Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder whether Crawford occasionally just made-up visions to get his way, knowing that Schuldig would trust his judgment and comply. He came to this conclusion, one boring Thursday afternoon, when he realized that Crawford's visions were almost always one big wet blanket of ominous doom for fun. He never told him winning lotto numbers, whether he'd get more lucky at one club or the other, spoilers for the finale of his favorite show, or anything useful!… It was always: Schuldig don't do this, Schuldig don't do that, or for the love of God if you have half a fucking brain DON'T!… And so on. Okay so the last item was a bit of an exaggeration, but still. Big, fat, sopping-wet, moldy-ass, itchy blanket.
This epiphany pissed him and he avowed then and there that vengeance would be had. He wasn't going to play along with Crawford's little game any more.
He got his chance to put his plan into action sooner than he expected, when Crawford suggested they eat out the following afternoon. Though not part of his plan, Schuldig just being Schuldig decided to insist upon Crawford's least favorite restaurant. Granted, Schuldig hated it too, probably more than Crawford himself did, but his love for irritating his one major irritant in life cancelled that out.
"We shouldn't eat there today."
Well, at least Crawford had been compliant enough to throw in a today, so it would be a seemingly innocent compromise that they could eat there in the future. But Crawford never compromised. Bastard.
"Naw, I really think we should."
"Schuldig, if we eat there you're going to get a terrible case of food poisoning and we only have one bathroom."
"You're full of shit." Schuldig sneered at him, he was finally going to expose Crawford for the manipulative liar he could be. Took one to know one, after all.
Unfortunately, Crawford seemed un-phased by his calling bullshit on him. "You won't be, for long, if we eat there."
"Ha freakin' ha. I want to eat there." Schuldig glared defiantly at him.
"You're just saying that because it's not what you want. Well too damn bad, princess. From now on, I'm not going to listen to your phony visions that serve no purpose other than spoiling my fun!"
Schuldig had known Crawford long enough to know he'd just stifled a laugh, a genuine one, and that pissed him off. Though the laugh had been kept down, Crawford couldn't keep the smirk off his face. "That's what this is about? I'm so sorry to break it to you, but when I tell you not to do something, it's because your stupidity is going to come back to haunt me, not because I want to spoil your fun."
Schuldig growled a little to himself but covered the ire with a sneer to match Crawford's. He was more determined than ever. "Now are you coming or what?"
Crawford sighed, sarcastically of course, and followed behind him. "If you insist."
And so they went, and Schuldig ate while Crawford sipped his drink and politely declined to order any food. Schuldig wasn't worried yet. The bastard was just doing it to piss him off, to get him worried. Too bad because he wasn't worried. Not at all.
And he wasn't worried when they stopped on the way home to pick up some Gatorade, saltines and a two-liter of Sprite. Nor was he worried when he saw Crawford place an extra waste-bin in their bathroom. Nope. This was all just Crawford's way of trying to psych him out, make him think-himself-sick. He was probably hoping the telepath would get himself so worked up that he'd end up being sick anyways, self-fulfilling prophecy and what not. Well too damn bad, Crawford, because it wasn't happening.
Schuldig spent two and a half self-satisfied hours being not worried.
It was only 15 minutes before he learned the hard way to never question Crawford again, that he began to worry. At the very onset of what was to be a rather please-just-kill-me-NOW case of food poisoning, just as Schuldig was beginning to feel the tell-tale signs in his gut of bad things to come from both ends, he heard Crawford's voice from down the hall.
"Farfarello, Nagi, if you need to use the facilities then I suggest you do it now and limit any liquid intake for the rest of the evening."
Feeling sicker and sicker as the minutes passed, he heard both Nagi and Farfarello take Crawford's advice (they were smart). The moment they were done, and not a minute after, he bolted down the hallway. He had just enough time to meet Crawford's eyes before entering his prison for the night.
"I warned you."
Years later, members from Rosenkreuz and SS alike would wonder just how Crawford had managed to win control over the wild telepath. Fortunately for Schuldig's pride Crawford never told anyone and fortunately for Crawford's taste buds he always got to pick where they ate from then on out.