The chair was hard and cold. Schuldig winced and squirmed uncomfortably in the mahogany chair he was ordered to sit it.
The room was also cold. The lone desk Schuldig sat at was made of the finest black marble, as was the floor. The walls looked like mahogany as well. The ceiling arched up like a cathedral and made every sound made in that room echo. This office was much like Crawford himself, Schuldig thought; dark, cold, and empty.
The large double doors at the front of the room creaked open. Crawford walked in, his stride long, purposeful, non-hesitant. He came to the chair diagonal from Schuldig. As always, Crawford was impeccably dressed. A cream colored Gucci suit with a green vest, light blue shirt and orange tie. His hands were well washed, even the nails were carefully manicured. His face was flawless, smooth lips that bearly smiled, exotic autumn brown eyes that observed the world from behind a pair of designer glasses. The only imperfection in this man was his hair. Thick black tresses fell untamed about his face. It may have started out fixed in the beginning of the day, but through constant, tugging, and having his own fingers run through it almost constantly, it became unruly. Schuldig raised a pair of mental eyebrows. Interesting.
Crawford opened the plain black leather briefcase he brought with him. He put his hands together. "I have to talk to you about your performance in these past couple of months, Schuldig." His voice resonated through the empty room. "The results are satisfactory, but the means. . ."
Crawford pulled out a folder from the briefcase. Opening it, he searched about for a certain paper. Schuldig noticed as he glanced over it, Crawford starting chewing at his lower lip. Finding a page, he slid it across the table at Schuldig. "Read it."
Schuldig picked it up and read the newspaper clipping that had been pasted to it. "FOUR PEOPLE DIE IN BOMB BLAST"
Schuldig smiled to himself. As he skimmed through the article, he folded down the edge of the paper. Crawford was busy in the folder again, the right corner of his lip in his mouth, and hand ran through his hair, momentarily reveling a high proud forehead and widow's peak. As his hand left the hair, silken black swept forward to his face again.
(Hmmm. . .So nervous for one so collected. I wonder. . .)
Schuldig kept the ruse of reading. Then he started to reach his mind out to Crawford's, slowly, as so not to scare. The shock of his invading presence has killed men. It can be like a knife. If eased in smoothly with our jerks or starts, it won't startle. If it's jabbed in, it can kill or cause serious damage.
Crawford stopped rummaging through the folder. His eyes became somewhat glassy. "Stop it, Schuldig." His voice was softer, more far away.
(Damn, he felt me. No matter, what's in here?)
Crawford's eyes, widened. Orbs like brown glass shone in what little light was in the room. His mouth moved, but refused to work. A squeak of voice came out, ". . .Schul. . .Nnnnoooo."
Schuldig put down the paper he was reading and looked directly at Crawford. His verdant eyes narrowed in concentration and seemed to glow with a catlike intensity. A smile caressed his lips.
(What the hell are you hiding from me? No one has ever resisted as hard as you)
Schuldig filtered through thought, emotion, and mindscape. Crawford's mind knew it was being invaded by him, and it tried to push him out.
(Your resistance is like a rare spice, Crawford, and I relish it.)
Quite suddenly, Schuldig felt catapulted out of Crawford's mind. Suddenly, up came a mental block so strong, it caught him off guard and nearly caused him to fall over physically.
Crawford's eyes went from glassy to livid. Electricity pulsed through the air in that small room. Reaching over the table with lightening speed, Crawford punched Schuldig in the jaw. "Look here Telepath. If you EVER do that again, I'll order a lobotomy for you. . .or better yet, I'll do it my self."
Turning on his heel, Crawford quickly walked out of the room, leaving behind his briefcase.
Schuldig's tongue darted out and licked the blood from the corner of his lip. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a strawberry Blow Pop, unwrapped it, and put it in his mouth. Maneuvering the stick with his tongue, it stuck out the right side of his mouth. He smiled and walked out of the room.
(Let the games begin.)