"Glad you are here"
Harlequinn.
Schuldich and Farfarello contemplate the simple things in life. Each other.
This fic depicts the start of a beautiful relationship between two members of the same sex. I suppose all you anti-yaoi type will be hitting back on your browser now.
Note: I have written this fic in a rather unconventional style, in that it is written in first person and is more like a flow of consciousness rather than a structured story. I am sorry if this annoys people, but it is a style that I am particularly fond of.
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is property of Project Weiss. If I owned it, then it would be called Schwarz Kreuz.
For those few I haven't scared off yet, I present to you my latest baby.
***
Stupid friggin' key, won't fit in the stupid friggin' lock.
Fumble. Drop the key. Bend down, pick it up. Pause.
Hear a sound.
Scheiße!
They must have followed me.
Getting frantic.
Fumble. Shove key in lock. Turn. Open.
Fall inside the door. Turn, slam it shut behind me.
It's ok, I'm safe. Well, not safe. I'm never safe. But I'm temporarily out of harm's way.
Check the clock on the wall.
2:00am.
God, I hate this time of the morning.
Oh well, at least it means everybody is asleep. Well, should be asleep. I'll just quickly creep into my room and Brad will be none the wiser. He really doesn't need to know that I've been out all night.
Another sound. Coming from the kitchen this time.
Panic.
There's someone in our apartment.
Pull out gun. Flick hair out of eyes.
Deep breath.
Walk into the kitchen and see him sitting there.
I laugh. Harsh laughter.
"Fuck Farf, you scared the shit outta me." My voice sounds tired.
He doesn't respond.
He just sites there. Just like the first time I ever saw him. Well, it hadn't been the first time I'd seen him, exactly, but it had been the first time I'd ever seen his face. The first time I'd ever spoken to him.
He is sitting cross legged on the bench, by the blender, with a pile of fruit in his lap.
I swear, he loves that thing. It's quite disturbing, really.
I stand and watch him.
His slow, lethargic movements are hypnotic.
I watch as he laboriously peels each piece of fruit. After the fruit has been stripped of it's skin, he places it in the blender.
He then hits the puree switch.
We both watch as the fruit is slowly blended into the mess of pureed fruits already in there.
I've seen him do this before. After a minute he will turn the blender off and pick up another piece of fruit, to start the process over once more.
He does this so intently, with a wrapt fascination, as though he has never seen a blender before.
He does it so seriously, that one can't laugh at him. That would be like laughing at a funeral.
That was a rather strange analogy for me to make considering that I have never had any qualms with laughing at a funeral before. Whatever. It's late and I am tired.
He randomly picks up another piece of fruit and starts to peel it. Well, it looks like it's random, but I know it's not. Once I sat and watched him go through an entire pile of fruit, and I saw the pattern.
He starts with the smallest, and then he goes to the largest. Then he gets the smallest one left, and the largest one left and so on.
I don't think he realises that he does this. Picks them up in a pattern, that is. I think he does it subconsciously. He does a lot of things subconsciously.
He doesn't appear to notice me, although I'm sure he has.
I walk over to the refrigerator and pull out a bottle of orange juice. I don't bother to get a glass; I simply drink the juice straight out of the container.
If Brad or Nagi were here, they would have scolded me. But as it is, Farfie is the only one here, and he couldn't give a rat's ass whether or not I use a glass.
He said so himself.
Things like that don't seem to worry him. If I give him meningococcal he'll probably enjoy it anyway.
So, I sit down on a stool, drinking the orange juice. I turn to face Farfie as he continues to puree the fruit.
He's off his face.
It's really quite sad.
Brad must have given him a dose after I left. He needn't have bothered, it was pointless really.
If Farfie puts his mind to it, he can do anything, regardless of whether or not he is pumped up with enough tranquillisers to kill an elephant.
Admittedly, however, the tranquillisers, or sedatives or whatever they are do help to calm him down.
Well, sort of.
I think that they help by making messages bypass his brain. I mean, he probably still has the same crazy thoughts, only the drugs help him to contemplate the pros and cons of each thought before acting on it.
He isn't crazy. He just doesn't care about consequences.
Well, that's my theory. But what would I know? I'm not a trained psychologist or anything. Hell, for all I know, the definition of craziness is somebody who never bothers to consider consequences.
In that case, he's ape shit insane.
I wonder what it is, exactly, that Brad gives him. I just assume that it is a tranquilliser of some sort, because it usually slows him down.
I remember when I asked Nagi what it was, and he had grunted something about shit that was intended for stupid wild animals, not Farfarello.
It goes without saying that Nagi doesn't approve of drugging Farfie. I don't think he approves of drugs of any sort, which would explain his seeming dislike of me.
I snap out of my train of thoughts and look back up at Farfie.
I always get lost in my own thoughts at times like these. Times like these when there is nobody around and the only thoughts in my head are my own.
When you live a life where the majority of the thoughts in your head don't belong to you, then you learn to savour the peaceful times where there is only your own thoughts.
Well, there is Farfie here, but his thoughts don't bother me.
In fact, I quite enjoy the peaceful mantra that seems to run through his head 24/7.
God. Hurt. God. Die. Schuldich. Blood. God. Pain. Live. Knife. Tree. God. Ruth. Hurt. Scar. Die.
Never a coherent sentence. Just detached words.
God is always there.
So is death.
The name Ruth started popping up every now and then after that incident in the church.
And yes, sometimes my own name will appear in his little mantra.
My favourite thing, however, is the random words that sometimes appear. It's kinda cute.
Of course, this isn't to say that the only thing he ever thinks is random words. Oh no.
He's far deeper than that.
The only problem is that his real thoughts are buried.
Just below the surface, I'll find simple thoughts. I am walking down stairs. There is blood on my arm. I hate Crawford.
No fruity language, just things that are happening.
Most people have these little thoughts. But I like Farfie's the best.
His are simple and straight to the point. Naïve almost.
Below that we reach deeper, far more dangerous territory.
I ventured there once and felt like I was going insane myself.
Never again.
It's a mess down there.
Of course, I generally try to stay out of his head as an act of courtesy.
I don't feel comfortable raping his mind like that.
Wow. I contemplate Farfie way too much. I should be getting myself off to bed now.
He's nearly finished the pile of fruit. The blender is just about to overflow. Not that an overflowing blender has ever stopped him from finishing a pile of fruit.
Yes, I really should go to bed now.
I take a closer look at him. It figures. What I had originally thought was fruit juice running down his arms is blood.
He must have cut himself again.
He does that sometimes.
Personally, I am anti-pain and pro-pleasure. But yeah, whatever turns him on, I guess.
Something soft and wet suddenly slaps the side of my face and slowly slides down my cheek.
Looks like the blender has finally overflowed.
"Yuck Farf, turn it off." I mutter as I wipe my face with the back of my hand, only to feel more pureed fruit splatter over various other parts of my body.
He pays me no heed.
He just sits there.
Pureed fruit continues to splatter all over the kitchen. All over him.
I storm over and switch off the damn blender.
He just stays sitting there on the bench as though nothing is happening.
I lean over and stick my face right in front of his.
No reaction.
His eye is closed. His face is blank.
He looks peaceful. Almost.
I move my face closer, intentionally invading his personal space.
Normally he lashes out at anybody who comes within a 1 metre radius of him, but he's just sitting there.
I move my face closer still. Our noses almost touching.
I feel his breath on my face. Well at least that means he's alive.
I stand like this a while longer and wait for him to move.
Nothing. It's like he's in a fucking trance or something.
Slowly, I reach my arm around and gently tap him on the head.
His eye snaps open.
Intense Amber glares at me.
He would look intimidating were it not for the fact that a huge lump of pinkish pureed fruit was slowly dripping down his face.
"Good morning." I whisper with a slight grin.
He doesn't respond. He just stares at me blankly.
The pureed fruit slides past the corner of his mouth and pauses there for a second.
My hand darts out and wipes the fruit away.
I bring my hand back to my own mouth and lick the pureed mess.
"Those were my strawberries, Farf. I asked you not to use them."
Blank stare.
I sigh.
I hate it when he's like this.
"I'm going to bed now, Farf. I suggest you do too. It's late."
I take a step back and watch him for another moment before turning around and starting to walk out of the room.
A hoarse whisper.
"Good night, Schuldich."
I don't turn around.
I don't want to get distracted again.
I flick my wrist in the air to indicate that I heard him as I continue to walk towards my room.
Ah, warm bed.
Deep sleep.
Good night Farfie.
*TBC*
Well there ya have it. Please review if you feel so inclined. If you're gonna flame, make sure justify your hatred of my fic.
Schuldich and Farfarello contemplate the simple things in life. Each other.
This fic depicts the start of a beautiful relationship between two members of the same sex. I suppose all you anti-yaoi type will be hitting back on your browser now.
Note: I have written this fic in a rather unconventional style, in that it is written in first person and is more like a flow of consciousness rather than a structured story. I am sorry if this annoys people, but it is a style that I am particularly fond of.
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is property of Project Weiss. If I owned it, then it would be called Schwarz Kreuz.
For those few I haven't scared off yet, I present to you my latest baby.
***
Stupid friggin' key, won't fit in the stupid friggin' lock.
Fumble. Drop the key. Bend down, pick it up. Pause.
Hear a sound.
Scheiße!
They must have followed me.
Getting frantic.
Fumble. Shove key in lock. Turn. Open.
Fall inside the door. Turn, slam it shut behind me.
It's ok, I'm safe. Well, not safe. I'm never safe. But I'm temporarily out of harm's way.
Check the clock on the wall.
2:00am.
God, I hate this time of the morning.
Oh well, at least it means everybody is asleep. Well, should be asleep. I'll just quickly creep into my room and Brad will be none the wiser. He really doesn't need to know that I've been out all night.
Another sound. Coming from the kitchen this time.
Panic.
There's someone in our apartment.
Pull out gun. Flick hair out of eyes.
Deep breath.
Walk into the kitchen and see him sitting there.
I laugh. Harsh laughter.
"Fuck Farf, you scared the shit outta me." My voice sounds tired.
He doesn't respond.
He just sites there. Just like the first time I ever saw him. Well, it hadn't been the first time I'd seen him, exactly, but it had been the first time I'd ever seen his face. The first time I'd ever spoken to him.
He is sitting cross legged on the bench, by the blender, with a pile of fruit in his lap.
I swear, he loves that thing. It's quite disturbing, really.
I stand and watch him.
His slow, lethargic movements are hypnotic.
I watch as he laboriously peels each piece of fruit. After the fruit has been stripped of it's skin, he places it in the blender.
He then hits the puree switch.
We both watch as the fruit is slowly blended into the mess of pureed fruits already in there.
I've seen him do this before. After a minute he will turn the blender off and pick up another piece of fruit, to start the process over once more.
He does this so intently, with a wrapt fascination, as though he has never seen a blender before.
He does it so seriously, that one can't laugh at him. That would be like laughing at a funeral.
That was a rather strange analogy for me to make considering that I have never had any qualms with laughing at a funeral before. Whatever. It's late and I am tired.
He randomly picks up another piece of fruit and starts to peel it. Well, it looks like it's random, but I know it's not. Once I sat and watched him go through an entire pile of fruit, and I saw the pattern.
He starts with the smallest, and then he goes to the largest. Then he gets the smallest one left, and the largest one left and so on.
I don't think he realises that he does this. Picks them up in a pattern, that is. I think he does it subconsciously. He does a lot of things subconsciously.
He doesn't appear to notice me, although I'm sure he has.
I walk over to the refrigerator and pull out a bottle of orange juice. I don't bother to get a glass; I simply drink the juice straight out of the container.
If Brad or Nagi were here, they would have scolded me. But as it is, Farfie is the only one here, and he couldn't give a rat's ass whether or not I use a glass.
He said so himself.
Things like that don't seem to worry him. If I give him meningococcal he'll probably enjoy it anyway.
So, I sit down on a stool, drinking the orange juice. I turn to face Farfie as he continues to puree the fruit.
He's off his face.
It's really quite sad.
Brad must have given him a dose after I left. He needn't have bothered, it was pointless really.
If Farfie puts his mind to it, he can do anything, regardless of whether or not he is pumped up with enough tranquillisers to kill an elephant.
Admittedly, however, the tranquillisers, or sedatives or whatever they are do help to calm him down.
Well, sort of.
I think that they help by making messages bypass his brain. I mean, he probably still has the same crazy thoughts, only the drugs help him to contemplate the pros and cons of each thought before acting on it.
He isn't crazy. He just doesn't care about consequences.
Well, that's my theory. But what would I know? I'm not a trained psychologist or anything. Hell, for all I know, the definition of craziness is somebody who never bothers to consider consequences.
In that case, he's ape shit insane.
I wonder what it is, exactly, that Brad gives him. I just assume that it is a tranquilliser of some sort, because it usually slows him down.
I remember when I asked Nagi what it was, and he had grunted something about shit that was intended for stupid wild animals, not Farfarello.
It goes without saying that Nagi doesn't approve of drugging Farfie. I don't think he approves of drugs of any sort, which would explain his seeming dislike of me.
I snap out of my train of thoughts and look back up at Farfie.
I always get lost in my own thoughts at times like these. Times like these when there is nobody around and the only thoughts in my head are my own.
When you live a life where the majority of the thoughts in your head don't belong to you, then you learn to savour the peaceful times where there is only your own thoughts.
Well, there is Farfie here, but his thoughts don't bother me.
In fact, I quite enjoy the peaceful mantra that seems to run through his head 24/7.
God. Hurt. God. Die. Schuldich. Blood. God. Pain. Live. Knife. Tree. God. Ruth. Hurt. Scar. Die.
Never a coherent sentence. Just detached words.
God is always there.
So is death.
The name Ruth started popping up every now and then after that incident in the church.
And yes, sometimes my own name will appear in his little mantra.
My favourite thing, however, is the random words that sometimes appear. It's kinda cute.
Of course, this isn't to say that the only thing he ever thinks is random words. Oh no.
He's far deeper than that.
The only problem is that his real thoughts are buried.
Just below the surface, I'll find simple thoughts. I am walking down stairs. There is blood on my arm. I hate Crawford.
No fruity language, just things that are happening.
Most people have these little thoughts. But I like Farfie's the best.
His are simple and straight to the point. Naïve almost.
Below that we reach deeper, far more dangerous territory.
I ventured there once and felt like I was going insane myself.
Never again.
It's a mess down there.
Of course, I generally try to stay out of his head as an act of courtesy.
I don't feel comfortable raping his mind like that.
Wow. I contemplate Farfie way too much. I should be getting myself off to bed now.
He's nearly finished the pile of fruit. The blender is just about to overflow. Not that an overflowing blender has ever stopped him from finishing a pile of fruit.
Yes, I really should go to bed now.
I take a closer look at him. It figures. What I had originally thought was fruit juice running down his arms is blood.
He must have cut himself again.
He does that sometimes.
Personally, I am anti-pain and pro-pleasure. But yeah, whatever turns him on, I guess.
Something soft and wet suddenly slaps the side of my face and slowly slides down my cheek.
Looks like the blender has finally overflowed.
"Yuck Farf, turn it off." I mutter as I wipe my face with the back of my hand, only to feel more pureed fruit splatter over various other parts of my body.
He pays me no heed.
He just sits there.
Pureed fruit continues to splatter all over the kitchen. All over him.
I storm over and switch off the damn blender.
He just stays sitting there on the bench as though nothing is happening.
I lean over and stick my face right in front of his.
No reaction.
His eye is closed. His face is blank.
He looks peaceful. Almost.
I move my face closer, intentionally invading his personal space.
Normally he lashes out at anybody who comes within a 1 metre radius of him, but he's just sitting there.
I move my face closer still. Our noses almost touching.
I feel his breath on my face. Well at least that means he's alive.
I stand like this a while longer and wait for him to move.
Nothing. It's like he's in a fucking trance or something.
Slowly, I reach my arm around and gently tap him on the head.
His eye snaps open.
Intense Amber glares at me.
He would look intimidating were it not for the fact that a huge lump of pinkish pureed fruit was slowly dripping down his face.
"Good morning." I whisper with a slight grin.
He doesn't respond. He just stares at me blankly.
The pureed fruit slides past the corner of his mouth and pauses there for a second.
My hand darts out and wipes the fruit away.
I bring my hand back to my own mouth and lick the pureed mess.
"Those were my strawberries, Farf. I asked you not to use them."
Blank stare.
I sigh.
I hate it when he's like this.
"I'm going to bed now, Farf. I suggest you do too. It's late."
I take a step back and watch him for another moment before turning around and starting to walk out of the room.
A hoarse whisper.
"Good night, Schuldich."
I don't turn around.
I don't want to get distracted again.
I flick my wrist in the air to indicate that I heard him as I continue to walk towards my room.
Ah, warm bed.
Deep sleep.
Good night Farfie.
*TBC*
Well there ya have it. Please review if you feel so inclined. If you're gonna flame, make sure justify your hatred of my fic.