New Knives

What a boring day. Farfarello lay on his back on a stuffed chair in the living room, his feet over the top and head hanging off the edge of the cushion. They'd let him out of his cell, and then they had all left to do their own things, leaving the madman to wander around the apartment with nothing to do. Thinking, it suddenly hit him that Schuldig wasn't there when he was let out. He also realized that he wanted to cut something up. But Crawford had confiscated all his knives and other weapons after that incident with the neighbors' dog. Crawford had been very mad about having to buy them a new white purebred toy poodle for show. Farf hated poodles. Especially white ones. And even more so white ones that barked at him and tried to snap at his ankles when he was trying to break into their apartment to get the damn dog and shut it up once and for all.

Rolling off the chair and landing on the floor in a crouch, he stealthily ran to the kitchen, pausing before the hallway, his back to the wall, to make sure no one saw him. Once in the kitchen, he looked around. They had a cheap set of steak knives somewhere. He opened three drawers of junk, stationary, and dry goods until he found the drawer of silverware. All he found were spoons, forks, and a couple dull butter knives that couldn't even slice the butter.

Farfarello pouted. Where were the good knives? He methodically opened all the drawers and cabinets, looking diligently, and finding nothing but food, paper plates, the good dishes, glasses, table cloths that were never used, spoiled take-out Schu had forgotten he'd hid, a mouse, and absolutely no knives. One cabinet left, the one over the fridge. He could reach the door, but it was too high to see inside. He pulled a chair over from the table to stand on, and looked in.

Finally! He found the steak knives! He pulled out the ratty box that still had the discount sticker on it to open it up. Hmmm… It seemed a little light. Oh. That's why. It was empty except for a note that said: "Sorry, Farfarello. The knives are in a locked box that is hidden." in Crawford's neat handwriting.

Damn. He wanted to play with the sharp pointy things that made soft things bleed and scream. Maybe he could run around with the scissors for a while instead, but it wouldn't be as much fun. Temporarily giving up on the knives, he meandered down the hall to bug someone. Maybe Nagi, since he didn't know where Schu was. He didn't even knock on the door to the kid's room, but instead poked his head in quietly, expecting that he could sneak up on him while he was busy with his computer.

The room was empty of any living occupant. No, wait. There was a fish. A very pretty, blood red betta fish that was swimming in circles in its bowl and occasionally flaring at the small mirror attached to the back of the nightstand. When did Nagi get a fish? Oh well, it wasn't important. Farf looked over to the computer desk to see the machine's screen saver. A single sentence kept scrolling across the screen that read: "He who touches this god of machines will die." He watched it for five minutes. Then he poked the screen.

Nothing happened. Farf looked at his finger to see if the "god of machines" had burned it, but nothing was wrong. Another god lied to him! He poked it again. Maybe it would react eventually. poke poke poke poke poke poke Two minutes passed as he kept poking the laptop. Interesting. He was still uninjured. He'd have to tell Nagi later that his computer was falsely claiming to be an idol and was lying about hurting him.

Bored again he wandered out of the room, forgetting to close the door again. As he walked down the hall, he heard muttering coming from one of the doors. Out of curiosity, he opened it to see Crawford bent over a desk full of paperwork that needed filing. Crawford didn't look up. "What do you want, Farfarello?"

"Bored. Where's Nagi?"

"At school."

"When did he get a fish?"

Crawford glanced at him. "A month ago. He didn't want you to know because he knew you would hurt it. It had better still be alive."

"It was too boring to kill."

"Good. Now why were you in his room?"

"I'm bored."

"Then you can help me with filing."

"Why?"

Crawford sighed. He didn't need any vision to tell him that Farf was going to get annoying or that he would soon have a headache. "If I told you filing our reports for Esset hurts God, would you help me file them?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It's boring." When Crawford didn't respond, Farf walked over to the desk and crouched down in front of it, balancing on the balls of his feet, resting his arms across his knees, and staring over the edge of the desk to watch what Crawford was doing intently. He stayed like that for eight to ten minutes, watching Crawford sign documents from one pile and placing them in another. When he finished that he began to fill out a report on a mission from two nights ago that he'd been too busy, and tired, to fill out before. "Crawford?"

"What?"

"What are you doing now?"

"Farfarello! Get out of my office! Now!"

"Where's Schuldig?"

"Still sleeping. Leave him alone-" Crawford stopped when he saw that Farf had already run out of the room. He sighed again, and opened a desk drawer for some aspirin.

Farf wandered down to Schuldig's room, and walked in, again without knocking. The figure sprawled on the bed didn't move. "Schuldig. I'm bored."

Schu didn't move.

"Schu?"

He rolled over.

Farf pouted, and flipped on the light. "C'mon, Schu-schuuuuu! I'm bored! I need something to do!"

Schuldig winced, closing his eyes more tightly than they had been, putting a hand to his head and groaning. "Farf, not so loud… And turn off the light…"

"Why?"

"Haven't you ever seen me with a hangover before?"

"Yes."

"Then shut up and either leave me alone or make a pot of coffee. A large pot. Black."

"Why? Would you get up if I did? Could we go out and hurt something?"

"Go'way, Farf…" Schuldig buried his head under his pillow. "I got in at four. I had a long night. I got drunk. I got a girl. I got sick. Now I'm gonna sleep it off. So scram."

"Schu-schu! I'm bored! What should I do?"

The telepath had had enough. Farf felt his rage explode in his head. It didn't hurt, but it made his vision dim and swim. He shook his head to clear it, not realizing until he was physically thrown out the door that Schuldig had grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out. "Farf, go away and let me sleep! You bug me again, and I'm gonna turn you into a gibbering vegetable!" The door slammed and locked.

"Oh." Farf sat against the wall he'd hit when he landed. Well, there was no one to entertain him. Finally, he got up and went back to Crawford's office. "Crawford?""Farf, leave me alone so I can work, or I'll be forced to torture you."

Inwardly, Farf winced at the thought of being tied to a chair and being forced to watch shows for those age three and under where all the characters do is spout gibberish that was supposed to pass itself off as a form of talking and running around pointing at pretty colors. "Where is the remote for the TV?"

"Here." Crawford pulled it out of a desk drawer next to his aspirin. He'd hidden it from Schuldig to keep him from watching the Playboy channel when Nagi was around. He tossed it to Farf and went back to his paperwork.

Farf went back out to the living room wondering why Crawford didn't just block that one channel. He turned on the TV, sitting in the chair he'd previously been hanging off of, and flipped through the channels at a rapid pace. Nothing, nothing, nothing, news channel, soap, kids show, soap, sports, soap, home shopping, soap, history documentary, soap, something about pets, blah blah blah, same old same old nothing and a hell of a lot of soaps. He yawned, getting bored again quickly and slouching in his seat. Suddenly he sat up as something flashed on the screen.

He watched in rapt attention as Ron Popeil cut through a tin can, shoe leather, and a ripe tomato all with the same knife. A set of kitchen knives was shown. With even more knives being added every minute. There were forty-five knives total! Those would replace the ones Crawford took! And there would be extras! That was a lot of knives! He suddenly felt giddy, staring at the flashing steel on the TV, and decided he had to have those knives.

There were so many. So many pretty knives. Steak knives, a chopping knife, a fillet knife, a carving knife, a saw knife, a cleaver. The list went on and on. They were beautiful. They were sharp and never seemed to dull. They shined wonderfully in the light. They could cut through flesh, and even bone, it seemed. Oh, what gorgeous knives!

Quickly he took down the phone number to call, and ran to the front door to see if Crawford had left his wallet on the small table there. He found it there, sitting out in the open next to Crawford and Schuldig's house and car keys, and pulled out the credit card with the most money behind it. He knew only because Schuldig would "borrow" it on occasion. He glanced down the hall again, to make sure he hadn't been seen.

"Farfarello!" Crawford's voice echoed from down the hall. "Do not buy anything with my money! Especially from TV!"

"Uh-huh. Yup. Got it," Farf called back, wandering into the kitchen to pick up the phone. "Yes, I'd like to order the knife set…"

When Nagi got home from school, his first stop was the kitchen to grab a snack. He found some chips and headed to his room. His eyes widened when he saw his door open. Some one had been in his room! He'd told them to stay out of there if they wanted to keep their heads from splattering. Who had done it! He was about to charge into Crawford's office demanding to know what had happened in his room, when Farfarello poked his head from his open cell.

"Nagi? How long does it take for a package to be delivered?"

Nagi furrowed his brow. Why would he ask that. "If you order something, about four to six weeks. Why?"

Farf's eye widened, and he disappeared into his room again for a minute, the heavy door shutting most of the way, but Nagi was still able to make out some swearing in Irish. Farf then poked his head out again. "You sure?" He looked hopeful.

"What did you order, Farf?"

"Nothing…" He tried his best to look innocent, and, being the clinically insane homicidal psychopath that he was, failed miserably. "By the way, your computer lied to me."

"What?" Nagi blinked. Farf had been in his room? His fish had better be all right.

The madman nodded. "It thinks it is God and then lied about hurting me if I touched it."

Nagi's eyes narrowed. "You touched my computer…?"

Farf nodded again, not realizing how close to death he was. "Yeah. It said if I touched it I would die, but it didn't do anything when I poked it."

"You… poked it…?" The kid blinked, stunned, and his anger vanishing. That wasn't the answer he had been expecting. He glanced in to his room at his desk, and saw the laptop just as he had left it. Even if Farf had tried to use it instead of poking it, it was password protected. "Why did you poke it?"

"Because it said it would hurt me if I did. But it didn't hurt me. So it lied. And it thinks it's God. But it is not Him."

"Of course it's not God."

"Then why does it claim to be?"

Nagi rolled his eyes. "You were bored again today, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Did you take your medication this morning?"

Farf thought for a minute. "I don't think I did. Why? It's just a placebo anyway."

"That's what Schu says to make you take it."

"It is?" He blinked.

"Why don't you go bother Schuldig. I have homework."

"Guess I should make coffee."

Nagi shook his head and closed his door behind him. Farf wasn't making much sense, as usual. He looked around, and was relieved to find that nothing in his room had been harmed in any way, especially the computer and the fish. With a sigh he went over to feed it.

Farfarello stepped determinedly into the kitchen, ready to make the large pot of black coffee for Schuldig, despite the fact it had been five or six hours. Schuldig was up by now, had taken a shower, had lunch, and wandered back to his room to read some book about great prison escapes. Now the question was, how do you make coffee? He'd never done it before. So he decided to pull out the jar of instant coffee. Not bothering to look at the directions on the side, either because he didn't feel like it or because he didn't know about them, he dumped about a third of the jar into the coffee maker. He added water to the top and turned it on. Now how did you make it black? Maybe if he drank the stuff he'd know. But one, he didn't really like the bitter taste, and two, he wasn't allowed to. He was horrible when high on caffeine. Not only was he hyper, but he was also more likely to cause damage to his environment and others.

He finally decided to just let the coffee make itself and wandered around the kitchen wondering where Crawford had hidden the knives. Nagi came back in the kitchen to put back the bag of chips then, and saw that the coffee pot was steaming and almost full. But no one was in the kitchen. Now where had that crazy Irishman gone? He opened a cabinet above the counter to replace the chips, and heard a slight, muffled scuff from the one in front of his feet. Calmly, he opened the door, and asked, "What are you doing, Farf?"

"Looking for the steak knives. Crawford hid them."

"I'm sure he had a good reason to. Besides, why would they be in there? That cabinet is for canned goods. Now get out."

Farfarello crawled out and sat on the floor. "Is the coffee done?"

"Yeah, sure, it is." Nagi just humored him, and went back to his computer.

Getting up, Farfarello got out a mug and poured the coffee, forgetting to turn off the pot, and wandered into Schuldig's room. He seemed to have totally forgotten that he should knock on doors, as he had yet to do that today. "Schu! I made coffee, so will you get up and make me not bored now?"

Schuldig, sprawled on a been-bag chair he had stolen in the corner of the room facing the door, dropped the book to the floor. "Farf, I've been up for hours. But coffee is still welcome." The aspirin he'd taken earlier from Crawford's office hadn't really helped his aching head. He reached for the mug and took a sip. He quickly hid a wince and gulped down the first mouthful. It certainly was strong, and there was something odd about how it tasted.

"So?" Farf cocked his head to the side.

"So, what? It's coffee."

"So what can I do so I'm not bored? I don't have anything to do until my package gets here."

"What package?"

"Nothing," Farf covered. He had almost let it slip that he'd ordered knives. Fortunately he knew that Schu usually didn't really like listening to his jumbled and bloody thoughts. Sometimes, maybe, but not usually.

"Well, we could play cards, watch a movie, we could-"

"Play with knives?"

"Sorry, Farf. I don't have any. And you know Crawford doesn't want you playing with them unless we're out on a mission."

Farfarello pouted again. He wanted to play with knives… And soon. Or he would go crazy! Well, crazier than his companions thought possible, and they knew he was crazy to the extreme.

"Grab a coat, Farf." Schuldig stood up and stretched, ignoring the still-full coffee mug by his feet.

"Huh?"

"Go get a coat and meet me by the front door."

"Okay…" He blinked and went off to pull a short black denim jacket that covered his bandaged and scarred arms. He heard Schu down the hall coming out to the entry.

"I'm taking Farf out for a while, Bradley! We'll be back in a few hours. If we're not back by dinnertime, save some for us!"

"Just be cautious, and don't take your usual shortcut back from the theatre. I don't want to see anything about a dead street thug on the news tomorrow," came the reply. He wasn't in the mood to try to stop the stubborn German from doing what he wanted today.

Schuldig walked up to Farf and shoved a black baseball cap over his pale hair and shoved it down to help cover his one golden eye and the patch covering the other. "Wouldn't want to attract too much attention today. Okay, let's go." He grabbed up his keys, and dragged Farfarello out the door.

Farf really wasn't interested in the movie Schuldig had dragged him to. Actually, he found it rather boring, until the antagonist went on a killing rampage that got his own bloodlust rising. Schu, however, had messed a bit with his head while they were in there so he wouldn't run off on such a spree. In fact, one of his legs was totally numb and wouldn't work so he couldn't really move. Five minutes later, Farf was either ready to fall asleep or rip out his remaining eye instead of sitting through the boring "sex" scene that barely even suggested that the characters had done anything. Mostly they just sat on the bed and kissed. It made him sick.

He practically ran from the theatre when it was over. He was ready to walk the five blocks back to the apartment when Schu grabbed his arm and pulled him in the opposite direction. "Where?"

"To get a drink. Why? You really want to go back and deal with the prick and the minor? So what did you think of the movie?"

"Sucked… Not enough blood. And it had a happy ending." He shuddered inwardly. "Happy endings are annoying. They killed the guy who knew how to have fun then went off to raise some little brats."

"Fun?"

"He killed. With knives. And burned someone. And maimed someone else. And tortured people. He knew how to have fun."

"Yeah, that's true. Ya know, there was a girl whose thoughts ran along the same line as yours through the whole movie. The only difference was she didn't have the urge to kill everyone else there and had snuck a CD player in. I need to find one of those songs…"

Farf ignored the babbling going on next to him, and wondered about his knives again. "Will it really take four to six weeks?" he mumbled.

"Hmm?" Schu looked at him. "Four to six weeks for what?"

"To get something…" He was starting to get evasive. That was getting Schu interested in finding out what he was hiding.

"What did you do? You order something? What is it? Huh?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, I don't think so, Farf. I wanna know. "

"No!"

"Fine, fine. As long as you cause chaos and mayhem with me later, I'll keep quiet and forget about it. Deal?" When Farf nodded reluctantly, he said, "Good! I think we should get that drink now and plan on how to slip by the Mighty Leader tonight." He slung an arm around the Irishman's shoulders and propelled him along the sidewalk to a bar.

Schuldig was quickly downing a couple pints of imported draft, while he himself slowly nursed the ale he was hunched over, thinking again of the knives he'd ordered, and how much he didn't want to be here. The knives. The glorious knives! He wanted to know what day they would arrive. He wanted them to come quickly. He- He would have to be the one to get the mail every day for the next four to six weeks, or the package would be confiscated by Crawford. He couldn't let that happen. He just couldn't! He needed those knives! The shiny, shiny knives. To cut things, to cut people. To spill sweet blood. Also he figured they would be nice to have about now.

He hated bars. Too crowded, too smoky, too loud, too many drunks, not enough room. It made him feel almost claustrophobic, but not quite. Plus, he suddenly felt like keeping a low profile. That must have been why some idiot had come over to pick a fight with him. Five minutes later, he had four men laid out, and Schu was finishing off two more, despite that he himself was quite tipsy. But before either could actually kill their attackers, the bar tender kicked them out with the threat that he'd call the police if they showed their faces again. Particularly Farf.

Schu leaned on him as they walked back in the direction of the apartment. He wasn't happy about it, and was tempted to just drop the heavy German in an alley dumpster. Apparently, Schu heard that thought. "Hey, hey, Farf. Be nice. I'm not tha' heavy. An' I'm not tha' drunk."

"Coffee?" Farf asked remembering his companion's request earlier in the day when he had that hangover. Actually, Schu never got drunk on only two pints. He must still be recovering from last night. They just happened to be next to a small internet café, so he dragged Schu inside. He left the half-drunk telepath standing by the door and went up to the counter and ordered a black coffee, amazed at himself for remembering what Schu had wanted. He turned around to find that Schu wasn't by the door anymore. Instead, he was sitting in one of the booths talking to some girl with a laptop in front of her. She had headphones on, and was listening to both him and the music on her computer.

"Come on, Schuldig. I got your coffee, now let's go." He wanted to get out of the open. Not to mention it was still a bit light out. It made him a bit insecure not having shadows to hide in.

"Aww, an' we were jus' havin' a nice conversation. Right?"

The girl made no reply.

Farf pulled Schu to his feet by the arm. "I wanna go home, Schu. I don't like people." He led the German out, and back toward the apartment. As they left, the girl gave a faint smile and wave.

"Ya know, she was th' girl in th' theatre. Ya know, the one who thought like you? Her frien's dragged 'er there, an' she didn' wanna see it either. Ooh, an' I got th' title ta that song she wuz playin' I liked." It didn't look like Schu would be sober enough for a night of chaos and mayhem. Actually, Farf was surprised he hadn't spilled any coffee on his awful green jacket.

Farf just ignored him and pulled him along. He decided he wanted to get to the apartment faster, and headed down an alley that cut between the street they were walking down and the one the apartment was on. They were halfway down when some kid stepped from behind a dumpster and pulled a gun on them. Farf sighed. Why did he have to wait for those knives?

Surprisingly, Crawford wasn't really that mad about the dead mugger, who had been beaten and had his neck broken, on the news. Schuldig got off easy, as he wasn't the one who decided to take the shortcut, as did Farf since he didn't know that it was Schu's usual shortcut that Crawford had mentioned. As a matter of fact, he didn't know any of Schu's usual shortcuts. This left Farf free to wander the apartment again. He spent most of the day upside down on the chair in the living room flipping through channels or watching violent movies. He glanced at the clock on the VCR, and saw that Nagi would be back from school in about half an hour. He was usually the one to bring the mail up from the lobby to the apartment. But he couldn't know about the knives! No one could! He had to go and get the mail first!

Besides, if he just got the mail only on one day, they would get suspicious and check his room. If he got it for the next month, they might get used to the idea. Yeah, that's it. He'd pretend to actually be somewhat helpful. It would be more fun than going in and poking Nagi's computer again, anyway. He could scare the neighbors. Hmm, should go and get it now.

He glanced down the hall and saw that Crawford's office door was shut, and there was loud German techno coming from Schuldig's closed room. Excellent. No one would see him leave. He quietly opened the door and slipped out. He shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered down the hall, humming an old Celtic tune to himself, and got on the elevator down to the lobby. No one else was there. Good. No witnesses. He walked over to the mail box and reached for the door.

What was the combination again? He stood there, hand still raised, and blinked a couple times. He then cupped his right elbow in his left hand, and lifted his free hand up to his mouth. He nearly started chewing on a finger, for lack of a knife, in thought. Damnit! He wanted a knife!

Finally, he leaned close to the little box built into the wall and put his ear close to it as he turned the combination knob. After a couple minute clicks, the door popped open. He took note of the numbers, pulled out the mail, and walked back to the elevator, now whistling. He pushed the button for the top floor, and started rifling through the envelopes he held. Electric bill, cable bill, internet bill, three separate credit card bills under Crawford's name that Schu used, adult mag for Schu, computer catalog for Nagi, and- Ooh! A Bud-K catalog! That was full of knives and swords! Something to look at until his knives came! Oh, yeah. No packages of knives in the mail today.

He had to remind himself it had only been one day. He would have to be a little more patient. But he lived in a world of instant gratification, damnit! He wanted those knives now! Why the wait? Why? There was no reason to wait so long! All they had to do was put the knives in a box, slap some postage on it, and mail it off, right? So why the hell did it take so long!

The elevator finally reached the top floor, and the doors opened to reveal their neighbors. The ones with the poodle. As Farf walked out of the elevator, the plump woman in furs gasped, and clutched the little dog close to herself as the fuzzy mutt yapped its head off at him. The man sniffed in disdain, and watched Farf from the corner of his eyes to make sure that this scarred maniac didn't skin this dog alive.

Just to scare them, Farf grinned over his shoulder. As the elevator door closed, he called out "It's been nice knowing you!" The two stared at his retreating back in horror for the fraction of a second was left before the door slid shut, then the woman started wailing that he had sabotaged the elevator and that they were going to die. Over it all was Farfarello's laughter at their imaginary plight. Still chuckling dryly to himself, he opened the door to the apartment.

There stood Crawford, waiting for him, arms crossed, unreadable expression on his face. Farf grinned. "I got the mail!" He handed everything but the Bud-K catalog over.

"Why? Didn't I tell you not to leave unless supervised?"

Farf thought. "When?"

"When we first moved in."

"Even to just get the mail?"

Now it was Crawford's turn to think. "Did you hurt anyone?"

"No."

"Will I be getting any complaints?"

"… Maybe. But I didn't kill their dog this time."

"Fine. Then, as long as nothing happens, you may get the mail. Just don't scare the neighbors so much anymore. I'll tell Nagi he doesn't have to check for it anymore." He started looking through the mail. "Why did you go get the mail, anyway?"

"I was bored."

Crawford seemed to accept that excuse and wandered off to look at the bills, dropping Schu and Nagi's mail in their rooms while he was at it. This was closely followed with him yelling, "Schuldig! Stop spending my money!" Farf was just happy that his purchase wouldn't show up on the bills until next month…

Crawford had to apologize to the neighbors again, later, about the incident at the elevator, and assured them that he would keep an eye on his "deranged charge." Farf scowled at the title, and would have run out the door after them and their dog if Schu didn't have a good grip on his arm. After that, Crawford set a time for Farf to go get the mail every day so he wouldn't run into the neighbors when they went out for their afternoon walks. It worked pretty well, and Farf actually stayed out of trouble while getting the mail everyday.

That alone was a huge tip off to Crawford. But of course, as long as Farfarello behaved himself, Crawford saw no reason to restrain him. He was actually being helpful, so why not just let him.

Farf got the mail every day at two for the next month and a half. He would look through the envelopes every day, separating them for everyone. When he reached the apartment, he would then leave the mail outside the appropriate recipient's door for them to either find or trip over. It was fun to watch. Schu would usually trip. And Nagi would, too, if he was home and in his room at the time Farf came in with the mail. Crawford always picked his up before it could get stepped on, though. That wasn't really fun to watch, though.

When not making his daily trip down to the lobby, going out on a mission (with very limited knife access, damn Crawford), or being locked in his room, he was wandering around the apartment. Most often he could be found in the living room either sitting in the middle of the floor or upside down on the chair watching TV. Or going through the kitchen again to find the steak knives.

Missions were a real hassle for him, currently. Crawford only allowed him two knives when they went out. It wasn't fair. How was he supposed to work like that? Well, soon he'd have more knives. Many, many more. And very, very soon…

Probably in the next day or two! he thought happily. He again rolled off the chair and went down to get the mail only to find a couple letters for Crawford. A bank statement, and a credit card bill. The precog had locked all but one of his credit cards in his desk. Even the ones he hadn't realized he'd owned until he'd raided Schuldig's room. Hmm. This was the card he'd used to get the knives. This would be the one that the order would show up on. Better hide it. After dropping the rest of that mail outside Crawford's office door, he went to his own room and looked around.

Where to hide it? In his closet? No, he'd forget about it. Under the mattress? Maybe, but he didn't particularly want to remake his bed. He didn't have a fitted sheet, just a normal blanket he'd draped over the mattress and tucked in. Too bad he didn't have a desk to put it in. But Crawford didn't want Farf to hurt himself on sharp corners of furniture when he was in one of his masochistic moods. He'd been known to do that. Hence the bed was just a frame with no head board or foot board.

Finally, he just laid the envelope on the floor under the bed. If anyone came into his room, they would probably see it sitting there, but really. Who would actually want to go into his room? Satisfied that it was hidden well enough for now, he wandered off to the kitchen to grab a snack. Or lunch. Whichever.

The next day, midmorning, Crawford came up to Farfarello, who was sitting on the kitchen counter eating a bowl of cereal. "Schuldig and I are going out for a little while, Farf. I want you to stay in your room until we get back."

Knowing that Crawford was only doing this as a precaution, to keep him and others safe while no one was around to control him, Farf jumped off the counter and left his bowl there. He followed the precog to his room and went in. "When will you be back?" he asked in curiosity, pausing in shoving his heavy door closed.

"In a couple hours." Crawford bolted the door to keep that madman in, and he and Schu left.

Farf laid down on his bed for a while and dozed. The only time he really felt he could tolerate sunlight. It steamed in through his barred window onto the bed, and he happily dozed in a large sun spot like a big cat. After a while, he glanced at the small digital clock on the floor nearby. They'd been gone for two and a half hours. Hm. They'd better hurry back. He was bored.

He got up and started going through his closet. Behind all the bondage clothes and the random things he found at Hot Topic, was a small bookcase he'd hidden in there. He figured the no pointed furniture rule only applied to the room itself, not the closet. He sat on the floor in front of the closet and pulled out an X/1999 manga. He always laughed when he saw it was labeled Shojo. It was actually really bloody. Really, really bloody with decapitation and people's bodies just suddenly exploding and such. Whole rooms bathed red type bloody. He would also need to finish getting Angel Sanctuary at some point, speaking of bloody manga.

After reading a couple of the manga, he looked at the clock again. It was now one. They had better be back soon. He needed to go get the mail. He got up, and started pacing around his room, looking to see if any of the floorboards had come loose since he had checked the night before, particularly under the throw rug.

It was now after two. Well after two. Which meant, he'd missed his time to pick up the mail. Surely they would be home soon. Then they would let him out, and he could get the mail. He needed to get the mail. He had to be the one!

It was close to four when Crawford and Schuldig got back to the apartment building. They had spent the day talking to their current employer, leaving Farf behind since the man was scared of the mad Irishman, a fact that Farf loved taking advantage of. He constantly mimicked killing or torturing the man when no one was looking, just because the man was afraid of him. The only reason he hadn't killed the sniveling worm was that they were being paid to keep him alive.

Plus, it had been six weeks since Farf had suddenly wanted to get the mail everyday. Besides, he was precognitive. He had known a package for the madman would come for the past two days.

On the way home, Crawford and Schu had stopped at the library to pick up Nagi. The three of them walked into the lobby, and Crawford said "Schuldig, get the mail. I don't want to send Farfarello down to get it if we're already here."

"Okay, oh great one."

"Cut the sarcasm."

Schu pulled the mail out, and sorted through it. "Hey, there's a note in here from the apartment manager. Says there's a package for us. Wants you to pick it up in the office, Bradley."

"As your superior I insist that you stop calling me by my first name."

Schu stuck his tongue out at the back of Crawford's head as he made his way to the office. Nagi rolled his eyes. Why was it that at fourteen he was more mature than half of the team? 'Schu, why don't you grow up?'

'Make me, chibi.'

Crawford came back from the office with a large box in his hands. "What's that?" asked Schu.

"Farfarello was nice enough to order something for us."

He led the way to the elevator, nodding a hello to the stuck-up neighbors as they got off and went out for their walk. Nagi gave them a quiet "Good evening," and Schu tired his best to hide a sneer. He had to agree with Farf that the couple was too snobbish for their own good and the little dog was better off dead. More for the sake of the assassins than the animal itself.

They walked into the apartment, and Crawford brought the box into the kitchen and set it on the table. He then walked to his office, and came back with a locked wooden box. He pulled out whatever was inside it and replaced it with what had come in the mail. He then took the old something, and tossed it in the garbage.

"What are you throwing out?" Schuldig asked as he came in to grab a bottle of beer.

"The old steak knives. Nagi, would you take the trash out while Schu lets Farf out?"

Farf wandered into the kitchen that evening for dinner, still disappointed that they had gotten the mail instead of him. He was starting to like getting the mail every day. It was something to do. Nagi set a plate out on the table for himself and one for Farf. Crawford would come out when he was done with his work, and Schuldig would just show up when he got hungry in a little while. Farf looked around the kitchen, and saw an empty box sitting by the closet where the garbage was usually hidden out of sight.

"What's that?" He pointed to the box with the chopsticks he was using. No using knives included at dinner for him. He was known to have snuck utensils away from the dinner table before.

"It's a box."

Farf rolled his eye. "What's in it?"

"Nothing. Crawford picked it up from the building manager's office this afternoon when we got in. I didn't bother asking what it was."

Curious, the Irishman got up to look at it. Picking it up, he looked at the address label. It was from RonCo, and it was addressed to him…? His package had finally come! He ripped open the box, despite the fact he'd already established that it was empty. "Where are they?"

"Where are what?" asked Nagi as he swallowed a mouthful of noodles and pork.

"My knives! I ordered knives! Where are my knives!" He ran out of the kitchen and pounded on the office door. "Crawford, you bastard! What did you do with my knives!" He tried to throw his weight against the door, but ended up sprawled on the ground as Crawford opened it. He immediately latched onto Crawford's leg. "Give me my knives or I'll hamstring you with my teeth!"

Crawford calmly looked down at him and pushed his glasses up. "Farfarello, there is no way I can move if you're holding on to my ankle. Thus I can't get anything," he said matter-of-factly.

Farf blinked and let go, but stayed sitting in the doorway.

"Now, Farfarello." Crawford leaned against his desk. "There was a reason I took your knives away from you in the first place. I might consider giving them back, but you must watch your conduct. We can't be attacking the neighbors or attracting attention."

"I bet the religious community is happy," Schu muttered. Nagi backhanded him in the gut, and Farf shot them a poisoned glare over his shoulder. The two of them were standing behind him in the hall.

"You've done very well for the last few weeks," continued Crawford. "Two more, and you would have a couple knives back. It is still a very real possibility. Just keep up the good behavior."

'He makes it sound like this is a prison…' thought Farf.

'You mean it isn't?' Schu asked.

Farf slouched more. 'Go away, Schuldig… Or I will hurt you as well as Crawford.'

'Okay, okay, geeze…' He retreated from Farf's mind.

"So what did you do with the knives I ordered?" the madman practically growled, trying his best to control his temper.

"The old steak knives needed to be replaced."

"WHAT!" That had done it. Farf snapped. He lunged at Crawford, fist leading, who sidestepped and turned to face him. Farf aimed a kick at Crawford's face, but the American caught his foot, surprised that Farf was mad enough that he wasn't fighting at nearly his usual standards. The precog shoved Farf's foot back, knocking him off balance, and he spun, landing on his toes and fingers. He lunged again, and again Crawford dodged, and Farf found himself tumbling into the hallway. Right into Schuldig's waiting arms. The German got a good grip on him and lifted him from the floor slightly. "Let go! Schuldig! Let me go! I wanna hurt him!"

"I don't think so. Chibi, go get Farfie his favorite jacket." This got him a heel in the knee. "OW! Ya psycho! Hurry it up, Nagi!"

Farf struggled, kicking his feet back into Schu's legs every few seconds and wriggling in his grasp to free himself. No! He didn't want to be put in the straight jacket! He wanted those knives! He was gonna carve up his teammates! Crawford and Schu were gonna die! Nagi would just be scarred. He was only doing what he was told. But that wouldn't stop him from being hurt! Badly!

Nagi ran and got the straight jacket, and it took all three of them to get him into it this time. They all ended up with bite marks and scratches all over their arms, even a couple welts left by Farfarello's nails on their faces. He had put up much more of a fight than they were expecting. He was currently in his straight jacket, his feet bound together, and tightly strapped to one of the kitchen chairs that they had brought to his room.

Crawford pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Schuldig, get the TV and DVD player from your room. He's not getting away with causing this much trouble."

Nagi pushed himself up from the floor where he had collapsed, breathing hard. He followed Schu out of the room to go drop onto his own bed. Schu dragged his small color TV into the room and set it up with his DVD player, then left again. He didn't want to stick around for this.

Crawford went out and came back with a DVD. Farf was still oblivious to what was going on around him as he tried to free himself. Currently, he was attempting to dislocate his shoulder. When the TV turned on, he finally looked up and fear flashed across his eye for a second. The precog turned to regard him for a moment. "We'll let you out in a few hours when you calm down. Enjoy the show." He put the DVD in, hit play, and left. He closed and bolted the heavy door behind himself, thankful that they had soundproofed the cell for the most part. He didn't want the neighbors to worry about the screams that occasionally came from there.

"So, what's he watching tonight?" Schu asked, not totally sure he wanted to know.

"Barney. He found and destroyed the Teletubbies DVD a while ago."

"Don't blame him."

Farf was whimpering, staring wide-eyed at the screen as the menu played again and again and again. Crawford untied him from the chair, and watched in slight amusement as the Irishman didn't even wait to have the straight jacket taken off, and laid down on his bed in a fetal position. The precog let him, and removed the chair and electronics, closing the door again behind him. Let him sleep off the terror of a large purple dinosaur.

The next morning, they got him out of the jacket, and he refused to leave his room. Nagi brought him a late breakfast and eventually got him to come out for dinner after everyone else had eaten. He watched Farf slowly eating some soup. "Farf, I'm sorry about yesterday, but you really should have seen this coming. You know Crawford wouldn't let you keep them. I'm not going to say you acted stupid or anything last night, either, but you know better than to pick a fight with those two." When Farf didn't respond, he dropped the subject and went back to his physics homework. When the mood didn't lighten, he relocated to his room.

With him gone, Farf began looking through the kitchen as he had done before looking for the knives he'd bought. A twenty-minute search revealed nothing of interest to him, other than a hidden bag of Lindt chocolate truffles. He doubted Schu would miss it until after he'd eaten them all. After shoving the candy into an empty spot on his hidden bookcase, he went to Crawford's office to ask about his knives. The door was locked, but he could hear the precog moving inside.

He sat on the floor, watching the door until he got bored, which didn't take that long today. The he reached out and drew his nails lightly across the wood. "Crawford…"

No response.

He scratched harder. "Crawford. I need my knives." He pawed at the door faster now. "Crawford! I need my knives!" His eye was wide, and his arm wasn't quite as steady as it usually was. "Please, Crawford, I need a knife to hurt something! Please! I wanna cut someone up! Pleeeaaaase!"

Nagi glanced out of his room, both surprised that he could hear Farf over Schuldig's loud music, and at the pleading tone of the madman's voice. And was Farfarello shaking? Oh, my god, he thought. He's going into withdrawal. He watched as Farf continued to scratch at the door and beg.

Schu poked his head out of his room. "What the hell is going on?"

"Farf's going into withdrawal form not having knives to play with and not being able to make things bleed."

Both watched as Crawford finally opened the door to see Farf pounding on it with both hands kneeling on the floor. "Farfarello, what are you doing!"

"I-I want m-my n-n-knives…" Farf replied brokenly. Crawford took a step toward him to see if he'd sustained any head injury that they hadn't known about, when the madman dove passed him. Farf slammed the office door shut, locking it behind himself. He then began digging through the desk and closet looking for anything that knives could be hidden in.

"Farfarello, open this door right now!"

"NO! Not until I find my knives!" Farf pulled a large wooden box out of the bottom drawer of the desk with a padlock on it. He shook it, and heard the rattle of blades. With a grin, he set the box down and pulled a stiff wire and bobby pin from the wrappings on his right arm. He looked at the lock, and stuck the wire in, then the pin and carefully moved it around.

He had almost got it open, when the door opened again. Farf turned quickly, but it was too late. Schu was faster than himself, and had him by the back of his vest. Crawford stood in the doorway, a ring of keys twirling on a finger. "You didn't think that I wouldn't have my keys on me, did you? Now, get out of my office, Farf."

"I WANT MY KNIVES!" Farf yelled as Schuldig dragged him out of the room. Crawford closed and locked the door again after them. Time to get back to work.

Schu let go of the Irishman. "You're making a huge pest of yourself, you know that? You need to cool it, all right? Just make the best of it, and you'll get your knives back soon."

Farf had a blank look on his face. He got up from the floor where Schu had dropped him, and walked quietly to his room, pushing the door most of the way closed after him. He dropped onto his bed on his stomach, and pulled the pillow over his head. He didn't make a sound, kept his mind clear. When he heard the loud German techno start again, he grabbed his coat and the hat Schu had given him, and walked out the door.

He wandered for a couple hours. There had to be someplace where he could find knives. He needed knives. Soon, or he'd snap. Again. Like he didn't do that often enough already. Where could he get knives? He meandered down the street he was on, passing many stores full of clothes and furniture and a couple boutiques and a café. He paused outside a fancy and very expensive Italian restaurant that Crawford occasionally stopped at. Wait a sec.

Restaurants had knives!

Without a second thought, Farf walked in the front door. The man in a suit behind the coat check stopped him. "Do you have a reservation, sir?"

With a snarl, Farf punched him in the stomach and kept walking. He went straight through the restaurant, earning odd looks from all the patrons, and went right towards the kitchen. A waiter got in his way before he could get there.

"The kitchen is off limits, sir-"

Before he could finish, Farf had dropped, one foot sweeping out to knock the waiter's legs out from under him. Quickly launching himself up and into a run, the madman burst into the kitchen and charged the dishwasher. The kid screamed and ran out the back door into the alley and hid himself in the dumpster. Farf then began to dig through the utensils for anything particularly sharp.

He turned when he heard someone yelling, and saw one of the chefs running at him with a carving knife, and another with a cleaver. With a grin, he abandoned the steak knives, and stood there, waiting for them to reach him in his usual marionette-like pose. The first of the two men slashed at him, and he fluidly ducked, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting. The chef dropped the carving knife as Farf stepped to the side, still twisting his arm with one hand, then delivered a sharp chop to the back of the man's neck with his free hand without looking. The man dropped to the floor, and didn't get up.

Now, Farf turned his attention to the other chef, who hesitated for a second at the maniacal light in the Irishman's eye and the sadistic grin on his face. But he didn't hesitate long, and lunged at Farf, the knife held high to chop down at his shoulder. Farf sidestepped and turned to deliver a hard kick to the man's back, his heel connecting with spine. He dropped faster than the first guy. The cleaver clattered to the floor near the carving knife.

Finally! Grinning ear-to-ear, he bent down to retrieve them when he suddenly became aware of sirens in front of the establishment, and the sounds of the police bursting in through the kitchen door. He'd been so happy to have been fighting, not to mention the fact that he almost had a pair of knives, he'd lost track of his surroundings. How unlike him! He never did that! This is what knife-withdrawal did to him. He'd be sure to point that out to Crawford before torturing him to death. With the cops so close, he didn't have time to grab the knives. He quickly ran through the open back door and down the alley, jumping to the hood of one cop car and leaping off the other side to make his escape. He retreated down the street, police sirens following him every step of the way. He slipped into a building, and ran up to the third floor, taking the stairs three at a time and knowing that the police had seen him duck in. He slipped into an apartment that wasn't locked, and looked around quickly, and hid himself in the coat closet as a woman walked from the bedroom to the kitchen. Her back was to the rest of the small space as she rummaged through the fridge for some dinner. He left the closet, silently closing it behind himself and dashed to the bedroom. The woman turned around a minute later to see if the faint noise she'd heard on the carpet was the cat jumping off the high bookshelf it was on.

Once in the bedroom and out of sight from the kitchen, Farf looked out the window. The police had gone in the front door and had probably spread out and were warning residents that a deranged maniac was on the loose, but none of them were watching this side of the building yet. He opened the window and climbed out to the fire escape, shut the window again, and went down the first flight of the fire escape then jumped the last two stories to the ground and ran in the opposite direction from the cops.

He ducked into a doorway a couple blocks away. Okay. So he shouldn't try to steal knives from a restaurant during the rush. Where else could he get some? He could always rip some sleeping pills off of a pharmacy and knock Crawford out. Then he'd have a lot of time to break into the room and the box to get his knives back. But the only problem was that Crawford would see it coming. He'd have Farf locked in his room again, and would ban him from going out of the apartment. Even just to get the mail! Hey, he never got the mail today. Probably no one had gotten it. He'd have to check when he got in.

Yeah. Like that was gonna happen. More likely, the others would come out searching for him, especially after the news report about the restaurant, and he'd be dragged straight into his room and forced to watch "Toddler TV" as Schuldig called it. He shuddered. That was part of what had made him leave in the first place. Other than the obvious mistreatment of his addiction to knives.

Oh, yeah, he was looking for knives. The fact that he had forgotten knives meant he was thinking too much, so he cleared his head and looked around. It looked like he was standing in the doorway of the back door to an apartment over a shop. Perhaps whoever lived there would have some knives he could take. He pulled his lock picks out again, and set to work on the door. With a small click, it opened and he let himself in. He heard mumbled voices at the top of the stairs, but couldn't make out the quiet words. Deciding to wait for them to finish what they were doing and try to avoid people totally for the next few hours, he closed himself in a small storage room. Looked like it was full of ribbons, green foam blocks, wrapping paper and plastic, and baskets. Okay, he didn't get it. He sat in the corner to wait.

Farfarello blinked, sitting straight and stretching stiff muscles. Didn't hurt him, of course, but it made him feel sluggish for a minute. Moving around and stretching a bit helped. He'd apparently fallen asleep at some point. Judging by the faint light coming from under the door, it was now morning. And it was quiet. Good. He stepped carefully out of the storage room and glanced from side to side and saw no one. With a smile he made his way up the stairs. One of them creaked quietly, but the room at the top didn't sound occupied at the moment so he wasn't concerned. Carefully, he opened the door and looked in.

Someone had been in there in the past few minutes, and had left French toast on the stove. And a knife on the counter. Whoo-hoo! He stalked over to the counter with a triumphant smile, and reached for the shiny blade thinking of snatching some breakfast while he was there.

There was a slight scuff like a shoe on the linoleum floor behind him. He lifted his head, about to turn slowly and menacingly to face whoever was behind him. Before he could move, something smacked into the back of his head with a heavy metallic clang. He slumped to the floor, his vision fading to his favorite color, or lack thereof, black. Before losing consciousness he heard a dangerously familiar voice calling "GUUUUUUUYS!"

Farf blinked his eye rapidly as he came to. It was kinda blurry. Kinda dizzy. Slightly nauseous. Damn. Concussion. Kid had hit him hard. Well, at least he now knew what all that stuff in the storage room had been for: flower arranging. With a frown he tried to shift slightly, but he'd been tied to a chair so tight it had nearly cut off his circulation. Smart kitties.

Ah, yes. Looking up for the first time, his amber gaze fell upon Abyssinian's amethyst one. The redhead scowled down at him, obviously wondering why they hadn't killed him yet, as he had infiltrated their headquarters so easily, and probably was going to kill them, as they hadn't been armed or aware of his presence.

Good thing Omi, who had been making breakfast, had heard the stair creak and grabbed a frying pan. The pan now had a good sized-dent in the bottom, and they were thinking of charging Kritiker with replacing it as a business expense.

Farf blinked again to clear his vision, and muttered, "Wrong house."

"What, did you forget where you lived, Schwartz?" Balinese asked snidely from beside him to his right.

He shook his head. "No. I was looking for knives to steal. They stole mine. A month ago. And won't give them back. And Crawford's gonna be mad about the restaurant, and I'll be tortured for it if I go back. So I need a knife to get him before he gets me."

"The restaurant uproar was you're doing?" Siberian, behind him, sounded shocked for some reason. Farf could have sworn he heard the other two groan to themselves since the description given by police on the news last night only fit one person in all of Japan, much less the city. "What?"

"What should we do with him?" Bombay was on the far side of the room to the left, a safe distance from the madman. No matter that he was the one to catch him, he didn't want to be close to him. Even tied up like that, Farf was still crazy, scary, and could be dangerous.

"Kill me?" Farf cocked his head to the right and stared unblinking at Abyssinian.

"No."

"Torture me?" He looked hopeful.

"No. You don't seem to register pain so it's pointless."

"Come to think of it," Balinese broke in, "if you don't feel pain, then how would your teammates torture you?"

"Mental torture."

"Makes sense."

"You're not going to put me in a sanitarium, are you?" He now looked worried.

"Don't think so." Abyssinian sounded disappointed.

Farf thought for a minute. "You want me to tell you where Crawford, Schu, and Nagi are hiding, right? So you can take Schwartz out? Ooh! Just gimme a knife, and I'll take care of them for you! I promise! I just need a knife! Just one! A nice shiny knife! Really sharp! To cut people with! I promise to kill Crawford and Schu before anyone else! And Nagi will be in the hospital for a while. Please? Just one knife! I need a knife! That's all I want!"

All four members of Weiss were quite taken aback by this. Okay, they could understand that the members of Schwartz would like driving each other nuts and annoying the hell out of each other, but… This! Berserker was offering to kill half his team for them if they just gave him a knife!

Balinese stepped in front of him to look him in the face. "Are you feeling all right? I mean, you're kidding, right? Bombay, I think you hit him too hard."

"Just give me some knives!"

"No." It seemed that he was starting to freak the kitties out by now. Abyssinian was looking at him oddly. Yay. He was freaking out the emotionless Abyssinian. That meant something.

Not that he noticed. He started thrashing wildly, trying to get free. "C'mon! Just one knife! I wanna hurt them! I need to make something bleed!" His golden eye had become wild and pleading. The four members of Weiss winced as they heard something pop in one of his arms. Again, not that he noticed.

"Um… Maybe you should get the frying pan again, Omi." Siberian seemed to be backing away slowly.

"Get more rope, too, please," asked Balinese.

Bombay, Omi, ran up the stairs to get whatever he could to control Farfarello.

"Yohji! Back away from him. Slowly," commanded Abyssinian, reaching a hand for the hilt of his katana, which he realized a second later was leaning against a chair a few paces away, and fortunately out of the madman's reach. Balinese did so gladly.

"Aya, I don't think it's safe to keep him here," Siberian said nervously.

Abyssinian nodded. "It would be safest to get rid of him. Our best course of action would be to eliminate him."

"But on the other hand, if we give him back to Schwartz-"

"Yohji, we don't know where they are."

"On the contrary, Ken." Yohji, Balinese, held something up.

Farf blinked and turned his head to see it, curiosity finding its way through his blind rage. Then the rage came back. "Hey! Gimme back my cards!"

"What is it?" asked Siberian, Ken.

"Papers saying he's gotten his shots this year. I'm assuming that the address on it is the Schwartz hideout."

"So I don't have to worry about infections if he bites me?"

"Get over here, and we'll find out." Farf bared his teeth.

"No thanks…"

Omi came back down then, carrying more rope and two pairs of handcuffs. As the stairs were behind Farf, he couldn't see, but he heard the kid say, "We already threw out the frying pan. I didn't know what else there is."

"How about a knife!" yelled the Irishman. He realized that his left arm had dislocated in his struggles, and started wriggling out of the ropes.

"Shit!" Yohji jumped back further, his sunglasses slipping down his nose. "No way do I want him around here! Ken, knock him out."

"What! No way! I'm not getting close to him! Omi, you knocked him out before! You do it!"

"He wasn't fighting before! I got him by surprise! Besides, I don't have anything I could use as a weapon on me!"

"I'll take any knife! A steak knife, or dinner knife! Hell, I'll take a fricken butter knife!"

Without a word, said by or to him, Aya grabbed his katana from where it was leaning against the stuffed chair against the wall on the other side of the room. Without drawing the blade, he gripped the sword and sheath tightly and swung it at Farfarello's blind side. As he blacked out again, he heard Abyssinian tell the others to set his arm back in its socket and to make sure he was safely secured.

He also thought 'This can't be good for my concussion.'

Nagi walked into the apartment building in the early evening. It was about time for dinner, so he'd finally left the library. Plus he wanted to know if Farf was back yet. He'd just left last night, and no one had noticed until it was time to put him to bed. He and Schu had wandered out to the living room to see if he was there when Crawford gave a suppressed snarl of extreme irritation and stated that they needed to go out and "find that Irish bastard before he causes more of an uproar and kills someone." Curious, they'd looked at the TV before Crawford turned it off, and thus learned about the restaurant.

They'd searched for a while, but couldn't find him, and eventually decided they needed sleep. Particularly Nagi as he'd had school today. And he was planning on going to bed early tonight, whether or not Farf was back yet.

He'd just hit the button to call the elevator when he looked out the large windows on either side of the door to see a car pull up to the curb in front of the building. He watched dumbfounded as Balinese and Siberian got out and opened the back door of the vehicle. How had they found them! And he was alone. Crawford had to go deal with their employer today, and Schu was back out looking for Farf. Would he be able to get away from both of them, or would he need to concentrate on one of them and leave himself open to attack by the other? This was not good.

He pressed the call button for the elevator again, repeatedly, wishing it would hurry up, and hoping that he could make it to the apartment before they found him. No such luck, he realized, as the elevator was still only halfway down when the two assassins came in the front door dragging something.

Someone he noticed then. They were dragging someone. They dropped the body in front of him. He saw then that it was Farfarello, handcuffed and bound hand and foot in what looked to be two or three twenty-foot lengths of rope. He had a bandage across his left temple, and his left shoulder looked slightly swollen.

"Take him back," said Siberian. "He's too much trouble."

Nagi blinked. What? The? Hell! They'd captured Farf and were giving him back!

Balinese explained. "We don't want to deal with him. He seems to be more mentally unstable than we remembered. Probably due to a lack of knives, according to his rambling. You take him back and lock him up for a little while so he doesn't hurt anyone, and we forget where you live. Deal?"

Nagi stared at them for a minute. "Could you at least help me get him into the elevator?" The door slid open then.

"Sure. Why not. Then he'll be properly restrained faster." With their help, he got Farf into the elevator. "Just don't untie him until you've locked the door. Balinese suggested. "He's a bit unruly and volatile right now."

The kid nodded. "Thanks."

He watched them leave before the elevator door closed.

"I still can't believe it. Even tied up I thought he was going to kill us," Siberian said.

"I wonder how they deal with him all the time. Should have asked. But on the other hand, I'm not sure I want to know," answered Balinese.

Nagi prodded the prone form at his feet as they neared their floor, and still got no response. With a sigh, he used his powers to lift Farf slightly, just enough so he could pull him down the hall. As the elevator door opened, he looked around and saw that the coast was clear, and hauled the unconscious Irishman down the hall to the apartment, pausing only to unlock and open the door. He thanked his lucky stars that next to him, Farf had the slightest build of the group. Locking the door behind him, he dropped Farf on the floor and started untying him. Maybe if he wasn't trussed up in five pounds of rope, he'd be easier to drag. While he was at it, Nagi looked at Farf's injuries. A slight gash next to his missing eye and the swelling seemed to be it. Nothing to worry about, as Farf was a quick healer.

After getting a drink, he lugged Farf to his room, and put him in his straight jacket. He was wondering if he should strap the madman to his bed when Farf's eye blinked open. "Home," he muttered.

"Yeah. Home. You can thank me later for dragging you up here from the lobby. Right now I want a nap. You're not as light as you look." Nagi stood to go figuring Farf would be alright in the middle of his bedroom floor. He took a step towards the door when he tripped. Looking down he saw that Farf had hooked his ankle with both feet. Maybe he should have strapped him down. "Let go of me, Farf. I want to rest for a little while, then I have a report to write."

"Knife."

"Not now. I have homework, have to cook dinner, and have to sleep. Crawford kept us up till three looking for you. We'll talk later. Now let me go." His voice left no room for argument.

Farf let him go, deciding to mention his concussion later. On second thought. "My ears are ringing…"

"A dislocated shoulder, already popped back into the socket, two head injuries, and a concussion," Nagi reported to Crawford while he was cooking. Crawford had carried some paperwork out to the kitchen to work while eating. "I don't know where he came from, or who dropped him off, but he'd apparently given them a hard time, judging by how much rope they had used." Part lie, but there was enough truth in it as far as he was concerned.

"How did they know where to leave him?"

"You know he always carries his tags to prove he doesn't have rabies to anyone he bites," Schuldig pointed out. He was munching on some pocky. Nagi had glared at him for eating right before dinner, but it was mostly out of annoyance and not because he wanted Schu to actually eat a meal. He knew the German could eat two meals if he'd felt like it. Besides, it had been his pocky.

Crawford gave a disgruntled sigh. "Are you sure there was no clue to where he'd been?"

"I'm positive," Nagi told him.

'You're lying, aren't you?' asked Schu privately.

'As long as he doesn't know that, we won't have any trouble.'

'So, where was he?'

'That I don't know.'

'Who brought him back?'

'That you don't want to know.'

Schu blinked, not sure what he was talking about.

Farf wandered in then, still in the jacket. He plopped down in his chair, ignoring the fact that Crawford and Schu were staring at him. He looked at the table in front of him, crossing his legs on the chair. "Dinner?"

"In a minute." Nagi continued to mix the stir-fry.

"So, where were you?" asked Crawford.

"Koneko. Dinner now?"

"You are in a lot of trouble here, so don't change the subject! What do you mean by koneko?"

Schuldig blinked. "Hey, isn't that the place that Weiss got day jobs at?" He and Crawford stared at Farf. "How'd you get away?"

"Just get me out of this fricken straight jacket and give me my dinner! I'm not in the mood!" Schu quickly took it off him as Nagi set out plates. The kid was the only one who realized this was the first time they had all eaten at the same time. Ever. Probably due to the fact that they wanted to know what Farf had done. But the madman was silent all through dinner, and immediately after, stormed off to his room. "Anyone tries to put that thing back on me will have his arm bitten off," he growled as he left the kitchen.

No one wanted to argue with that. "Note to self," muttered Crawford. "Give Farf his stronger prescription tomorrow…"

Schuldig followed Farf down the hall.

"What!" the Irishman snapped

"So, what's their hide out like?"

"Go away, Schuldig."

"Tell me and I'll give you something sharp to play with," the telepath said enticingly.

Farf pretended to think about it for a minute. "No. You lost your power to bargain with me since siding with Crawford. And here I thought you couldn't stand him."

"I can't. He's a prick. But he's a very influential prick with money and a great organization backing. Even though I hate them, too. But they give me silence. Not total silence, but close enough."

"You're rambling."

"Yeah, I am. I'm trying to get you to calm down and talk to me."

"Again, go away."

"And after I went through all the trouble of renting a bunch of movies for you." Schu pointed out to the living room. "I got about a half dozen horrors, I think. They look bloody and bad."

"Bad?"

"B-grade horrors. I went through that book you have. What is it again?"

"The Encyclopedia of Horror and the Supernatural?"

"Yeah! That one! Oh, and I picked up a stray thought from Nagi at dinner. You might want to go see him about it later. Just tell me when you're ready for nine and a half hours of horror movies!" Schuldig went to his room, giving Farf a small wave over his shoulder.

Hmm. Horrors might make him feel a bit better. He'd feel much better if he had a knife, though. Watching horror movies always made him want to go out and kill things after. He went to his room, closing the door over halfway, and pulled on a set of headphones to listen to Asrai. He pulled out his copy of The Divine Comedy and lay on his bed to read for a while.

He kept an eye on his door, though, and when he saw Nagi pass by on his way to his own room, he put the worn book down and followed. Nagi felt movement behind him, and warm breath on the back of his neck. "Hi, Farf."

"Schuldig said I should see you about something. Didn't say what."

"Yes. Come in. And close the door behind you." Nagi made his way over to his desk, and pulled open one of the drawers as Farf shut the door. "I had to go behind Crawford's back for this. But you really do deserve it. I'm sure Crawford's seen something by now, but hasn't stopped it because you handled the last month and a half pretty well, except for the last couple days." He pulled out a full ream of printer paper, then a false bottom to the drawer. From the compartment, he took a long blade. "I bought it a few days ago, and I was going to wait until Crawford started giving you back your other knives, but with the day you've had I think you should get it now." He handed the dagger over.

Farf blinked at him. So, Nagi was showing his rare sensitive side instead of his angst today. Odd. He reached out and took the dagger, feeling the sharpness of the blade, then testing it on his arm. It cut well. With a grin, he licked the blood off his arm and stuck the dagger through his belt. This called for a change in plans. He'd kill Crawford, maybe put Schuldig in the hospital, and leave Nagi alone. Maybe. "Time for popcorn."

Now Nagi blinked. As usual, he didn't quite get the madman's reference. He just watched as Farf left the room. Farf went out to the kitchen, and dug through the cabinets until he found the popcorn. He popped one bag, and put another in to cook while he wandered down to Schu's room. He tossed the bag of popcorn on his bed and wandered back to the kitchen to wait for his own bag.

"I suppose that's a hint, huh?" Schu called after him. He picked up the six movies and met Farf in the living room. "Well, what do you want to see first? We have Suspiria, it's sequel Inferno, Shock Corridor, House of Wax, Eyes Without a Face, and The Hour of the Wolf."

"House of Wax. Vincent Price is good. Then Shock Corridor. You choose after that." He tossed some popcorn into his mouth as he curled up on one end of the couch, leaning on the armrest. He played with the dagger every once in a while, slicing his arm, his pant leg, or the couch. He didn't care that Crawford would be angry about the expensive fabric.

Just as Shock Corridor was starting, Nagi wandered through to the kitchen to grab a something to munch on while he worked online. With a grin, Farf snagged him. "Watch a movie with us, Nagi! You'll like it…"

"I-I don't know, Farf. I don't like horror movies… And I'm working."

"It's not really a horror. It's a suspense and mystery." He looped an arm around Nagi's shoulders and pulled him close to whisper in his ear. "Next time I try to kill Crawford, don't get in the way, or you'll be watching more of these… Perhaps my copy of Freaks."

Nagi paled slightly. He tried to squirm off the couch, but Farf wouldn't let go of him. Schu watched interestedly, but didn't interfere. When that movie was over and he was finally let go, Nagi bolted to his room.

When the movies were finally over at about seven in the morning, Schu decided it was time for bed. Farf wandered into the kitchen to grab himself some caffeine before Crawford came out for breakfast, and was disappointed when he found it too late to do so. The precog sat at the table, sipping a cup o' joe. "I'm going out today. I won't be back until tomorrow. Nagi will be in charge of contacting me if need be. You and Schu will not be allowed out tonight."

Farfarello frowned. "You always let us out when you're not here."

"But you don't usually do anything stupid." He sipped his coffee again.

This answer didn't really tell Farf much other than Crawford had seen something, and was hoping to prevent it. Since he wouldn't be able to get caffeine with him in there, so he grabbed a couple slices of toast and stalked off to his room to slice up his pillow. Again. He went through a few pillows a year.

He paused in his doorway, staring in disbelief at his bed. His old knives were sitting on the mattress. With a grin, he picked each one up lovingly to inspect them all in turn. Flopping down on the mattress next to the knife collection, he decided to take a nap.

A few hours later, Farf woke up to Schu knocking on the open door. "Hey. Brad's gone for the night. Wanna go to midnight mass?"

Watched some movies, got a new knife, got his old knives back, was going out to a night on the town with Schu against Crawford's orders. This was gonna be a good day. Especially when he would jump Schu from behind after a massacre. "Sounds like fun." Nope, he was not going to be bored tonight.

A few hours away, Crawford suddenly realized he should warn Schuldig of danger, though he wasn't quite sure what that danger was. But he did see a good number of stitches in the German's future.

A Note To My Dear Friends The Readers: Well, it's done. Only took me a few weeks due to the fact the charger for my laptop shorted out and it took me two weeks to get a new one. But as I refuse to start posting a story before I have finished it (except in my character's LiveJournal) you have received it on schedule.

The idea came when flipping through the channels, and I came upon the infomercial that our favorite little psychopathic homicidal maniac saw. Yes, the set includes that many knives. Also, the Penguin Encyclopedia of Horror and the Supernatural is a real book. I have it. It tells about actors, directors, artists, composers, creatures, movies, and genres within the genre. It's a good source for bad movies, and all the ones mentioned are in it. House of Wax is a decent movie, though, and as my dad owns it, it is the only one of these I've seen. Though Shock Corridor does sound good…