Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Mission: Midwest ❯ Chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )

Mission2

 

 

Nagi came through the front door muttering in disgust. He threw his bookbag into the nearest chair and flopped himself onto the couch.

 

“What's your problem?” came Farf's voice from somewhere around his knees. He was sitting on the floor making crosses out of Legos and knocking them over gleefully.

 

Nagi shook his head. It was still very odd to hear Farf's voice coming out of the body of a two year old. Nagi stretched a little and scratched the side of his face. Maybe he'd leave off so much makeup tomorrow. Gods knew it itched after a while.

 

“Did you know this is the most ass backward country in the world?”

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

“You can't drink until you're twenty one but you're considered an adult at eighteen. That doesn't make any sense. Plus the age of consent is judged state to state.”

 

“So, what is it here?”

 

“Seventeen. Again, that makes no sense when in just about every other country in the world it's fifteen.”

 

Schuldig paused on his way to the basement, carrying a laundry basket. “What are you bitching about now?”

 

“I don't want to talk about it. Mom,” Nagi said pointedly, taking in that Schuldig was wearing hotpants that were more than a little cheeky and a woman's blouse.

 

“Bite me,” Schuldig snarled.

 

“Not on a dare, you walking STD factory. Gods only know what I'd get. Why Crawford fucks you on a regular basis is beyond me.”

 

“Because I'm good at it. Wanna find out?” Schuldig said suggestively.

 

“Again, no thanks. I'm not anxious to have my dick fall off,” Nagi said, grabbing his bag and starting up the stairs. “I have homework. Such as it is. I'll be finished in about ten minutes.”

 

Schuldig rolled his eyes and started for the basement again. He paused and turned to Farf, who was still playing on the floor.

 

“Farf, do I want to know what you have planned for the missing icepick?”

 

Farf blinked up at him before giving him the most sinister smile ever found on a two year old. “I have a play date,” he said simply as though that explained the whole matter.

 

“Farf, you can't mutilate the local toddlers. Brad would have an entire fucking litter of kittens if this mission gets blown.”

 

“Not to mention you probably wouldn't get blown for a while. Don't worry. I'm not aiming for the kid. His dad is a preacher.”

 

“Just be careful when you take him out. The last thing we need is the department of children and family services breathing down our necks,” Schuldig said, opening the door to the basement.

 

“Don't stress on it. It will be an “accident”. Besides, who'd suspect the baby?”

 

 

Half an hour later Schuldig passed Crawford's home office and heard the strangest sound. It almost sounded like, laugher. What the hell? He stuck his head in the door to make certain he wasn't having auditory hallucinations and found that Crawford was indeed laughing. Not merely his usual sinister chuckle or half amused snort. Doubled over, practically in tears, nearly rolling out of the chair, holding his stomach laughing. Hell had officially frozen over.

 

“What's so damn funny?”

 

Crawford looked up at him blearily, his glasses sliding down his nose, face flushed, still laughing. “Vision . . . Abyssinian . . . horrible flowered dress . . . heels and pearls . . . vacuuming,” was all he managed to get out before he started laughing too hard to speak again.