Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Mind Games and Coffee ❯ chapter eight ( Chapter 8 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Solaras 
And the day goes on...
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.13.2006 | Updated On: 06.13.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.8K | Visits: 530 | Status: Work In Progress
And the day goes on...
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.13.2006 | Updated On: 06.13.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.8K | Visits: 530 | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is not mine. All its characters and affiliates are also not mine.Nothing involving Weiss Kreuz is mine.Sadly this is true.
Author’s Notes: OK question, is there some magical format I don’t know about that Mediaminer likes? Every time I post something, the site screws up my formatting. And puts in strange symbols: ex. “& npsb”. I swear Mediaminer hates me!
Once again I apologize for this taking so long. I’ve been in a rut, and either couldn’t think of what to write, or it all sucked. Plus as always, my computer is a piece of junk. Anyway, I finally seem to be coming out of the rut, so perhaps the story will actually get written now. Let’s hope shall we.
Review Responses:
KD Sarge – Look new chapter and it didn’t take half a year! And don’t worry; as soon as I post this I will announce it to the group. If my computer lets me. The stupid machine has decided it hates yahoo.
darkepheonix – This is faster right? Well, ok it’s still kinda slow, but I’m doing better. *Smiles and slowly backs away*
Meandering – Mediaminer hates me. It is forever screwing up my formatting and I don’t know why. *Crosses fingers* Maybe this chapter will do better.
Cierzo – I feel so loved; adding me to your favorites. Thank you! Next to Brad and Schuldig, Farfarello and Schuldig are my favorite to write. I think those two have a lot of potential for interesting interaction. I have plans for Farfarello to grab some stage time in the near future. I’m pleased that you like Midori. I’m hesitant about original characters, both in reading and writing, but she refused to leave the plot. I’m extremely thankful for all the good feedback on her. I know I didn’t make a mistake in including her. Oh yeah, I can be slow at times with chapter fics, but I try to never abandon them. So don’t give up on me.
~telepathy~ aka communicating
/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone’s mind
German Words:
Großmutter ist geisteskrank.: Grandmother is insane.
Chapter Eight
The good thing about Sundays was that Takatori didn’t work. He spent the day at home, at his mountain cabin, or spending time with his bastard child, ironically the only one he really liked. All were activities that didn’t require Schwarz, especially visiting the girl. The politician had plenty of security at his residences, and Schwarz was mostly for intimidation rather than real protection; although, they did come in handy for that as well. Of course Schwarz had another, under the legal radar, purpose for assassinating competitors, spies, unlucky investigative reporters, and any other troublemakers. The result of Takatori’s day of indulgence was Schwarz’s own day off. There were the occasional exceptions to this, but for the most part the assassins had Sundays to themselves.
Brad Crawford, for all the workaholic he could be, made sure all reports and files were done before hand, so that he could spend his scheduled day off in peace. Sunday was usually a quiet day. Nagi, after making breakfast, usually spent the day surfing the web or watching T.V. Farfarello, for his own protection, spent the day sedated. Schuldig usually slept in, and then dozed on the couch. Through all this blessed quiet, Brad would sit in his chair and read. If the precog was in a really good mood, he might even humor Nagi and watch a movie with the boy and Schuldig. This particular Sunday, however, was different. Brad knew his vision of Schuldig using the alarm clock meant trouble.
“What are you doing?”
“Reading.”
“Bor ing.”
Schuldig was thoroughly convinced that Brad Crawford was, quite possibly, the most boring man on the face of the planet. So far Schuldig had watched Brad finish breakfast, send Nagi to restrain Farfarello, read the paper, and now read a book. The only acknowledgement of the telepath’s presence had been the argument in the kitchen. Schuldig shifted into a more comfortable sprawl across the couch.
“Don’t you know how it ends?” Schuldig said flicking his hand in a vague gesture towards the book.
“Are you intent on annoying me all day? And no Schuldig, I don’t know the ending. I am capable of blocking such minor nuances. Not that it matters, as the book is nonfiction.”
“Why read something that you already know the ending to?”
“Schuldig, do you mind?”
“Mind what?”
“Alright Schuldig,” Brad said calmly, putting his book down in defeat. “What do you want? Your car is intact, so you don’t need mine. I know you are not out of money, so what is it?”
“What?! All I did was ask a question.”
“You have been following me all day.”
“What, I can’t sit in the same room as you?”
“Schuldig,” Brad hissed out in effort not to shout. The telepath was obviously trying to rile him, and Crawford would not give him the satisfaction.
“It’s not my fault that you are insecure about your useless pastime.”
“Don’t you have a bar to go too? Isn’t it German telepath happy hour?”
“You make me sound like an alcoholic!” Schuldig snapped.
“I call them as I see them,” Brad replied somberly.
“I do other stuff!” Schuldig said while turning to sit up straight. His back stiff, the telepath glared at the offending precog. “I…ah.”
“Sleep does not count.”
“I’m an assassin; I kill people. See there, I’m employed.” Schuldig crossed his arms and huffed in triumph.
“Schuldig…” Brad sighed.
“I am not useless Brad.”
“Did I say that?”
“You were thinking it. I’m a telepath. I know how people think.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Ah ha, you do think I’m useless!”
“Schuldig,” the precog gave in and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“And you don’t trust me at all. I’m just a useless untrustworthy lump who sleeps a lot. I can’t even sit in the same room without suspicion,” Schuldig ranted then more quietly, “Großmutter ist geisteskrank.”
“What does the old woman have to do with anything?” asked Brad in utter confusion. Telepaths were known for being erratic, but the situation was getting preposterous.
“Nothing,” Schuldig replied flatly.
“What is this about?”
“It’s about the fact that you don’t like me!”
Schuldig had turned his face away from the precog, so he didn’t see Brad move; however, he was firmly aware of the back of a warm hand pressed to his forehead. Blue eyes rose to stare cross-eyed at the invading hand. Brad removed his hand only to place it on his own forehead, and then return it to its former position on top the redhead. Brad, Schuldig noted, had nice hands with long fingers. His own long fingers were much to skinny and didn’t appear very strong. Oh sure, the telepath could swing a punch, but he was just as likely to break a finger along with his opponents nose. Schuldig liked mental debilitation, guns, and other long range attacks, but Brad liked a good fist fight. The precog was an excellent marksman, and enjoyed the power of pulling the trigger; however, nothing thrilled the American more than feeling bones shatter under his knuckles. If Schuldig looked closely, he could make out a jagged white line marring the skin on the knuckle of Brad’s index finger. The other guy had not only lost his tooth, but the sight in his left eye. Brad liked a good fight. In the flurry of movement, staying one step ahead of his opponent, took his clairvoyance to the limit.
Schuldig’s eyes followed the line of Brad’s arm up to his face. Brown eyes, the color of honey when the light hit them, stared back at him passively. Schuldig opened his mouth, hesitated, and in rare occurrence, said nothing. The precog was attractive, Schuldig would admit that; knowing him, it was the first thought he ever had about the American. Crawford was also a self-absorbed bastard, but so was Schuldig. Maybe more even. But when both of them stopped talking, Schuldig could almost think… but he didn’t think about that because this was Crawford. Except that Großmutter had made him think about it; was making him think about it. He was following Brad around for the explicit purpose of thinking about it.
“What are you doing,” Schuldig finally croaked.
“You don’t feel warm. Are you sure you are feeling ok? No headaches?”
“I’m fine.”
Schuldig left Brad standing by the couch, hand still hovering in the air. The precog, even more confused by the sudden silence, watched the redhead walk down the hall. Sighing Brad returned to his book and chair. He sat staring at the couch for a moment, pondering the bizarre course of the day. Finally he chalked everything up to irrational telepaths, and focused on his book. After all it was Sunday, and he read on Sundays. Maybe if he was feeling particularly nice, he would humor Nagi and watch a movie.
End Chapter
I know its short, but the chapter just wanted to end here. My muse demanded coherency over length. According to my tentative plan the next few chapters should get progressively longer. If I can stay out of my rut, and get some work done, this story might actually get somewhere. LOL
As always reviews are welcomed and appreciated. ^_^
Solaras
Author’s Notes: OK question, is there some magical format I don’t know about that Mediaminer likes? Every time I post something, the site screws up my formatting. And puts in strange symbols: ex. “& npsb”. I swear Mediaminer hates me!
Once again I apologize for this taking so long. I’ve been in a rut, and either couldn’t think of what to write, or it all sucked. Plus as always, my computer is a piece of junk. Anyway, I finally seem to be coming out of the rut, so perhaps the story will actually get written now. Let’s hope shall we.
Review Responses:
KD Sarge – Look new chapter and it didn’t take half a year! And don’t worry; as soon as I post this I will announce it to the group. If my computer lets me. The stupid machine has decided it hates yahoo.
darkepheonix – This is faster right? Well, ok it’s still kinda slow, but I’m doing better. *Smiles and slowly backs away*
Meandering – Mediaminer hates me. It is forever screwing up my formatting and I don’t know why. *Crosses fingers* Maybe this chapter will do better.
Cierzo – I feel so loved; adding me to your favorites. Thank you! Next to Brad and Schuldig, Farfarello and Schuldig are my favorite to write. I think those two have a lot of potential for interesting interaction. I have plans for Farfarello to grab some stage time in the near future. I’m pleased that you like Midori. I’m hesitant about original characters, both in reading and writing, but she refused to leave the plot. I’m extremely thankful for all the good feedback on her. I know I didn’t make a mistake in including her. Oh yeah, I can be slow at times with chapter fics, but I try to never abandon them. So don’t give up on me.
~telepathy~ aka communicating
/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone’s mind
German Words:
Großmutter ist geisteskrank.: Grandmother is insane.
Chapter Eight
The good thing about Sundays was that Takatori didn’t work. He spent the day at home, at his mountain cabin, or spending time with his bastard child, ironically the only one he really liked. All were activities that didn’t require Schwarz, especially visiting the girl. The politician had plenty of security at his residences, and Schwarz was mostly for intimidation rather than real protection; although, they did come in handy for that as well. Of course Schwarz had another, under the legal radar, purpose for assassinating competitors, spies, unlucky investigative reporters, and any other troublemakers. The result of Takatori’s day of indulgence was Schwarz’s own day off. There were the occasional exceptions to this, but for the most part the assassins had Sundays to themselves.
Brad Crawford, for all the workaholic he could be, made sure all reports and files were done before hand, so that he could spend his scheduled day off in peace. Sunday was usually a quiet day. Nagi, after making breakfast, usually spent the day surfing the web or watching T.V. Farfarello, for his own protection, spent the day sedated. Schuldig usually slept in, and then dozed on the couch. Through all this blessed quiet, Brad would sit in his chair and read. If the precog was in a really good mood, he might even humor Nagi and watch a movie with the boy and Schuldig. This particular Sunday, however, was different. Brad knew his vision of Schuldig using the alarm clock meant trouble.
“What are you doing?”
“Reading.”
“Bor ing.”
Schuldig was thoroughly convinced that Brad Crawford was, quite possibly, the most boring man on the face of the planet. So far Schuldig had watched Brad finish breakfast, send Nagi to restrain Farfarello, read the paper, and now read a book. The only acknowledgement of the telepath’s presence had been the argument in the kitchen. Schuldig shifted into a more comfortable sprawl across the couch.
“Don’t you know how it ends?” Schuldig said flicking his hand in a vague gesture towards the book.
“Are you intent on annoying me all day? And no Schuldig, I don’t know the ending. I am capable of blocking such minor nuances. Not that it matters, as the book is nonfiction.”
“Why read something that you already know the ending to?”
“Schuldig, do you mind?”
“Mind what?”
“Alright Schuldig,” Brad said calmly, putting his book down in defeat. “What do you want? Your car is intact, so you don’t need mine. I know you are not out of money, so what is it?”
“What?! All I did was ask a question.”
“You have been following me all day.”
“What, I can’t sit in the same room as you?”
“Schuldig,” Brad hissed out in effort not to shout. The telepath was obviously trying to rile him, and Crawford would not give him the satisfaction.
“It’s not my fault that you are insecure about your useless pastime.”
“Don’t you have a bar to go too? Isn’t it German telepath happy hour?”
“You make me sound like an alcoholic!” Schuldig snapped.
“I call them as I see them,” Brad replied somberly.
“I do other stuff!” Schuldig said while turning to sit up straight. His back stiff, the telepath glared at the offending precog. “I…ah.”
“Sleep does not count.”
“I’m an assassin; I kill people. See there, I’m employed.” Schuldig crossed his arms and huffed in triumph.
“Schuldig…” Brad sighed.
“I am not useless Brad.”
“Did I say that?”
“You were thinking it. I’m a telepath. I know how people think.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Ah ha, you do think I’m useless!”
“Schuldig,” the precog gave in and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“And you don’t trust me at all. I’m just a useless untrustworthy lump who sleeps a lot. I can’t even sit in the same room without suspicion,” Schuldig ranted then more quietly, “Großmutter ist geisteskrank.”
“What does the old woman have to do with anything?” asked Brad in utter confusion. Telepaths were known for being erratic, but the situation was getting preposterous.
“Nothing,” Schuldig replied flatly.
“What is this about?”
“It’s about the fact that you don’t like me!”
Schuldig had turned his face away from the precog, so he didn’t see Brad move; however, he was firmly aware of the back of a warm hand pressed to his forehead. Blue eyes rose to stare cross-eyed at the invading hand. Brad removed his hand only to place it on his own forehead, and then return it to its former position on top the redhead. Brad, Schuldig noted, had nice hands with long fingers. His own long fingers were much to skinny and didn’t appear very strong. Oh sure, the telepath could swing a punch, but he was just as likely to break a finger along with his opponents nose. Schuldig liked mental debilitation, guns, and other long range attacks, but Brad liked a good fist fight. The precog was an excellent marksman, and enjoyed the power of pulling the trigger; however, nothing thrilled the American more than feeling bones shatter under his knuckles. If Schuldig looked closely, he could make out a jagged white line marring the skin on the knuckle of Brad’s index finger. The other guy had not only lost his tooth, but the sight in his left eye. Brad liked a good fight. In the flurry of movement, staying one step ahead of his opponent, took his clairvoyance to the limit.
Schuldig’s eyes followed the line of Brad’s arm up to his face. Brown eyes, the color of honey when the light hit them, stared back at him passively. Schuldig opened his mouth, hesitated, and in rare occurrence, said nothing. The precog was attractive, Schuldig would admit that; knowing him, it was the first thought he ever had about the American. Crawford was also a self-absorbed bastard, but so was Schuldig. Maybe more even. But when both of them stopped talking, Schuldig could almost think… but he didn’t think about that because this was Crawford. Except that Großmutter had made him think about it; was making him think about it. He was following Brad around for the explicit purpose of thinking about it.
“What are you doing,” Schuldig finally croaked.
“You don’t feel warm. Are you sure you are feeling ok? No headaches?”
“I’m fine.”
Schuldig left Brad standing by the couch, hand still hovering in the air. The precog, even more confused by the sudden silence, watched the redhead walk down the hall. Sighing Brad returned to his book and chair. He sat staring at the couch for a moment, pondering the bizarre course of the day. Finally he chalked everything up to irrational telepaths, and focused on his book. After all it was Sunday, and he read on Sundays. Maybe if he was feeling particularly nice, he would humor Nagi and watch a movie.
End Chapter
I know its short, but the chapter just wanted to end here. My muse demanded coherency over length. According to my tentative plan the next few chapters should get progressively longer. If I can stay out of my rut, and get some work done, this story might actually get somewhere. LOL
As always reviews are welcomed and appreciated. ^_^
Solaras