue and to keep secrets. His esteemed father had taught him how to compartmentalize everything that entered his grasping, greedy mind. Later, Estet had taught him how to access these compartments and piece together fragmented memories of actions and string them together. They had expected, had wanted him to be a wild child. A hellraiser. A bastard with a temper.
This expectation had been totally divergent from what his family had instilled in him – to be quiet, to be subdued, to think things through and to use his natural cunning. Estet wanted him to be brash while deceiving others. Learning to overcome years of familial training has been hard, but ultimately he had cleared the hurdle. It had been easier to do what Estet wanted than he had thought, being surrounded by other Talents had afforded him some peace for the first time in his life. For the most part other Talents had very rigid and structured minds, which meant that less escaped them than normal humans.
For the first time in his life, Schuldich had been offered the chance to think his own thoughts. It had been overwhelmingly terrifying, thrilling and forbidden. Still, he had been a teenager, surrounded by other teenagers. Their desires and sexuality had seeped into him and unwittingly Schuldich had earned himself a reputation as a whore. Anyone, male or female, who could sufficiently ensnare the German’s senses could draw Schuldich to their bed.
None of it bothered the German until he glimpsed in the minds of his peers that it should. However, by then it was too late and Schuldich enjoyed loosing himself in the swirling passions that his partners offered up to him like intoxicating flowers. As it turned out Estet had expected this of him and he found himself being rewarded for falling into their expected mold.
When his masters felt he was ready, Schuldich was unleashed on a team. Freedom from the constant watchful eye of Estet had allowed Schuldich to return to his former somber self. Within a week, however, he learned that Crawford expected his team to be regulation. Which meant that they would all carry the correct personality and do their jobs better than expected. Once he was shown what was anticipated, Schuldich promptly obeyed.
Shortly after Nagi was recruited Schuldich began to ignore the small part of him that wanted to learn who Schuldich really was. He was what was needed, a clear pane of glass. Whatever Schwartz needed, he would provide. It was easy to live like this, to do only what was expected. To create disruption, to kill when necessary.
As he passed the young man who was learning to control his powers under Crawford’s less than gentle tutelage Schuldich could feel the anger that radiated from Nagi. Crawford constantly ignored Nagi’s simmering petulance as a phase that the teen was going through.
“Children learn what they are taught,” Schuldich told Nagi as if it were a benediction.
“Fuck off and mind your own business,” Nagi snarled back, the only words of wisdom Schuldich knew being tossed back and fogotten.
Smiling slightly the German walked away, knowing deep in his soul that he would be proven right.
Rating: PG-13 for fucking language
Disclaimer: I still don’t own them. I still wish I did.
Notes: Short Schu character study that is absolutely NOT how I see him. It just kinda struck while I was entering scripts and seemed like a good idea. Plus I’ve been wanting to write more of my favorite bad boy.
~*~
Everything for Schuldich had always come down to one way of thinking – could he see through it or not. As a child, his father had further simplified it; everything was a glass window. Generally the window was clean and you could see through it, sometimes it was smudged with dirt, and occasionally it the glass would be blacked out. His father had been a wise man, at least that what the window-minds of the people who had surrounded his father had shown.
Right now the glass was tinted black, there was light on the other side that much Schuldich could tell but nothing else. Crawford was staring at him with cold eyes that revealed nothing. Schuldich’s training screamed that he should be making a flamboyant gesture, flying in the face of convention and Crawford’s wishes.
“If you ever fucking pull a stunt like that again, I’ll leave you for the kittens. I’ll even fucking gift wrap you,” Crawford hissed at him, anger spiking out to lash at Schuldich.
With his customary sneer Schuldich raised a defiant middle finger at his so-called leader. It was a calculated risk, but he was becoming a master at choosing these battles. It was only rarely that he guessed wrongly and pushed beyond the limits that were invisibly set for him. Crawford grunted before walking away, certain that the German would follow his instructions to the letter. In fact, the tall American knew that his orange-haired compatriot would never cross that particular line again.
Estet, in its ineffable wisdom, refused to see them as people. All of the Talents were simple cookie-cut outs of each other. If the strongest telepath they had on file had certain personality traits, then all telepaths would show evidence of such quirks. If the first precog had fallible limits, then they all did. Bureaucrats, what the hell did they know anyway?
With a bitter smile Schuldich realized that he was parroting what was in Crawford’s head. For certain, the American knew that the face Schuldich showed the world wasn’t his true one but Schuldich was also smart enough to know that the prickly precog was unaware of the truth. Schuldich was a rare creature; he was a totally receptive telepath. He could not broadcast and he could not shield. He was always ‘on’.
Because of this, Schuldich was a mirror, silvered glass that reflected back whatever came close enough to catch it’s reflection in him. The German had no personality to call his own, everything that he felt, that he thought, that he projected was something that he had pulled from another source. From an outside source.
His first memories were from when he was very young, perhaps two or three years old. His father had been a ranking member of one of the occult societies that had been popular then. Schuldich’s father had known what his son was and had cherished the Talent that would forever mark his child.
“Kinder erlernen, was ihnen unterrichtet werden,” his father had gravely stated. Children learn what they are taught. The message had seemed an old man’s ramblings, but as Schuldich grew older he saw the value in the statement. To some degree, all children were like him. They had to be taught what was right and what was wrong, and the learning helped to shape their personalities.
Despite his coloring, Schuldich harbored no fiery temper nor was he hotheaded or quick to judge. He had learned patience as a child, how to hold his tongue and to keep secrets. His esteemed father had taught him how to compartmentalize everything that entered his grasping, greedy mind. Later, Estet had taught him how to access these compartments and piece together fragmented memories of actions and string them together. They had expected, had wanted him to be a wild child. A hellraiser. A bastard with a temper.
This expectation had been totally divergent from what his family had instilled in him – to be quiet, to be subdued, to think things through and to use his natural cunning. Estet wanted him to be brash while deceiving others. Learning to overcome years of familial training has been hard, but ultimately he had cleared the hurdle. It had been easier to do what Estet wanted than he had thought, being surrounded by other Talents had afforded him some peace for the first time in his life. For the most part other Talents had very rigid and structured minds, which meant that less escaped them than normal humans.
For the first time in his life, Schuldich had been offered the chance to think his own thoughts. It had been overwhelmingly terrifying, thrilling and forbidden. Still, he had been a teenager, surrounded by other teenagers. Their desires and sexuality had seeped into him and unwittingly Schuldich had earned himself a reputation as a whore. Anyone, male or female, who could sufficiently ensnare the German’s senses could draw Schuldich to their bed.
None of it bothered the German until he glimpsed in the minds of his peers that it should. However, by then it was too late and Schuldich enjoyed loosing himself in the swirling passions that his partners offered up to him like intoxicating flowers. As it turned out Estet had expected this of him and he found himself being rewarded for falling into their expected mold.
When his masters felt he was ready, Schuldich was unleashed on a team. Freedom from the constant watchful eye of Estet had allowed Schuldich to return to his former somber self. Within a week, however, he learned that Crawford expected his team to be regulation. Which meant that they would all carry the correct personality and do their jobs better than expected. Once he was shown what was anticipated, Schuldich promptly obeyed.
Shortly after Nagi was recruited Schuldich began to ignore the small part of him that wanted to learn who Schuldich really was. He was what was needed, a clear pane of glass. Whatever Schwartz needed, he would provide. It was easy to live like this, to do only what was expected. To create disruption, to kill when necessary.
As he passed the young man who was learning to control his powers under Crawford’s less than gentle tutelage Schuldich could feel the anger that radiated from Nagi. Crawford constantly ignored Nagi’s simmering petulance as a phase that the teen was going through.
“Children learn what they are taught,” Schuldich told Nagi as if it were a benediction.
“Fuck off and mind your own business,” Nagi snarled back, the only words of wisdom Schuldich knew being tossed back and fogotten.
Smiling slightly the German walked away, knowing deep in his soul that he would be proven right.