Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Mission: Midwest ❯ Chapter 7 ( Chapter 7 )

 

Farf's eyebrows went up in question as he came into the kitchen carrying crayons, paper and markers. He smelled real food and the only person in the house other than himself was Schuldig.

 

“Something smells really good. Did you “persuade” someone to cook for us?” Farf asked, putting his art supplies on the table and climbing up into the booster seat.

 

“I can cook, you know,” Schuldig growled over one shoulder. “And for your information it's bienenstich. Ow! Scheisse, that's hot.” He pulled something out of the oven and set it on the kitchen counter to cool before he turned to the stove again to check what was simmering there.

 

Farf shrugged. “I thought maybe you were planning on poisoning the local matriarchs,” Farf said, beginning work on his latest crayon masterpiece. There were already half a dozen stuck to the fridge in proper happy family fashion.

 

“Oh, if only that were the case,” Schuldig said wistfully.

 

“So what exactly is beanswich, a sandwich with beans?”

 

“Bienenstich,” Schuldig corrected. “Means bee sting because of the honey topping. It's cake. The coffee clutch is over today.”

 

Farf grunted and rolled his eye. “You have my deepest and most sincere sympathies.”

 

Half an hour later, Mary Crane was pounding on the front door, arms laden with various flavored coffees. Schuldig sighed and resigned himself to drinking the ghastly concoctions, though he had to admit the Highlander Grog was especially good. Probably because it had booze in it.

 

“Good morning, Sasha,” Mary said brightly, bounding into the kitchen ahead of him. Schuldig managed to just suppress a heavy sigh before following her.

 

Mary patted Farf on the head and he looked up at her, giving her the sweetest of toddler smiles before returning to his drawing with considerable enthusiasm.

 

“What are you drawing, sweetie?” she asked, looking over his shoulder and making an most undignified squawk. “Um, Sasha.”

 

“Ja? What is it, Mary,” Schuldig asked, fussing with the cake.

 

“Ah . . . have you looked at what Jay has been drawing?”

 

“Not in the last ten minutes or so. Why?”

 

“I think you should see this,” she said, sounding nervous and that piqued his curiosity.

 

He came over and looked at what Farf was still happily working on and almost had to clamp one hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. On the paper, done in crayon and marker no less, was a remarkably detailed scene of a minister's office with said minister staring wide eyed and obviously dead in growing pool of his own blood.

 

“That's . . . disturbing,” Schuldig said to stifle his oncoming snicker.

 

“I'm afraid he may have seen more than he should have the other day,” Mary said worriedly. “But he's really too young to get counseling.”

 

“We'll think of something, Mary,” Schuldig said. Like turning him loose on you once he gets his old body back.

 

“I'm sure you will, dear,” Mary said, patting him on the arm and making herself at home by starting coffee.

 

Schuldig rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Farf, who had his head down but was smiling into his paper.

 

Farf, don't draw anymore shit like that while she's here or I really WILL take you to a therapist.

 

You go right ahead with that, Schu. They'll think the therapist is cracked when he or she says they heard a man's voice come out of a two year old.

 

Point taken. Ass.

 

Hey, I learned from the best.

 

The rest of the women started to gather a few minutes later, piling into the living room and wandering around in the kitchen. Some of them picked up Farf and hugged him to their chests. Farf caught Schuldig's eye and gave a shrug as one of the more attractive housewives hugged him, saying without words that he was making the most of the situation.

 

“Jay, kürbis, would you take your toys to the playroom, please?”

 

Farf looked mutinous, still snuggled on someone's lap and perfectly comfortable right where he was.

 

“Oh, can't he stay, Sasha, he's so adorable,” the woman, Schuldig thought her name was Amy, said cuddling Farf a little closer to her breasts.

 

Farf squeezed one saying, “Boobies!” in his toddler voice and smiling happily.

 

Great, the baby is a perv.

 

Absolutely! Unlike you and our clueless leader I happen to like women.

 

Whatever. Enjoy.

 

I will.

 

Out loud Schuldig said, “Jay, don't do that. It isn't nice.”

 

The woman laughed. “That's okay, Sasha, I get it a lot. Especially if they've just stopped breast feeding.”

 

For obvious reasons, Schuldig thought, looking at her chest momentarily and wondering if she'd had a boob job done. Those things were the size of his head.

 

The coffee and cake were served a few minutes later and conversation naturally turned to the local gossip. Schuldig half tuned it out as he was watching in horrified fascination as Farf happily planted his head firmly on Amy of the massive mamaries' chest. But something Mary said caught his attention.

 

“What did you just say, Mary? I'm afraid my mind wandered for a moment,” Schuldig asked sweetly.

 

“Oh I was just saying that Aya's husband Yohji came to me with advice on what to get her as a gift. Apparently, he was on the couch for some reason or another that Aya won't talk about,” Mary said. “I helped him pick out this adorable pair of shoes.”

 

Yohji. There was another familiar name, Schuldig thought. Now THAT can't be a coincidence. How many Yohji's could there be with an Aya smack in the middle of America? He smiled a little over the rim of his coffee cup.

 

Y'know, Weiss really sucks at undercover work, Farf mused thoughtfully.

 

That they do. But they can't very well go around calling themselves Abyssinian, Balinese and such while trying to play the happy family.

 

Yeah, but using your real name on mission is just stupid. Especially, when it's something odd for the area like Yohji. I mean really Crawford's was fine because how many fucking Brads are there in America? A million?

 

True. We'll just have to find out where the little kittens are and pay them a social call, Schuldig said, smiling nastily.