The beasts within
Warnings/notes: slightly weird, drabble-ish shortie, references to Nagi/Tot.
Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz.
written at 30th september 2005, by Misura, for Wax Feathers, who suggested I wrote Schwarz-fluff with Animal Crackers involved somehow
"If," Farfarello asks, with an expression on his face that implies he's as serious as he is about wanting to cross the street in the middle of rush-hour without waiting for the light to turn green, "if you were an animal, what sort would you be?"
Schuldich decides that this question isn't quite within the limits of what he'd consider 'normal questions to ask of your poor grounded colleague who deserves your pity, sympathy and aid in avenging himself on the tyrannical, stuck-up bastard who pretends to run the household'. Then again, this -is- Farfarello, so maybe, for him, it's normal, because Farfarello's kind of normal isn't what most people would call normal and ...
"Have you seen any bottles of aspirin lying around?" Schuldich hates headaches, especially when they're not being caused by hang-overs. (A hang-over, after all, implies there's been a night-before, which usually has been at least a little enjoyable.)
"No." Farfarello's tone implies he couldn't care less. That's fine with Schuldich, actually; if there's one thing that just might screw up this morning even more, it'd be Farfarello developing a sudden obsession with aspirin, and declaring that Schuldich can't be allowed to have any.
"I have a headache," Schuldich informs him, because on occasion, with Farfarello, it's merely a matter of motivation. "I need an aspirin."
"Animals never eat any aspirin." A Certain Someone has obviously been letting Farfarello watch Proper Educational Television again.
"Wonderful. Share that piece of wisdom with Crawford, the next time he goes on about my ideas of fun, will you?" Schuldich tells himself he'd much rather have Farfarello do things a bit more scarring than talking to Crawford, only he knows that's not going to happen -and, well, Crawford does tend to be good at getting money, and spending it on things Schuldich likes to borrow, so Schuldich might actually miss him if he'd be gone for good.
"Do I want to know, or do I want to sit down first?" Nagi wanders in, mug of coffee in hand (a blue one, with big mechs and Japanese writing on it that Schuldich can't read), his face showing the results of a night spent on the Internet. He'd almost make Schuldich go all maternal on him -or at least parental.
"If Schuldich was an animal, what kind would he be?" Farfarello demands.
Nagi's expression turns serious, like he's really going to think about something like that on a Saturday morning. Schuldich's sensitive enough to pick up the image of himself as a bunny, but he knows that won't be the answer Nagi will give Farfarello, because Nagi has loved a girl who loved bunnies -and that's the kind of experience that changes a young, impressionable person's view of the fluffy species.
Tot. Schuldich honestly has never been able to see the attraction. He supposes that's Love for you; an emotion beyond understanding, an accident waiting to happen, a car-crash in slow-motion ... a load of trouble, and a bit of sex that's not worth it at all.
"A jackal," Nagi proposes, slamming down his mental shields. Schuldich wonders if perhaps he's been leaking, if Nagi's upset at being exposed to such a scary thing as realism.
"I'm hurt," Schuldich proclaims. He uses the phrase so often that nobody believes it anymore, which is fine by him. He prefers people not knowing how to hurt him, even when they're people who, in theory, are on his side. (In reality, he knows, there's no such thing.)
Nagi snorts. Farfarello scrutinizes Schuldich's body for a few seconds, before reaching the conclusion that, since he can see no blood, there's no need to take Schuldich's words seriously.
As usual, the man who swears that rising early's a good and healthy thing to do arrives last. Schuldich has to admit he enjoys the sight of Crawford-before-coffee, looking like he's had a bad night, and like he doesn't have much faith in his day being any better. Crawford-before-coffee looks almost human, almost like he would pass the salt to you during a meal while making some light conversation and laughing at some joke.
Typically, Crawford manages to empty his entire mug -a black one, without any fancy pictures or useless decorations- before Farfarello remembers he was on a Mission and puts his Question of the Day to the one person in this household who probably has read books on how to analyze the answer, or perhaps hasn't even needed to do so in order to extract some sort of knowledge out of someone's reply.
Schuldich thinks he could live with a stiff-necked, megalomaniacal American, if only he also wasn't so utterly analytical, filing away every single fact about you in order to use it against you at any moment of his choosing.
And then Crawford's looking at him, and Schuldich can't help but feel like Crawford -sees- him -really sees everything that he is, everything that he's done, or refrained from doing, or was too scared to do- and that's rubbish, of course, because it's impossible, and Crawford's just a precog, not a telepath.
And Crawford pronounces his judgment, like he knows it all, not even smug, but calm, cool, controlled, as if Farfarello has asked him how the weather's going to be.
"Schuldich? A lemming, I'd say. Rushing head-first into his own death."
Nagi blinks. Farfarello cocks his head, his eyes narrowing as he ponders the answer.
"I'm a typical human, in other words. Thanks, Brad. Always nice to be reminded of the futility of our existence on the first day of the weekend. Got any other pearls of wisdom you wanna share?" Schuldich smiles.
He's as good at smiling as he is in convincing people they can't hurt him.
(Later that morning, Nagi passes the salt to him with a near-smile at one of Schuldich's less-daring jokes, while Farfarello is murdering his toast and Crawford reads the newspaper as if he doesn't already know everything that's in it today, tomorrow, and all the days after.)