Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ The Sous-Chef ❯ Chapter 9

Chapter 9

::I’m worried about Aya,:: Yohji sent, staring discreetly through his bangs at the seemingly lifeless lump of redhead that sat in front of the TV, staring at it blankly.

::So what else is new?:: Schu replied, glancing up from where he had his head in Yohji’s lap. He put his magazine aside. ::I’m worried about him too. His muscles are going to atrophy if he just sits around forever, and then what’ll we do for eye-candy?::

Yohji smacked his boyfriend on top of the head.

::Ow! It was just a joke, you man-beater!::

Yohji chuckled softly and began combing his fingers through Schu’s eternally messy hair. He glanced at Aya again, and his worry-wrinkles reappeared.

It had been two weeks since they’d arrived in New Orleans, and they had found a very nice house for sale almost immediately in New Orleans East. It was on a wide avenue with a tree-studded median, and was canopied by enormous oak trees whose roots had broken up the sidewalk in many places. The house itself was over 100 years old, but the previous owner had put a lot of money and time into modernizing the plumbing and electrics, and repairing termite and water damage, so it was really quite convenient. Yohji had wondered if they shouldn’t have picked a house that needed more work, so that Aya could help fix it up, but Schuldig had his heart set and thus the case was closed.

It really was a beautiful house, though. Polished wooden floors, lovely arched doorways, high ceilings with large but tasteful crown moldings, nice detailing on all the built-in cabinetry, huge bathrooms with large octagonal tubs and slate walls, an enormous veranda that went ¾ of the way around the house, a pool and Jacuzzi in the backyard amidst a lush garden…

Yohji sighed quietly. He’d really hoped that the garden would snag Aya’s attention, since out of the four of them he’d been the one most interested in the florist trade. He’d cared for the plants almost lovingly, so much that it had crossed Yohji’s mind often that Aya was compensating the only way he could for taking lives at night, by nurturing those small lives during the day.

But Aya seemed to have no interest in the garden. Yohji got Schu to come out with him for weeding and other gardening chores, but Aya didn’t join them. He had barely gone outside since they’d moved in. In fact, he barely moved from his spot in front of the TV. Though they’d made sure to outfit one of the upstairs rooms as a dojo/exercise room, Aya wouldn’t even do katas. He barely ate, almost never spoke. Schuldig could hardly ever go inside Aya’s head because it had started to give him splitting headaches. Schuldig thought it was probably something Aya himself was doing unconsciously, to keep him out. Some subconscious defense mechanism. No matter what they tried, Aya wouldn’t snap out of this…this black sorrow. Schuldig had said they should allow him a period of grieving, but he didn’t sound too convincing, since Aya had been grieving ever since his sister left him.

::We have to get him a job,:: Schuldig sent, interrupting Yohji’s brooding. ::He needs something to do, some kind of structure. I think if we get a job for him he’ll go. Hopefully he’s still too responsible not to.::

::You mean you have to get him a job,:: Yohji corrected. ::How else is he going to get hired sight unseen? Unless you think you can convince Aya to go with you to an interview or something.::

::What kind of job could he do? I know he was in construction, but…:: Schuldig made a face. ::I would rather look for something else for him. Something that’s not mindless, back-breaking labor.::

Yohji looked thoughtful. ::I guess he could do an office job. Something in banking might be good for him; he was always good with numbers. He did all the bookkeeping at the Koneko -- ::

Schuldig sat up abruptly. ::What time is it?::

Yohji peered at his watch. ::9:30, why?::

::C’mon, let’s go ask Farfarello if he’ll give Aya a job.::

::What?:: Yohji’s mouth dropped open in surprise. ::You want Aya to be a waiter?::

::He’s got experience.:: Schuldig tossed Yohji a light jacket.

::That was before. He hates people,:: Yohji reminded him.

::It doesn’t have to be a job as a waiter. He could get a job in the kitchen.:: “Aya, we’re gonna go see Farf. Want to come?” Schu called cheerfully.

“No,” Aya said, not even looking around.

“Okay, seeya!” Schuldig grabbed the keys to his new red Ferrari and dragged Yohji out the door.

As they were speeding along through the mad, mad New Orleans traffic, Yohji continued to question the wisdom of Schuldig’s sudden impulse. “What’s he going to do in the kitchen that’ll be better than construction? Chopping vegetables? Slaving over a grill?”

“Oh, hush, Yohji. I want him to work where someone will be keeping an eye out for him. No pun intended.” He swerved as three cars ahead of him tried to change lanes at the same time, without signals, coming within centimeters of crashing into each other.

Prying his fingers from the dashboard, Yohji replied, “Who says Farf will watch out for Aya? I know you’ve been hanging out with him a lot, and you used to be teammates, but it’s been a long time since you’ve really been close to him, and – “

“Yohji, you’re going to have to trust me. Farfarello is independent now, but – not that he’d ever admit this directly – he’s also fiercely loyal. Clannish, you might say. Schwarz was his clan, and I think he’d do anything for me, Nagi or Crawford. Within reason, that is. Besides, in the state Aya’s in right now, I don’t think he’d do too well as a banker or a desk jockey. Working in a restaurant will at least get him moving again, and if he doesn’t like it he can always quit later. Don’t worry, Yohji. Farf will help us out.”

*****

“Absolutely not,” Farfarello said, as they sat at a table in the corner splitting a bottle of Frei Brothers Chardonnay.

“Farfarello – “ Schuldig began, in a somewhat petulant tone.

“Schuldig, I don’t have a position for him. I don’t even need any dishwashers right now. They don’t tend to last long, though, so if one of them quits – “

“No,” Yohji said, disgusted. “Aya is not going to be a fucking dishwasher.” He knocked back his glass and poured another. “He was accepted to Tokyo U when he was 16, goddamn it!”

“Really?” Farf looked completely uninterested. “How nice for him.” He shrugged, and drained his glass. “Well, if that’s all, Schuldig – “

“Farf, you were just telling me the other day that you lost an important member of your staff. Give Aya that job, just on a trial basis.”

Farfarello looked stunned, then burst out laughing. Yohji was surprised that it didn’t sound like the laugh of a maniacal knife-licking lunatic. It was kind of…nice. Deep and throaty, almost gravelly.

When Farf had gotten himself under control, he looked at Schuldig. “That’s a good one, carrothead.” He wiped tears from his eyes.

“I’m serious, Farf. Give him a shot. He might surprise you. You know he’s full of surprises. Remember?” Schuldig folded his hands on the table, looking earnestly at his former teammate.

“Schu…” Farfarello plunked his elbows on the table and leaned his head into his hands, fingers twisting in his hair, pulling it from its bun a little.

Yohji started to get a little nervous.

“Ye have no idea, no concept of what you’re asking me to do. If ye did, ye would understand how ridiculous you’re being.”

“One week, Farf. Just give him a week, and then if it doesn’t work out – “

“Damn it, listen to me!” Farfarello was beginning to look pretty pissed off. Yohji wondered if he could move all the tableware and the bottle out of Farf’s reach without anyone noticing. “Ye don’t hire someone off the fucking street, with no professional kitchen experience, to be the sous-chef of a restaurant with any kind of respectability! Do ye have any idea how many things the sous has to know how to do? I’m sorry red kitty isn’t feeling well, but I can’t – “ Farfarello stopped suddenly, a strange, unsettling flicker in his eye.

Yohji shivered.

“You were saying?” Schuldig sighed, dejected.

“Well, I guess we should get going,” Yohji said, pulling his jacket off the back of the chair and slipping it on. “Thanks for the wine, Farf, it’s too bad – “

“Alright,” Farf stated abruptly. “I’ll give him a shot.”

“What?” Yohji detected an almost-whine in his voice, which he suspected was from not being able to escape from Farfarello’s disturbing presence. He wondered if he’d ever be as comfortable around the madman – former madman, he told himself – as Schuldig was.

“Great!” Schuldig clapped his hands together with glee. “When can he start?”

Yohji looked at his boyfriend suspiciously. ::Did you make him change his mind?::

::Not a bit,:: Schu replied, unconcerned. ::I’ve never been able to manipulate Farf that way, I’ve told you that.::

Yohji wondered what could have caused the change of heart. It couldn’t be anything good. He hoped they weren’t putting Aya in danger…he could always stake the place out to make sure his friend had some back-up…

“He’ll start…what’s tomorrow, Monday? He’ll start a week from tomorrow. I’ll drop by yer house tomorrow morning to give him some study materials, “ Farf was saying, while he drummed his fingers on the table.

“You have the address?” Schuldig asked.

“Yeah,” he replied. His pale white fingers curled into a fist on the tablecloth. “This will be interesting. But, like ye said, I’m giving him one week. Less if he’s doing a really shitty job. He fucks up, he’s out on his ass, I can promise ye that.”

“And you’ll look out for him? Make sure he doesn’t brood or stab himself with kitchen knives?”

Farfarello smacked his forehead almost comically. “Schuldig…shit, if he’s got time to brood in my kitchen, then he’s not doing his job and he’s out. And I haven’t got time to baby-sit him.”

“Schuldig, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” Yohji started.

“So you’ll make sure he’s really busy,” Schuldig continued, as if Yohji hadn’t spoken. “Ride his ass if you have to.”

Farfarello raised an eyebrow. “I assume you’re using that phrase in the metaphorical sense. How odd of ye.”

“So we have a deal, Farfie?”

“Yeah, sure. Don’t worry, I’ll be on his case more than anyone’s, especially since he’s new and green as leprechaun shite.”

“Fantastic. I knew you’d come through for us, Farfie.”

“Just one more thing, Schu,” Farf said, picking up a fork from the tasteful navy linen napkin.

“Mmm?” Schuldig hummed inquisitively, fingers toying with the stem of his wine glass.

Moving like lightning, Farfarello grabbed Schuldig’s left hand, smashed it flat on the table and stabbed the fork deeply into the back of it. Schuldig’s eyes took on saucer-like proportions, and he gasped and choked, but otherwise made no sound.

Yohji picked up the empty wine bottle, ready to smash the bottom off and grind the jagged edges into Farfarello’s throat, but Schuldig’s voice sounded in his head. ::Don’t, Yohji. It’ll just make things escalate.::

“Sorry, Schu, but I told ye I’d hurt ye the next time ye called me Farfie. You’re lucky I didn’t stab twice, since ye said it twice.”

“Fuck, that hurts,” Schuldig grunted, yanking the fork out of his hand with some difficulty. He didn’t seem particularly surprised or upset. “What the hell, Farf, you don’t have a fucking knife on you?”

“Of course I’ve got knives, idiot,” Farf replied, smiling, as Yohji started tending his boyfriend’s hand, washing it with water from his water glass, tying a clean napkin around it, trying to ignore the burning desire to rip Farfarello’s smiling lips off. “But I like a little variety.”

“Bastard,” Yohji finally bit out. “You hurt Schuldig again and I’ll – “

“No, no, Yohji,” Schuldig interrupted, alarmed. “Don’t worry about it. It’s…er, well…”

“It’s just a game,” Farf supplied.

“A game? You call stabbing my boyfriend with a fork a fucking game?” Yohji’s voice was rising, attracting attention from the few late-night stragglers.

::Yohji, sit down. I promise you, this is nothing.::

Yohji was almost surprised to find he’d risen from his seat and assumed a fighting stance. Glaring daggers at his white-haired nemesis, he slowly sank into his seat. ::There’s no fucking way I’m putting Aya in the hands of this lunatic,:: he sent fiercely.

::Don’t be like that, Yohji. I’ll explain this later. Just ignore us for now, okay?::

“Huh.” Farfarello looked intrigued. “Ye have a Puss-in-Boots to ride to yer rescue now. Perhaps the game is over, my friend.”

“No fucking way!” Schuldig cried, grinning. “Not until I get you back, at least.”

“Fair enough, fair enough,” Farf conceded. “Now I’ve really got to close up the kitchen, so I’ll see ye tomorrow morning.” He gave Schuldig a brief one-armed hug, which almost had Yohji launching out of his seat across the table. Farf stood, turned to Yohji and bowed with a flourish of his hand. “Sorry for wounding the Marquis in yer presence, Puss-in-Boots. I humbly beg yer forgiveness.”

“Not bloody likely,” Yohji growled through clenched teeth.

Farf sighed. “Ah, well. Temperamental, cats are. Grudge-holders. I’ve got rottweilers, myself. G’night, Schu.” The Irish madman wove through the tables to the kitchen with inhuman grace, and Yohji watched him go with more confusion than ire.

“Let’s get out of here, sweetie,” Schuldig said softly, smiling at him.

He didn’t smile back, but rose swiftly from the table, almost overcome with relief that they were finally leaving. Regardless of how delicious the wine had been.

******

“Are you going to explain why Farfarello doesn’t deserve to have his hands cut off?” Yohji fumed, driving semi-cautiously back to their house. He thought longingly of his old Seven, which had driven like an extension of his soul – well. That was probably putting it too dramatically, but he’d really loved that car.

In the passenger seat, Schu was cradling his left hand gingerly. “Yes, I am. See, Crawford and I were out in the field alone together for a few months before he got permission to have a Berserker. I was sixteen then, and I thought I was hot stuff because Crawford had pulled me early from Rosenkreuz to work in the field – most people had to graduate from Rosenkreuz at seventeen or eighteen, and then work small jobs – mostly surveillance or interrogation – for two or three more years, reporting directly to higher-ups who kept them on a really tight leash, before even becoming eligible for an independent field team. Even then sometimes if took years. So I was pretty full of myself.”

“And you aren’t now?” Yohji teased, half-heartedly.

“Ha, ha. Anyway, I was knocked off my self-made pedestal a little when I found out that Crawford was bringing a no-Talent Berserker, the lowest of the low, into the team. In our training we almost never heard about the Berserkers, but they had a reputation among students for being drooling morons, worth less than laboratory rats. So you can imagine I was a little upset with Crawford about having one on our team. We had some blazing rows about it. I couldn’t get into his mind but I gave him a lot of migraines,” Schuldig reminisced, grinning.

“Why couldn’t you get into Crawford’s mind?” Yohji asked, getting sidetracked in spite of himself.

“Well, besides his defense training against telepaths – which he had to exercise more with me than with any enemy telepath, of course,” Schuldig interjected proudly, “precognitives and postcognitives don’t have brains wired like the rest of humanity. Somewhere in their mind, their brain is constantly reading the future or the past. I’ll just stick with the future, since I’m talking about Crawford. Precogs are constantly having visions, from the moment of birth until death. Part of their brain monitors everyone and everything they come into contact with, even people they haven’t seen in years or who are all the way across the planet. This part of their brain is in a constant dream-state, a few steps outside of normal time. Sometimes it goes only a few minutes or a few days ahead, sometimes – more rarely – years or even decades. When a monitored event is determined to be important enough, it gets pushed to the forefront of the precog’s mind. Well, to Crawford’s mind, and other precogs like him. Almost half of all precogs get caught up in the dream-state I mentioned, and live in the future, mad and muttering prophecies in a constant stream. These are generally scooped up by various governments, though of course Esszet harvested as many as it could. Crawford, being the ruthlessly efficient bastard he is, had no problem sectioning his mind off the way he wanted it.”

“You guys…man. That’s really fascinating. But it sounds so…I don’t see how anyone’s brain could handle all that information,” Yohji mused.

“Anyone’s brain couldn’t. Like I said, precogs are wired differently. Non-talents use about 3% of their brain, right? All Talents use more. Telekinetics use about 9%. Telepaths use about 18 to 25%. Post- and precogs use anywhere from 40 to 60%.”

Yohji’s eyes widened. “But I would think Nagi was smarter than you!”

“Oh, thanks,” Schu drawled. “Yeah, he is. Einstein didn’t use any more of his brain than you do. I’m no expert on the physical brain, but I think I can safely say that what makes you Talented isn’t necessarily what makes you smart. I’ve known Talents who were dumber than dirt.”

“Huh.”

“So anyway, I can’t get into Crawford’s mind because it’s like stepping into a tornado. I can go in briefly, if he lets me, but if I stayed too long I wouldn’t be able to find my way out again. When we talk telepathically it’s got to be on his terms, and in Schwarz I usually used the team link that I set up through Nagi because that made it easier to talk to both him and Farf.”

At the mention of Farfarello, Yohji snapped to attention. “Hey, weren’t you supposed to be telling me why it would be bad to box up the lunatic and send him to Baghdad?”

“You started me on this tangent, you know,” Schu pouted.

“I know,” Yohji relented. “So where were you?”

“I was telling you how much I hated it that Crawford was bringing what I saw as a lab rat onto the team with us.”

“Ah, right. So you feel bad about that now, and to make up for it you let him stab you with forks?” Yohji asked peevishly.

Schuldig exhaled loudly, shaking his head. “As I was saying, if you’ll let me finish,” he began again, “when we picked up Farf and it really hit home that I was expected to be on a team with him, I was livid. So I decided, in true Rosenkreuz-trained fashion, that I was going to kill him. I didn’t give a shit how much Crawford thought he was necessary to his plans or whatever, because naturally my pride was more important.”

“I see how fruitful your efforts were,” Yohji said, intrigued in spite of himself. He wished New Orleans went to sleep earlier, so there’d be less traffic and he could pay better attention…

“No kidding,” Schu chuckled. “I tried first to use telepathy, of course. Which led me to the discovery that I couldn’t manipulate Farf, or get inside his head. I could get a little ways in, but it hurt too much to do me any good. I kept trying anyway, giving myself splitting headaches and nosebleeds – once I even bled from my eyes and ears, too – until Crawford informed me that I was going to die if I kept it up. Since I trusted him – not that I’d ever have admitted it, especially where the inclusion of Farf was concerned – I decided to try physical attacks. I tried everything. I learned a lot about Farf’s abilities that way. I learned that no one can sneak up on him, that he can actually match my speed if he wants or needs to, that he finds it amusing to be stabbed and/or shot but that he can avoid both if he wants to, no matter how small of a space he’s in. Well, except when he’s shackled to the floor, the ceiling or the wall. And, of course, that he doesn’t feel any pain.”

“Why didn’t you just kill him while he was shackled?” Yohji asked.

“At first I considered it beneath my skills, to kill a sitting duck like that. But after a few frustrating weeks of failing to kill him, and receiving numerous painful wounds from him while he laughed at me, I decided that my pride could bend that far. I waited until Crawford was punishing him for slaughtering every priest and minister within a sixteen-mile radius – this in an area where there was practically a church on every street corner – and I snuck into his room with one of his knives that Crawford had confiscated.”

“How old was Farfarello when all this happened?” Yohji enquired as the thought struck him – wasn’t he younger than Schu?

“He was thirteen,” Schuldig responded gravely.

“Damn,” Yohji muttered.

“He looked at me and smiled when I came in, and said he was ready to die if I was ready to kill him. I stalked across the room, yanked his head back by the hair and put the knife to his throat, but I suddenly realized that I didn’t want to kill him. I’d actually grown to like him, and I respected him. The only other person I respected was Crawford, and I didn’t actually like anyone. So I took the knife away from his throat and stabbed him through the shoulder. He laughed at me as I left his room with the knife. Of course, Crawford was waiting for me in my room, and he…punished me for that.”

Yohji almost crashed the car. That pause… “Shit, you don’t mean – “

“Hell, no,” Schu said, laughing. “Crawford’s completely hetero, as far as I know. It’s just not nice to think about. He had this barbed flogger, and he’d use it on me until I threw up from the pain. That damn thing hurt worse than anything I’ve ever experienced. It looked like an S&M toy, but I can’t imagine anyone getting any pleasure out of it. I imagine it’s about as much fun as getting the skin ripped off your body in strips.”

“Fuck. Why haven’t you ever told me about this shit?”

“Because I knew it would piss you off. You can’t judge him, Yohji. We all came out of Rosenkreuz a bunch of fucked-up murderers, even Nagi.”

“I reserve my right to judge who I like, how I like,” Yohji growled.

“Fine, fine. Anyway, he never used the thing on me after I turned eighteen. Said that sort of discipline was only for children. I’m sure it made sense in his mind. By that time, of course, he had my trust and my loyalty. Brad never lied, never promised anything he didn’t deliver in the end. I’d never known anyone like that before. Really, there are hardly any people like that in the world. But I was telling you about Farf. After I stabbed him in the shoulder, he got me back by casually giving me a concussion while I was watching TV. Then I broke one of his fingers, and he stabbed me in the calf – like I said, it was a game. A fucked up and sadistic game, but it was fun.”

“Fun?” Yohji pulled into their driveway and waited for the automatic garage door to open.

“I used to be a lot more sadistic. Especially as a teenager. And I’ve experienced too much pain in my life to be bothered by it. Farfarello, well…”

“Is nuts.”

“He was really out of control sometimes,” Schuldig admitted. “But we were friends, and he was loyal to Crawford, and took to Nagi almost instantly, so eventually bloodshed within the team was almost nil. Well, except when Farf would cut himself. Still, every now and then we’d surprise each other with some sort of minor injury, and we’d laugh about it. Well, if I was the one injured, I’d curse and he’d laugh.”

Yohji put his face in his hands. “This is too weird.”

Schu shrugged. “I guess it’s not what you’d call normal, no, but none of us is normal, eh, Yohji?”

Sighing, the bewildered blond pulled into the garage. “Okay. I’ll try not to hold the fork in your hand against him. But what’s with this ‘Puss-in-Boots’ shit? How come he refers to Aya and I like we’re in some position of servitude?”

Schu sighed again. “You really don’t get Farf at all, do you? That’s not because that’s what he thinks of you. It’s his way of teasing me, because I used to be very adamant that all non-Talents were meant to serve Talents. Schwarz especially, and me specifically, of course. Now that I’m with you and am friendly with Aya…he’s just being ironic, Yohji.”

“Oh,” Yohji said. “That actually makes sense.”

Schu laughed and got out of the Ferrari, carefully keeping his injured hand from bumping into anything. “Come on, sweetie, let’s go tell Aya the good news.”

“I’m sure he’ll be just thrilled,” Yohji muttered, lighting a cigarette before following Schuldig into the house.

*****