Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ When It Rains, It Pours ❯ Crimson Fascination [Farf] ( Chapter 4 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Disclaimer: I dun own these people! @-x My muses are just so darned promiscuous…

Crimson Fascination [Farf]
By Koyuki Aode

Sometimes, I don't like him much.

Thoughtlessly, I tear open another pack of sugar with my teeth and dump its contents into my glass. Allowing two seconds for the abundance of crystals to dissipate, my hand drops a spoon in and stirs violently. Sweetness. Raw sweetness. As I watch the blush of dead, faded raspberries become unified with their counterpart, the liquid jumps about, a tornado of pale red. When the glass has had enough, my fingers abandon the spoon, causing the liquid, ice, and utensil to crash into themselves.

Schuldich, I mean.

There he sits, occasionally poking at his food with a fork, enjoying every drop of sauce that he can. What is that anyway? It smells too sweet and sickening to be enjoyable. And coffee. As if that brown crap does anything worthwhile. Let the American have his ways and influence, but they'll never get me to try coffee.

Yet, he is enjoying it. He sits demurely on his side of the booth, somehow casual and provocative at the same time. The usual bandanna, jacket, pants deal, with a pair of gloves. After all, it could start raining again at any time. His position is immaculate, one hand pressed against the seat of leather, supporting his weight, the other daintily dancing above his dish as his fingers twirl the gold-turning-on-brass fork. In sparks, the dim candlelight of the flame on our table reflects into my eye, and I can't be sure whether he's doing it on purpose, or not. With a presence that is of a bored child, he looks as if he should be humming a tune while waiting for someone to come and amuse him. Today, his tune is silence.

As if the din of voices in his head could possibly equate to his own thoughtfulness. How he deals with the "gift" he has, I'm not quite sure. I know that I would go insane with knowing too much, all of it. But then, I've a recourse, rather than an ability (or curse). And well, you know what they constantly say about me...

As I dip my fingertips into the small sea of red in my glass, my mind wanders. I'm not quite sure what I'm doing here with him. Lazing about on a Saturday, in an expensive restaurant where nearly half the staff is appalled by my missing eye and leather, chain dripping pants, is not my idea of fun. Of course, those looks of muted fright on a few of those patrons' faces might have been enough to hurt God, but I'm not quite intent on that right now. Right now, my raspberry iced tea is getting warm, and I'm wondering why I've taken to using a butter knife to carve a hole into the propped up knee of my pants. My other leg has been waiting impatiently in the aisle to trip up the busboy, but he's been keeping his eye out. Damn him. I'm bored.

After a trek of crawling silence, the redhead sighs, as he's been doing every fifteen minutes, and runs a delicate hand through his bright orange locks, trailing nonchalant fingers against the fabric of his bandanna. The color of the strands explodes against his skin, and he shakes his hand out of a few tangles, tucking them behind his ear. If he knows I'm watching or not, he doesn't show it. His eyes are glued to the window, waiting for someone to come.

~I do.~

A fleeting glance of emerald, then his face is turned to the glass again, undisturbed in anticipation. He'll do that often. Pop into my mind, offer some form of teasing play, then disappear again. I think he does it to all of us. Nagi seemed upset before we left.

"Who are you waiting for?" Finger by finger, the pallid crimson drips onto my tongue, a tingling fade of flavor tickling my tongue.

~You're not really that curious, are you?~

"Maybe…" leaning forward a bit, my hand moves to my knee as the other slams the butter knife down, causing his dish to quake. ~I_am_bored. But you knew that already.~

~Well, it's not *my* problem.~ His mouth twitches in a momentous sneer, then his attention drifts again.

"Who did Crawford decide wasn't virtuous enough to stay on their own? If you hadn't pissed Nagi off, I wouldn't be here."

~Hell, if I hadn't pissed Naoe off, * I* wouldn't be here.~

Nice. "Then what's the purpose? And speak with your mouth, people are going to think I'm psycho."

~Why don't you just think to me?~

~I don't *want* to.~

That causes him to blink, and he turns fully to face me, setting his fork down carefully. "You're hilarious... Seriously. You are just hilarious." His lips play with an odd smile, almost sincerely, and his fingers trace against his hairline, again. "I'm waiting for Bombay." The strands are neatly tucked, again, and start on their way from behind his ear, again. Emerald eyes twinkle in my direction, and my face twitches against the constant cold of the room.

"Why?" I lick my lips, finally noticing that I'd been rubbing the edge of the butter knife against my thumb. A melting cube of ice pops to the surface of my tea, and my straw jumps to the side of the cup, as a blushing drop flings itself onto the white tablecloth. The liquid spreads in a small radius, then slows.

"Because I want to."

His smile takes on a childish malice, and I blink my eye in response. "…"

"What?" Pulling back dramatically, his face flinches with abashed surprise, "I'm not allowed to?"

"Well, that depends." I wag the knife at him thoughtfully. "I still don't know what you want to do."

"You'll see." His head tilts, and more of his hair falls out of place. It looks nice like that. At least, it looks nice when you're as bored out of your mind as I am. Silken, shiny strands of amassed beauty will do that
to your mind. Really.

"You just love torturing kids, don't you?" My eye squints down as I ask the question, trying to probe his mind as he would do to me.

In a brief moment of thought, his nose scrunches. ~Huh… Never thought of it that way.~ With a shrug, his body turns back to the window and he leans against the back of his seat. ~It's not like you wouldn't do the same. This constitutes as hurting God, doesn't it?~

I suppose it does. ~But I'm still left with no reason.~

~You don't need one now. Just… trust me.~

Funny.

~By the way, the busboy's coming. He's not paying attention, either. Got a loadful of dishes…~

Raising the glass to my lips, I further extend my leg into the aisle.

"Cheers."

Ok, he's not *that* bad.