Author: NagiLite

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Koyasu-san said I could have Weiß Kreuz for free! =^_^= Not really, but wouldn't it be so cool?

Author's Notes: When inspiration strikes, it strikes hard. Um...I don't know if this is, strictly speaking, "funny"...Just random randomness. And probably OOC, too. -_-;;



~Palm Readers and Chefs~



Setting: About eleven'o'clock in the Schwarz residence. A storm was raging outside, and our four, um...anti-heroes...were situated in their living room. The only source of lighting was fading candlelight and a flashlight.

Schuldich had gone into the kitchen with said flashlight about an hour before and had emerged with a six pack of beer. He was now hopelessly drunk. Farfarello (who could hold his alcohol quite well, thank you very much) snickered and laid back on the carpet, thinking of how much that was hurting God. The sin of intoxication, in all of its glory.

Nagi's candles were dimming at an alarming rate, and the little telekinetic shivered in fear. The faint growls of the storm continued to unnerve him. He was trying to think of something, anything, to get his mind off the weather (which he wasn't scared of, no sir, not at all).

He thought back on a book he'd read recently. It had been about the many types of Divination. The only reason he'd bought it had been because of the Miss Cleo commercial, which had intrigued him until he discovered Crawford couldn't do any of the cool things Miss Cleo could. Numerology, the thing with the signatures, palm reading...

Maybe Crawford was good at that. What with his precognition, surely palm reading wouldn't be too hard for him.

Crawford was happily snoring, while visions of coffee danced through his head. He was jolted into the real world by an insistent hand on his shoulder.

"Crawford? Crawford? Crawford? Craw--"

"'M awake," he murmured peevishly.

"I have a question," said Nagi, crouched on the floor next to his leader, candles in a semi-circle around the two. About half had melted to nothing more than blobs. Crawford frowned, assessing the situation. Schuldich was passed out on the floor...Farfarello was giggling for no apparent reason...and the Brat was the culprit who had disturbed him.

"What the hell is it?"

"Here." A slightly dirty palm was shoved under his nose, and Crawford's frown darkened.

"You should wash your hands more often."

"Read my future."

"...No."

"Please? I just KNOW you can. Look, look at this line..." He pointed at what might have been a natural line, or a smudge of...something. "What does it say about me?"

"I've repeated it time and time again. I cannot read tarot cards. Or teacups. Or palms."

"Try, please? For me?"

"Why would I do ANYTHING for you?"

"...If you don't I'll be sad."

"Go ahead."

Large blue eyes focused their Cute Factor on one Brad Crawford. It was a damned powerful Cute Factor. Crawford sighed and gave in, his inner voice asking him, 'Are you a cold-blooded assassin or not? Honestly...'

"Um..." He stared at the line. "This is your Life line."

"What does it say, what does it say?!"

"It says...er...your life is going to be cut short. In a bicycle accident involving...a bicycle."

Nagi's mouth dropped open.

"Let's move on, shall we?" Crawford smiled sadistically, his mind running a mile a minute. "This," he said, moving on to what he could only assume was another line, "is your Death line. Wow, it's VERY long. Oh my." He feigned surprise. "THAT isn't good."

"WHAT?"

"That Shreient bi--er, Tot will also be killed in the accident. But you'll be dead first, so don't worry." This was actually fun. Farfarello had decided to join them, and he listened with much fascination.

"T-tot...?"

"Tot," Crawford agreed. He pointed to a teensy weensy almost-not-there line. "Pain line," he explained shortly. "You will be in a lot...and I do mean, A LOT...of pain when you finally die. Which isn't long from now."

"...Cool," Farfie said, pushing Nagi's limp hand away and placing his own in front of Crawford. "Read my Pain line."

Crawford pretended to study it, and then tsked. "Sorry, your masochistic days are coming to a close. What d'you know, God will be pleased. I don't see any pain in your future."

"NONE?" Farfarello looked stunned.

"Hey, tough luck."

"Die? In a...bicycle...accident...?" Nagi seemed in a state of shock.

Since he'd traumatized two people in one day, and was thus extremely proud, Crawford awarded himself another couple of hours of sleep. It was clear that Nagi and Farfarello wouldn't be speaking for a few minutes.

Soon the only sound was the steady boom of thunder, and the collective snores of Crawford and Schuldich. Nagi sat perfectly still, even after all of his candles had flickered out and the flashlight took over the job of illumination. He felt Farfarello beside him, stiff as a board, as the saying goes.

An hour later..."Farfarello?"

"...What?"

"You think he was telling the truth?"

"No. Otherwise...God would win." In the dim light, Nagi could make out the Irishman, his face set determinedly. He all of a sudden bit savagely into one of his own arms, deep enough that when he sat up straight again, Nagi could see a thin stream of blood seeping from the teeth marks.

"Eww. That's nasty, Farf."

"But see, I hurt God. Crawford was bullshitting us."

"Un. That's good." He sighed. "It was really cruel. About Tot."

"Yeah, I KNEW it was too good to be true."

Nagi only glared, then floated the flashlight from Crawford's lap so that it was suspended above the two. "I resent that remark."

"Hm. My goal, of course."

BOOM.

CRACKLE.

Farfarello tilted his head to the side. He smiled. "There goes a tree limb. Um..." He glanced at Nagi with mild interest. "Why aren't you quaking with fear?"

The telekinetic's brows knitted, as if he was deep in thought. Then he said, "Are you suggesting I was EVER afraid of a stupid STORM?"

"Yes."

"Oh. I have no idea. I guess a near-death experience can do that to a guy."

"You didn't have a near-death experience."

"Well, one was suggested to me."

Farfarello blinked. "That makes no sense at all. Things that don't make sense hurt God. Way to go, Nagi."

"Thanks."

Schuldich rolled over and slurred, "Man, don' like no muffins..."

Crawford slept on obliviously.

"Hey, Farf, ever thought about being a chef?" Nagi whispered. He wasn't the slightest bit tired, and he needed something to occupy his time. Questioning people, which he was becoming very good at, seemed logical.

"Would it go against all good moral standpoints if I said yes?"

"Not that I know of."

"Well then, no."

"Too bad. You know, those knives of yours...you could butcher up stuff, no problem, and make plenty of money doing it." Nagi sighed dreamily. "You could even be on television...making French delicacies..."

"Stop, you're scaring me."

"I'm hungry, now." He tried smiling winningly at Farfarello. It didn't work too well, and came out as a cold smirk. "Want to try that chef idea?"

"How about...no. It has nothing to do with hurting God. Therefore, naturally, I'm not interested."

"No fun."

Farfarello shrugged. He was getting bored, not to mention tired. And Nagi's rambling wasn't helping. He told the boy, quite frankly, to not talk to him anymore. Then he fell into a light sleep, because crazy- psychopaths aren't deep sleepers; they have to be able to wake up at the slightest urging from the voices in their heads.

Since everyone else had somehow succumbed to Blanket Bay, Nagi switched off the flashlight and snuggled in beside Farfarello, who didn't say anything at all. Nagi was warm...moderately comfortable...not too sleepy, but that could be cured...

BOOM.

All of his earlier paranoia involving thunderstorms returned, and he moaned. He needed another near-death experience, and he said so out loud.

"Want me to help you with that?" A now-half-way-awake Farfarello asked irritably.

Nagi was very, very quiet after that.

Did he ever actually fall asleep? The world may never know.



~The End~