Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Mind Games and Coffee ❯ Chapter 14 ( Chapter 14 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Solaras 
Brad and Schuldig fight. Takatori rages, and Oka is still dead.
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.25.2008 | Updated On: 06.25.2008 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.5K | Visits: 281 | Status: Work In Progress
Brad and Schuldig fight. Takatori rages, and Oka is still dead.
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.25.2008 | Updated On: 06.25.2008 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.5K | Visits: 281 | 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: Beware Brad being a bit of a manipulative bastard, but other than that enjoy. And again sorry for the wait, but we all know I’m a terrible author. *sigh*
Review Responses:
Darkephoenix nsi – Hello again. Yes, yes let’s put the dolls away. In fact, you should put them somewhere you’ll forget *cough* I mean somewhere safe.
moimoi-chan – I am evil to Schu, but there is more leanings to BxS in this chapter!
~telepathy~ aka communicating as in intentionally projecting
/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone’s mind as in not intentionally projecting (Schuldig is eavesdropping)
German Words:
Komm raus – come out
wo bist du – where are you
Arschloch - asshole
Verpiss dich – Fuck off (basically)
was auch immer- whatever
Chapter Fourteen:
“Crawford!”
“Crawford!” Schuldig yelled, as he shoved the door open and sent it crashing into the wall. Farfarello sidestepped the door’s rebound, and entered the apartment behind the enraged telepath. Nagi, who had been watching TV from the couch, watched in confusion as Schuldig stormed past him and down the hall.
“What’s he upset about?” asked Nagi. “Weren’t you two going to go mess with Weiss?”
“Things didn’t go as planned,” said Farfarello, whose gaze followed Schuldig, as he first walked into the kitchen (from which came the sound of glass breaking) and then out again. “Someone died who shouldn’t have.”
“Crawford! Komm raus!
“Both of you came back, so who could have died?”
“Oka,” Farfarello said, and Nagi’s face paled at the implications; an angry Takatori could turn into an angry Estet. “The little girl’s death hurts God, but it may hurt Schwarz, as well.”
“Crawford said nothing?” Nagi asked, and his gaze turned to the hallway.
“Crawford, wo bist du!”
“Let’s go out to dinner,” said Farfarello. “They will be loud.”
“Shouldn’t we wait?”
“Crawford, sie arschloch!”
“There’s nothing for us to do, and they can get their own dinner,” Farfarello said, but Nagi still hesitated. “Crawford will sort it out. His plans are his own.”
“Fine,” Nagi sighed. “Let’s go to Yoshinoya, and you can fill me in on what happened; and since it’s probably your fault, you can buy me gyudon.”
Author’s Notes: Beware Brad being a bit of a manipulative bastard, but other than that enjoy. And again sorry for the wait, but we all know I’m a terrible author. *sigh*
Review Responses:
Darkephoenix nsi – Hello again. Yes, yes let’s put the dolls away. In fact, you should put them somewhere you’ll forget *cough* I mean somewhere safe.
moimoi-chan – I am evil to Schu, but there is more leanings to BxS in this chapter!
~telepathy~ aka communicating as in intentionally projecting
/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone’s mind as in not intentionally projecting (Schuldig is eavesdropping)
German Words:
Komm raus – come out
wo bist du – where are you
Arschloch - asshole
Verpiss dich – Fuck off (basically)
was auch immer- whatever
Chapter Fourteen:
“Crawford!”
“Crawford!” Schuldig yelled, as he shoved the door open and sent it crashing into the wall. Farfarello sidestepped the door’s rebound, and entered the apartment behind the enraged telepath. Nagi, who had been watching TV from the couch, watched in confusion as Schuldig stormed past him and down the hall.
“What’s he upset about?” asked Nagi. “Weren’t you two going to go mess with Weiss?”
“Things didn’t go as planned,” said Farfarello, whose gaze followed Schuldig, as he first walked into the kitchen (from which came the sound of glass breaking) and then out again. “Someone died who shouldn’t have.”
“Crawford! Komm raus!
“Both of you came back, so who could have died?”
“Oka,” Farfarello said, and Nagi’s face paled at the implications; an angry Takatori could turn into an angry Estet. “The little girl’s death hurts God, but it may hurt Schwarz, as well.”
“Crawford said nothing?” Nagi asked, and his gaze turned to the hallway.
“Crawford, wo bist du!”
“Let’s go out to dinner,” said Farfarello. “They will be loud.”
“Shouldn’t we wait?”
“Crawford, sie arschloch!”
“There’s nothing for us to do, and they can get their own dinner,” Farfarello said, but Nagi still hesitated. “Crawford will sort it out. His plans are his own.”
“Fine,” Nagi sighed. “Let’s go to Yoshinoya, and you can fill me in on what happened; and since it’s probably your fault, you can buy me gyudon.”
* * * * * *
Sitting behind his desk, his elbows rested on the polished wood with his hands raised, and his entwined fingers lightly pressed underneath his nose and against his lips; Brad Crawford heard the front door close behind two of Schwarz’s number. He could hear Schuldig’s path of destruction through the apartment, and his increasingly vulgar language. Schuldig could speak several languages, and could pick words out of a native’s head if he didn’t, but he never immersed himself in them. Brad’s accent was flawless, no matter the language, but Schuldig’s words always seemed slightly off; and the less he focused, the more German bled in.
No matter the place, Schuldig stood out as a foreigner; even though, as a child (orphan, all of them in someway) of Rosenkruez, he owed no allegiance to any country. The busier the city, the more Schuldig stood out. The louder the minds, the more Schuldig screamed back. No record existed of ‘Schuldig’ being born in Germany, but Brad doubted the birth certificate, wherever it was, carried that name. ‘Schuldig’ was the word the telepath knew meant himself, just as German was the language he remembered speaking first. Schuldig kept the pieces of himself close, just as he kept bits and pieces of things to help him remember: ratty t-shirts, old CDs, the odd photo, presents from the rest of Schwarz; reminders of himself for himself. Although his stuff looked a mess, everything had a place. With every move, Schuldig demanded a chest-of-drawers with the same number of drawers; put his coffee mug on the bottom shelf of the cabinet next to the sink; and put his pill bottles in the bathroom medicine cabinet, second shelf, same order, all labeled in German. For all the whirlwind that Schuldig was, swayed by a million thoughts from a million other minds, always flitting from here to there with the attention span of a gnat; there existed a streak of order to the chaos of Schuldig. And amongst all of Schuldig’s collecting, there was Brad; a silent center, who knew the word ‘Schuldig’ when its owner forgot, and spoke German with a flawless tone.
The banging on the office door grew in intensity, as if the perpetrator sensed Brad rising from his chair. Unlocking and opening the door, Crawford dodged the fist that flew through the opening. He caught Schuldig’s wrist in a bruising grip and wrenched his arm behind his back. Heedless of the pain, Schuldig’s other arm came around to finish what the other had started, but Crawford knew Schuldig’s next move before it came. With both arms restrained, Crawford pushed a thrashing Schuldig into the wall, trapping his legs with his own. Schuldig struggled and cursed, and Brad held him crushed to the wall until, realizing the futility of fighting a precog without the rare element of surprise, Schuldig stilled; his mouth an angry line and breathing rapidly through his nose.
“You’re a bastard,” Schuldig said with thinly veiled rage.
“Perhaps,” Brad replied calmly
“You could’ve said something.”
“I did.”
“You could’ve been more specific,” Schuldig hissed.
“Why are you angry, Schuldig?” Brad asked against Schuldig’s ear. “Surely, you don’t care if she’s dead.”
“Of course not,” Schuldig snarled, twisting and failing to head-butt Crawford. “The whiny bitch can roast in hell along with her fat letch of a father!”
“Then why?”
“Takatori’s going to be out for blood over this. Ours! And the first call he’s going to make will be to Estet. They’re going to decide that we’re complete fuck-ups, who jeopardized their Japanese contact, and let Takatori rip our balls off through our throats! What do you think, I’m upset over!”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“I’m fucking tired of you saying that!” Schuldig yelled, and started pushing back against Crawford and yanking at his arms. Brad tightened his grip, feeling bones grind, and rested his forehead against the back of Schuldig’s head, nose buried in his hair. Mind open just enough, Brad encircled the telepath’s mind with his own shields. Schuldig sagged against him, mouth open in a silent gasp. Brad could feel Schuldig’s consciousness, strange and familiar, just outside his own; so close, he could reach out and pull him in completely and leave Schuldig’s body, with it’s poor shielding, an empty shell. Distracted, Brad breathed in the smell of Schuldig’s shampoo and left him in his own head, shielded and protected, but whole.
“Trust me,” Brad said quietly, but behind the wall that still separated their thoughts, the words sound differently. Need me. “Let him hit you and bruise you. Let him grow tired and emotional. Make him weak and vulnerable, and I swear I’ll make sure he dies. He’ll die and Estet won’t look twice at us.”
“I hate you,” Schuldig breathed, and something twisted painfully in Brad’s chest.
“Trust me,” he said more firmly.
“I fucking hate you.”
“I know.”
“I really do.”
“Trust me.”
“Ja.”
No matter the place, Schuldig stood out as a foreigner; even though, as a child (orphan, all of them in someway) of Rosenkruez, he owed no allegiance to any country. The busier the city, the more Schuldig stood out. The louder the minds, the more Schuldig screamed back. No record existed of ‘Schuldig’ being born in Germany, but Brad doubted the birth certificate, wherever it was, carried that name. ‘Schuldig’ was the word the telepath knew meant himself, just as German was the language he remembered speaking first. Schuldig kept the pieces of himself close, just as he kept bits and pieces of things to help him remember: ratty t-shirts, old CDs, the odd photo, presents from the rest of Schwarz; reminders of himself for himself. Although his stuff looked a mess, everything had a place. With every move, Schuldig demanded a chest-of-drawers with the same number of drawers; put his coffee mug on the bottom shelf of the cabinet next to the sink; and put his pill bottles in the bathroom medicine cabinet, second shelf, same order, all labeled in German. For all the whirlwind that Schuldig was, swayed by a million thoughts from a million other minds, always flitting from here to there with the attention span of a gnat; there existed a streak of order to the chaos of Schuldig. And amongst all of Schuldig’s collecting, there was Brad; a silent center, who knew the word ‘Schuldig’ when its owner forgot, and spoke German with a flawless tone.
The banging on the office door grew in intensity, as if the perpetrator sensed Brad rising from his chair. Unlocking and opening the door, Crawford dodged the fist that flew through the opening. He caught Schuldig’s wrist in a bruising grip and wrenched his arm behind his back. Heedless of the pain, Schuldig’s other arm came around to finish what the other had started, but Crawford knew Schuldig’s next move before it came. With both arms restrained, Crawford pushed a thrashing Schuldig into the wall, trapping his legs with his own. Schuldig struggled and cursed, and Brad held him crushed to the wall until, realizing the futility of fighting a precog without the rare element of surprise, Schuldig stilled; his mouth an angry line and breathing rapidly through his nose.
“You’re a bastard,” Schuldig said with thinly veiled rage.
“Perhaps,” Brad replied calmly
“You could’ve said something.”
“I did.”
“You could’ve been more specific,” Schuldig hissed.
“Why are you angry, Schuldig?” Brad asked against Schuldig’s ear. “Surely, you don’t care if she’s dead.”
“Of course not,” Schuldig snarled, twisting and failing to head-butt Crawford. “The whiny bitch can roast in hell along with her fat letch of a father!”
“Then why?”
“Takatori’s going to be out for blood over this. Ours! And the first call he’s going to make will be to Estet. They’re going to decide that we’re complete fuck-ups, who jeopardized their Japanese contact, and let Takatori rip our balls off through our throats! What do you think, I’m upset over!”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“I’m fucking tired of you saying that!” Schuldig yelled, and started pushing back against Crawford and yanking at his arms. Brad tightened his grip, feeling bones grind, and rested his forehead against the back of Schuldig’s head, nose buried in his hair. Mind open just enough, Brad encircled the telepath’s mind with his own shields. Schuldig sagged against him, mouth open in a silent gasp. Brad could feel Schuldig’s consciousness, strange and familiar, just outside his own; so close, he could reach out and pull him in completely and leave Schuldig’s body, with it’s poor shielding, an empty shell. Distracted, Brad breathed in the smell of Schuldig’s shampoo and left him in his own head, shielded and protected, but whole.
“Trust me,” Brad said quietly, but behind the wall that still separated their thoughts, the words sound differently. Need me. “Let him hit you and bruise you. Let him grow tired and emotional. Make him weak and vulnerable, and I swear I’ll make sure he dies. He’ll die and Estet won’t look twice at us.”
“I hate you,” Schuldig breathed, and something twisted painfully in Brad’s chest.
“Trust me,” he said more firmly.
“I fucking hate you.”
“I know.”
“I really do.”
“Trust me.”
“Ja.”
* * * * * *
The world tilted and spun in sideways revolutions. The floor replaced the ceiling; a tightly woven green carpet, office grade. Today Schuldig remembered an almost forgotten lesson: when hitting the floor, the floor hits back. Takatori had started his enraged beating on Farfarello, who had been more annoyed than pained by anything bruised or broken. The swings, when they came, were less severe and more tired for Schuldig. The last swing of the golf club, however, fueled by a deep reserve of grief and anger, had slammed into the side of Schuldig’s head.
Schuldig knew well the speed with which time could move; the fleeting seconds that raced by and into eternity. He had chased time, moved faster and easier, and watched as time itself seemed to slow for his opponent. Schuldig had lost time as well, surfacing from the swell of minds beyond his own to find the day long gone. Rare, however, was the slow drag of time.
The cold curve of metal pressed itself into Schuldig’s cheek, just missing his temple. His flesh dented and remolded around the foreign object. The unyielding bone, forced to give ground, cracked. Time, it seemed, had forgotten Schuldig. Instead of carrying him along at his usual breakneck speed, time left the telepath behind. The split-second of contact dragged into forever, as the clubhead dragged along his cheek. The flesh tore in the wake of contact. The layers of skin ripped and separated, followed by red moisture beading and seeping.
Schuldig’s neck turned to the side, and his spine released a sharp cracking noise. Time unfroze. His body twisted to follow the path of the club, and as Schuldig’s knees left the ground; his face replaced them. Nose pressed into the coarse olive weave, Schuldig’s only semi-coherent thought (he presumes it’s his) was how badly his coat must clash.
Supported by his right arm, the one not busy forming bruised knots to match his face, Schuldig levered himself up. Takatori’s mouth was moving, but Schuldig couldn’t catch the words. He blinked, again, and once more, but all he heard was roaring: too many thoughts, too many voices, streamed into his mind. Disoriented, the white noise threatened to drown him. Schuldig closed his eyes, and tried to pull away from the dizzying nausea, tried to float above the clamor in his head. Thoughts, words not his own, formed and surged out of the noise to claw at him, pierce and divide his consciousness.
Eyes open, Schuldig sought out Brad. The club came down again, but he didn’t feel the hit. Vibrations shook him, and he managed to focus on Nagi. The club struck again, but once more just vibrations, like someone pounding the other side of an invisible wall. When the club ceased to return, Schuldig slid his gaze away from Nagi; his head drunkenly following the roll of his eyes. Crawford stared back from the other side of the raised golf club. He was speaking, his mouth moving, to Takatori who still gripped the club, but he watched Schuldig. He shook his head at something, and refocused his gaze on Takatori.
Schuldig heard none of the conversation, and couldn’t focus enough to pick their minds; but from the tilt of Brad’s head and the slant of his eyes, Crawford was using his own brand of manipulation to sway Takatori to a new viewpoint, soft words with sharp intent. Schuldig watched as king and pawn traded places in this game of human chess. Crawford’s calm and control would seem even more rational in the face of Takatori’s grief muddled mind. The would-be king released the club, and balled his fists. Under Crawford’s thin smile, Takatori fled the room. Outside the door, he gestured violently, and several ‘suits’ jumped to follow him or hurry ahead.
Closing his eyes, Schuldig let his head fall back. He tried again to let the invading thoughts drift into useless noise, and to collect himself above it all. A hand cupped the back of his head, and he was alone in his head. It wasn’t the ‘Symphony,’ as there was no background noise either. There were no thoughts at all, save his own. Silence. Schuldig opened his eyes, and looked through glass into the amber eyes of Brad. For once, Schuldig was sure, the other man hid nothing. His mouth remained twisted in an amused smile, and his eyes shone with malicious triumph.
“Schuldig,” he said, “well done. As they say, kings to you and Farfarello.”
“Checkmate,” replied Schuldig hoarsely.
“For this match. Now we sit and watch the final fatal moves.”
“I still hate you, Crawford.”
“I know,” Brad said. His smile softened into something less sinister. ~But you still need me.~ Schuldig narrowed his eyes, but didn’t protest when Crawford helped him off the floor. The hand on the back of his head slid down his back and under his arm. Crawford slung Schuldig’s other arm around his neck. “Nagi, you can drive home.”
“Gott, I’m going to die after all,” Schuldig rasped.
“I drive better than you do, Schuldig,” said Nagi, as Crawford’s car keys lifted out of his coat pocket and floated to Nagi’s hand.
“Farfarello?” Crawford asked, glancing behind him. “All intact?”
“Of course,” Farfarello replied, “Takatori is but a sheep among us wolves.”
“Easy for you to say, psychotic nut job,” sneered Schuldig.
“Not my fault you’re a bleeder.”
“I could kill you with my brain, you deranged blender.”
“Try it.”
“I’m not carrying either of your corpses,” interjected Nagi.
“Neither will I,” said Brad, intentionally jarring Schuldig, who gripped his head.
“Rain check,” moaned Schuldig.
“The good pills tonight, I should think,” said Brad.
“I’d rather not be unconscious, when Takatori comes and kills me,” grumbled Schuldig.
“Schuldig.”
“Verpiss dich.”
“Schuldig, trust me.”
“Was auch immer,” Schuldig replied, but tightened his hold on Brad and received an echo from the arm around him. His body ached, but his mind was quiet.
End Chapter
End Notes:
I had some trouble with this chapter, but I think it came out well. What do you all think? Thanks for stopping by. :)
Solaras
Schuldig knew well the speed with which time could move; the fleeting seconds that raced by and into eternity. He had chased time, moved faster and easier, and watched as time itself seemed to slow for his opponent. Schuldig had lost time as well, surfacing from the swell of minds beyond his own to find the day long gone. Rare, however, was the slow drag of time.
The cold curve of metal pressed itself into Schuldig’s cheek, just missing his temple. His flesh dented and remolded around the foreign object. The unyielding bone, forced to give ground, cracked. Time, it seemed, had forgotten Schuldig. Instead of carrying him along at his usual breakneck speed, time left the telepath behind. The split-second of contact dragged into forever, as the clubhead dragged along his cheek. The flesh tore in the wake of contact. The layers of skin ripped and separated, followed by red moisture beading and seeping.
Schuldig’s neck turned to the side, and his spine released a sharp cracking noise. Time unfroze. His body twisted to follow the path of the club, and as Schuldig’s knees left the ground; his face replaced them. Nose pressed into the coarse olive weave, Schuldig’s only semi-coherent thought (he presumes it’s his) was how badly his coat must clash.
Supported by his right arm, the one not busy forming bruised knots to match his face, Schuldig levered himself up. Takatori’s mouth was moving, but Schuldig couldn’t catch the words. He blinked, again, and once more, but all he heard was roaring: too many thoughts, too many voices, streamed into his mind. Disoriented, the white noise threatened to drown him. Schuldig closed his eyes, and tried to pull away from the dizzying nausea, tried to float above the clamor in his head. Thoughts, words not his own, formed and surged out of the noise to claw at him, pierce and divide his consciousness.
Eyes open, Schuldig sought out Brad. The club came down again, but he didn’t feel the hit. Vibrations shook him, and he managed to focus on Nagi. The club struck again, but once more just vibrations, like someone pounding the other side of an invisible wall. When the club ceased to return, Schuldig slid his gaze away from Nagi; his head drunkenly following the roll of his eyes. Crawford stared back from the other side of the raised golf club. He was speaking, his mouth moving, to Takatori who still gripped the club, but he watched Schuldig. He shook his head at something, and refocused his gaze on Takatori.
Schuldig heard none of the conversation, and couldn’t focus enough to pick their minds; but from the tilt of Brad’s head and the slant of his eyes, Crawford was using his own brand of manipulation to sway Takatori to a new viewpoint, soft words with sharp intent. Schuldig watched as king and pawn traded places in this game of human chess. Crawford’s calm and control would seem even more rational in the face of Takatori’s grief muddled mind. The would-be king released the club, and balled his fists. Under Crawford’s thin smile, Takatori fled the room. Outside the door, he gestured violently, and several ‘suits’ jumped to follow him or hurry ahead.
Closing his eyes, Schuldig let his head fall back. He tried again to let the invading thoughts drift into useless noise, and to collect himself above it all. A hand cupped the back of his head, and he was alone in his head. It wasn’t the ‘Symphony,’ as there was no background noise either. There were no thoughts at all, save his own. Silence. Schuldig opened his eyes, and looked through glass into the amber eyes of Brad. For once, Schuldig was sure, the other man hid nothing. His mouth remained twisted in an amused smile, and his eyes shone with malicious triumph.
“Schuldig,” he said, “well done. As they say, kings to you and Farfarello.”
“Checkmate,” replied Schuldig hoarsely.
“For this match. Now we sit and watch the final fatal moves.”
“I still hate you, Crawford.”
“I know,” Brad said. His smile softened into something less sinister. ~But you still need me.~ Schuldig narrowed his eyes, but didn’t protest when Crawford helped him off the floor. The hand on the back of his head slid down his back and under his arm. Crawford slung Schuldig’s other arm around his neck. “Nagi, you can drive home.”
“Gott, I’m going to die after all,” Schuldig rasped.
“I drive better than you do, Schuldig,” said Nagi, as Crawford’s car keys lifted out of his coat pocket and floated to Nagi’s hand.
“Farfarello?” Crawford asked, glancing behind him. “All intact?”
“Of course,” Farfarello replied, “Takatori is but a sheep among us wolves.”
“Easy for you to say, psychotic nut job,” sneered Schuldig.
“Not my fault you’re a bleeder.”
“I could kill you with my brain, you deranged blender.”
“Try it.”
“I’m not carrying either of your corpses,” interjected Nagi.
“Neither will I,” said Brad, intentionally jarring Schuldig, who gripped his head.
“Rain check,” moaned Schuldig.
“The good pills tonight, I should think,” said Brad.
“I’d rather not be unconscious, when Takatori comes and kills me,” grumbled Schuldig.
“Schuldig.”
“Verpiss dich.”
“Schuldig, trust me.”
“Was auch immer,” Schuldig replied, but tightened his hold on Brad and received an echo from the arm around him. His body ached, but his mind was quiet.
End Chapter
End Notes:
I had some trouble with this chapter, but I think it came out well. What do you all think? Thanks for stopping by. :)
Solaras