Shades of Gray
He checked his watch. 4:05 am. Bombay would still be asleep. He shifted his weight further onto his good leg and readjusted the satchel on his shoulder. Through the darkness he crept – much, much slower than he would have liked. He felt vulnerable, weak, and open to attack in his condition. Schuldig soothed the discontent by reaching out with his mind, spreading his sense of awareness. Just as he thought, Bombay was still curled on the bed in their room, torturing himself with more nightmares. Clumsily, he made his way back into the hotel lobby, again passing as a late-night drunk stumbling back to his room. The man at the concierge eyed him, but said nothing…outloud.
Another foreign punk drunk off his ass.
It was a better truth than the reality. Some part of him wouldn't mind being 'just another drunk foreigner.' He suddenly missed the clubs—missed the loud music and the mindless nights of just losing himself to the alcohol and dancing. He stared at himself in the reflective surface of the elevator doors. A few shallow scratches were healing on the side of his jaw, slightly hidden by the orange stubble he'd allowed to take root. He needed a shave. He needed to pay Siberian back. He knew the little kitten hadn't paid nearly as much from their scuffle as he had. He glanced down at the shopping bag in his opposite hand, impatient to take a shower and get into some crisp, clean, new clothes. When had he gotten so damn particular? Somewhere between Brad and Brad.
As he reached their room, he quietly fit the key and shouldered his way in through the door. The satchel was set on the windowsill as he emptied its contents. A new laptop found its way atop the dresser. He would have snatched Bombay's old one—had actually pondered it for a good five minutes, but he decided that he'd rather give Aya a good reason to track its owner down. At least for now, Bombay wouldn't suffer computer withdrawel. There were a few more choice luxuries—a cell phone, a new box of darts, and a CD player with earphones. He stood and pondered the items a moment, grinning to himself.
You fucking psycho, Schuldig. Out of your mind.
A wallet brimming with cash topped off the gifts.
As cute as he is playing thief, I still don't need him in jail right now. Maybe later, when I can have fun making a show out of bailing him out.
He took the needed shower, briefly smirking as he thought of Balinese. He shaved and silently patched his own broken stitches. Once done, he pranced out of the bathroom in a pair of new gray silk boxers –something else he'd undoubtably adopted from Brad– and climbed back into bed. As tired and sore as he was, he couldn't sleep yet. He stared up at the ceiling, wonderring if Brad was still ignoring him. He didn't quite know why the pre-cog had let him take it this far. Maybe Brad knew something. Maybe there was some…reason that all of this was happening. Then there were the dreams. Bombay's nightmares, Aya's memories, and even Lippizan's disturbing secret. He had meant to look deeper on that, but hadn't gotten a chance.
Then there was Aya's… new-found… something. Could he possibly be a suppressed telepath? With Aya, it wouldn't surprise him. You could suppress half of Tokyo in Abyssinian's mind and it'd be lost forever. He grinned up at the ceiling.
Wouldn't it be interesting to go clubbing with Mr. Stick-up-my-ass- the-size-of-Mt.-Fuji?
He could really have some fun with that. Then again, he didn't think Aya was as tight-assed as everyone thought he was. At times he almost seemed…like a reflection. For some reason, the thought chilled him, sending goosebumps down his arms and up the back of his neck.
Schwarzweiss. Black and white. A reflection………Ah shit, Schuldig. Who are you kidding? There are no boundaries. There is no looking-glass. It's all just shades of gray. That's all it is anymore, isn't it? All of us stuck… in shades of gray.
He checked his watch. 4:05 am. Bombay would still be asleep. He shifted his weight further onto his good leg and readjusted the satchel on his shoulder. Through the darkness he crept – much, much slower than he would have liked. He felt vulnerable, weak, and open to attack in his condition. Schuldig soothed the discontent by reaching out with his mind, spreading his sense of awareness. Just as he thought, Bombay was still curled on the bed in their room, torturing himself with more nightmares. Clumsily, he made his way back into the hotel lobby, again passing as a late-night drunk stumbling back to his room. The man at the concierge eyed him, but said nothing…outloud.
Another foreign punk drunk off his ass.
It was a better truth than the reality. Some part of him wouldn't mind being 'just another drunk foreigner.' He suddenly missed the clubs—missed the loud music and the mindless nights of just losing himself to the alcohol and dancing. He stared at himself in the reflective surface of the elevator doors. A few shallow scratches were healing on the side of his jaw, slightly hidden by the orange stubble he'd allowed to take root. He needed a shave. He needed to pay Siberian back. He knew the little kitten hadn't paid nearly as much from their scuffle as he had. He glanced down at the shopping bag in his opposite hand, impatient to take a shower and get into some crisp, clean, new clothes. When had he gotten so damn particular? Somewhere between Brad and Brad.
As he reached their room, he quietly fit the key and shouldered his way in through the door. The satchel was set on the windowsill as he emptied its contents. A new laptop found its way atop the dresser. He would have snatched Bombay's old one—had actually pondered it for a good five minutes, but he decided that he'd rather give Aya a good reason to track its owner down. At least for now, Bombay wouldn't suffer computer withdrawel. There were a few more choice luxuries—a cell phone, a new box of darts, and a CD player with earphones. He stood and pondered the items a moment, grinning to himself.
You fucking psycho, Schuldig. Out of your mind.
A wallet brimming with cash topped off the gifts.
As cute as he is playing thief, I still don't need him in jail right now. Maybe later, when I can have fun making a show out of bailing him out.
He took the needed shower, briefly smirking as he thought of Balinese. He shaved and silently patched his own broken stitches. Once done, he pranced out of the bathroom in a pair of new gray silk boxers –something else he'd undoubtably adopted from Brad– and climbed back into bed. As tired and sore as he was, he couldn't sleep yet. He stared up at the ceiling, wonderring if Brad was still ignoring him. He didn't quite know why the pre-cog had let him take it this far. Maybe Brad knew something. Maybe there was some…reason that all of this was happening. Then there were the dreams. Bombay's nightmares, Aya's memories, and even Lippizan's disturbing secret. He had meant to look deeper on that, but hadn't gotten a chance.
Then there was Aya's… new-found… something. Could he possibly be a suppressed telepath? With Aya, it wouldn't surprise him. You could suppress half of Tokyo in Abyssinian's mind and it'd be lost forever. He grinned up at the ceiling.
Wouldn't it be interesting to go clubbing with Mr. Stick-up-my-ass- the-size-of-Mt.-Fuji?
He could really have some fun with that. Then again, he didn't think Aya was as tight-assed as everyone thought he was. At times he almost seemed…like a reflection. For some reason, the thought chilled him, sending goosebumps down his arms and up the back of his neck.
Schwarzweiss. Black and white. A reflection………Ah shit, Schuldig. Who are you kidding? There are no boundaries. There is no looking-glass. It's all just shades of gray. That's all it is anymore, isn't it? All of us stuck… in shades of gray.