Experienced Weiss Kreuz fans and authors:
Forgive me, I beg of you. I am among the unfortunate, uninitiated people, who have never really seen or read the series, but I've formulated an idea of what happens, from the marvelous fanfictions out there that I've read.
As requested, this is the sequel to "Lavender," featuring the young and innocent Naoe Nagi, and his counterpart, the irrepressible Tsukiyono Omi.
Enjoy!
---
Disclaimer: I own nothing except the pictures in my head
Warning: Sap, angst, and shonein-ai situations. We almost reach lime, but I chickened out. Omi+Nagi, plus a few other pairs mentioned along the way...
Author: Kasey
Archive: Not unless I send it to you.
Status: Complete, self-edited.
Key: /italics/ and *emphasis*
---
"Honey"
-Welcome to My World-
---
In school, we're required to think metaphorically. Therefore, let me think of Schwarz as a quartet, or band:
The lyric-writer in a band will tell you what to expect. Then they will tell you how to deal with it. Then they will tell you how they dealt with it. Then they will cry their eyes out, because what they did didn't work. Of course, Crawford never cried, but he's the writer of our group. He's the lead, the main man, the star, commander-in-chief. Schwarz was his, lock and key.
Schuldich is a trumpet, and not just because he likes to blow his own horn, but because he's loud. Even when he's being quiet, he does it in the noisiest way possible. Of course, he's necessary, and is great for getting people's attention... but when he does something badly, the rest of us want to curl up and die.
Guitars can be beautiful. They can croon out the most delicate of poetries, singing softly into the appreciative ear... On the other hand, a guitar can wail with the most horrible anguish and loathing, fear and psychosis that can bring a person to their knees, begging for escape or deliverance. And that is Farfarello.
I would flatter myself to call myself the bass. Some people appreciate the bass, but few actually notice the undercurrent that it brings, and might forget it. Then, suddenly, someone cranks the volume up to eleven, and it's the powerful vibrations of the bass that bring the building crashing down.
We were a tight-knit group. We were brought together from desperate situations, into another scenario that eventually became worse that what we had come from. What surprises me, even now, is that we all got along.
"I hate," Schuldich spat. "I hate, I hate, I *hate*!!"
I decided to be smart, and not say anything. It had been a day since our boss, Mr Taketori, had beaten Schuldich with a golf club. Although Schu had been almost philosophical immediately after... well, after a day, all of the bruises had begun to show.
"Every muscle," he growled. "Every muscle in my *body*!! I feel like someone ran over me with a four-wheeler."
"Not a golf cart?" Farfarello asked from where sat on the couch. He smirked slightly.
Schuldich glared at him. "If you felt pain," he hissed, "I'd paper-cut your hands and wash them in lemon juice." Such a threat made me twitch, but Farfarello merely shrugged.
"That's enough," Crawford said, walking in on our discussion. He glanced at Farfarello, then at me. "Why is he out? Take care of it." I nodded and stood up.
Farfarello chuckled, standing. "Off to my cell, then. Goodbye, Schuldich. You might try taking a hot bath."
It may have sounded like we hated each other, but the banter was what kept us going. Just knowing that Farfarello was going to say something to purposely annoy Schuldich, or that Schuldich would do something for the pure entertainment value of watching Brad's ears turn red... gave me a reason for waking up in the morning. Too bad I couldn't wake up at three in the afternoon, after school got out.
---
"Naoe? Please turn in your homework."
"Hn?"
"Your homework, Naoe. In the basket." Mr Yokayama pointed to the homework basket on his desk. I was tempted... *so* tempted to just float my pages of Calculus homework up to the basket, without moving an inch from my seat. On the other hand, I knew the repercussions I would face later, so I stood and walked to the front of the class.
As I passed his desk, I could almost hear a hissing sound. The honey-haired boy who had gotten me to class on time that first day I came to school, Tsukiyono Omi, hated me. I had later discovered his connection to Weiss, my enemy, and he knew who I was and what I could do. I hated him, too. We managed to get desks on opposite ends of the room from each other, but no matter how much we tried to distance ourselves, we had to spend over an hour in the same room with each other.
Mr Yokayama picked up my paper and scanned over it. "Funny," he said. "I find it funny that a boy who is so bubble-headed in class can hold a grade average equal to that of the most attentive."
I looked behind me, and Tsukiyono was glaring back at me. Everyone thought that Tsukiyono was the brightest in the class, but I could equal his test scores without doing the in-class work. I smirked, and I could almost see his hair bristle.
I intentionally passed his desk on my way back to my seat. "Don't be angry, kitty," I whispered snidely, so that only he could hear me.
I could see the fight on Tsukiyono's face as he struggled to keep from jumping up and initiating a fight, right then. He didn't, of course--we never fought in school. We waited until he followed Weiss into a trap set by Schwarz... and then we fought a death-battle.
I returned to my seat. I wondered if Tsukiyono knew, yet, about his 'mission,' that night.
---
"This is getting boring," Schuldich yawned.
"Hn." I had to agree. Farfarello seemed to be having fun, though, and it was interesting to see the emotions on Weiss's faces.
Crawford was standing to the side, his face like stone, watching as Farfarello and Siberian duked it out in the middle of the office. When we arrived, Weiss had already killed their target, a business partner of Mr Taketori. Since we had failed our mission, we decided to play with Weiss, instead.
Abyssinian, Balinese, and Bombay were all lined up along one wall, standing stock still in the artistic poses I had placed them in. I had taken extra effort with Bombay, and I decided that I liked the way he looked, posed as a hood-ornament balancing on one foot, with his arms stretched out to either side.
"You're a sadistic little brat, aren't you?" Schuldich asked, glancing over at Bombay.
"It's what I do," I replied quietly, secretly pleased with myself. It *was* what I did, and I did it well.
"Yah!" Ken yelled, blocking Farfarello's berserk attack. "Uh-hn!"
Farfarello rarely spoke when fighting, but he grinned madly at Ken, and went in for a stab with his thin knife.
"Hn?" Schuldich's body, next to mine, jolted, and I looked up in time to see his head snap towards Crawford. "Craw-"
"Out!" Crawford yelled. "Farfarello, Nagi, out!" I looked towards him, and saw his eyes dilate, coming into focus. He'd just seen the future. He ran out of the office.
Farfarello took a last glance at Ken, as if considering finishing his attack, but Schuldich pushed him towards the door. I had just released Weiss from their braced positions, and was running out, when an explosion threw me into the open door.
---
---
Kasey's note of explaination:
In the third paragraph, I am certain that many sick-minded readers out there conjured up some rather explicit visions of a *very* flexible red-headed German telepath. Just to clear things up, I was referring the the idiom "blow your own horn," which just means that you *brag* a lot.
Incidentally, if anyone happens to draw a picture of said *very* flexible red-headed German telepath... don't hesitate to email me!
---
---
Forgive me, I beg of you. I am among the unfortunate, uninitiated people, who have never really seen or read the series, but I've formulated an idea of what happens, from the marvelous fanfictions out there that I've read.
As requested, this is the sequel to "Lavender," featuring the young and innocent Naoe Nagi, and his counterpart, the irrepressible Tsukiyono Omi.
Enjoy!
---
Disclaimer: I own nothing except the pictures in my head
Warning: Sap, angst, and shonein-ai situations. We almost reach lime, but I chickened out. Omi+Nagi, plus a few other pairs mentioned along the way...
Author: Kasey
Archive: Not unless I send it to you.
Status: Complete, self-edited.
Key: /italics/ and *emphasis*
---
"Honey"
-Welcome to My World-
---
In school, we're required to think metaphorically. Therefore, let me think of Schwarz as a quartet, or band:
The lyric-writer in a band will tell you what to expect. Then they will tell you how to deal with it. Then they will tell you how they dealt with it. Then they will cry their eyes out, because what they did didn't work. Of course, Crawford never cried, but he's the writer of our group. He's the lead, the main man, the star, commander-in-chief. Schwarz was his, lock and key.
Schuldich is a trumpet, and not just because he likes to blow his own horn, but because he's loud. Even when he's being quiet, he does it in the noisiest way possible. Of course, he's necessary, and is great for getting people's attention... but when he does something badly, the rest of us want to curl up and die.
Guitars can be beautiful. They can croon out the most delicate of poetries, singing softly into the appreciative ear... On the other hand, a guitar can wail with the most horrible anguish and loathing, fear and psychosis that can bring a person to their knees, begging for escape or deliverance. And that is Farfarello.
I would flatter myself to call myself the bass. Some people appreciate the bass, but few actually notice the undercurrent that it brings, and might forget it. Then, suddenly, someone cranks the volume up to eleven, and it's the powerful vibrations of the bass that bring the building crashing down.
We were a tight-knit group. We were brought together from desperate situations, into another scenario that eventually became worse that what we had come from. What surprises me, even now, is that we all got along.
"I hate," Schuldich spat. "I hate, I hate, I *hate*!!"
I decided to be smart, and not say anything. It had been a day since our boss, Mr Taketori, had beaten Schuldich with a golf club. Although Schu had been almost philosophical immediately after... well, after a day, all of the bruises had begun to show.
"Every muscle," he growled. "Every muscle in my *body*!! I feel like someone ran over me with a four-wheeler."
"Not a golf cart?" Farfarello asked from where sat on the couch. He smirked slightly.
Schuldich glared at him. "If you felt pain," he hissed, "I'd paper-cut your hands and wash them in lemon juice." Such a threat made me twitch, but Farfarello merely shrugged.
"That's enough," Crawford said, walking in on our discussion. He glanced at Farfarello, then at me. "Why is he out? Take care of it." I nodded and stood up.
Farfarello chuckled, standing. "Off to my cell, then. Goodbye, Schuldich. You might try taking a hot bath."
It may have sounded like we hated each other, but the banter was what kept us going. Just knowing that Farfarello was going to say something to purposely annoy Schuldich, or that Schuldich would do something for the pure entertainment value of watching Brad's ears turn red... gave me a reason for waking up in the morning. Too bad I couldn't wake up at three in the afternoon, after school got out.
---
"Naoe? Please turn in your homework."
"Hn?"
"Your homework, Naoe. In the basket." Mr Yokayama pointed to the homework basket on his desk. I was tempted... *so* tempted to just float my pages of Calculus homework up to the basket, without moving an inch from my seat. On the other hand, I knew the repercussions I would face later, so I stood and walked to the front of the class.
As I passed his desk, I could almost hear a hissing sound. The honey-haired boy who had gotten me to class on time that first day I came to school, Tsukiyono Omi, hated me. I had later discovered his connection to Weiss, my enemy, and he knew who I was and what I could do. I hated him, too. We managed to get desks on opposite ends of the room from each other, but no matter how much we tried to distance ourselves, we had to spend over an hour in the same room with each other.
Mr Yokayama picked up my paper and scanned over it. "Funny," he said. "I find it funny that a boy who is so bubble-headed in class can hold a grade average equal to that of the most attentive."
I looked behind me, and Tsukiyono was glaring back at me. Everyone thought that Tsukiyono was the brightest in the class, but I could equal his test scores without doing the in-class work. I smirked, and I could almost see his hair bristle.
I intentionally passed his desk on my way back to my seat. "Don't be angry, kitty," I whispered snidely, so that only he could hear me.
I could see the fight on Tsukiyono's face as he struggled to keep from jumping up and initiating a fight, right then. He didn't, of course--we never fought in school. We waited until he followed Weiss into a trap set by Schwarz... and then we fought a death-battle.
I returned to my seat. I wondered if Tsukiyono knew, yet, about his 'mission,' that night.
---
"This is getting boring," Schuldich yawned.
"Hn." I had to agree. Farfarello seemed to be having fun, though, and it was interesting to see the emotions on Weiss's faces.
Crawford was standing to the side, his face like stone, watching as Farfarello and Siberian duked it out in the middle of the office. When we arrived, Weiss had already killed their target, a business partner of Mr Taketori. Since we had failed our mission, we decided to play with Weiss, instead.
Abyssinian, Balinese, and Bombay were all lined up along one wall, standing stock still in the artistic poses I had placed them in. I had taken extra effort with Bombay, and I decided that I liked the way he looked, posed as a hood-ornament balancing on one foot, with his arms stretched out to either side.
"You're a sadistic little brat, aren't you?" Schuldich asked, glancing over at Bombay.
"It's what I do," I replied quietly, secretly pleased with myself. It *was* what I did, and I did it well.
"Yah!" Ken yelled, blocking Farfarello's berserk attack. "Uh-hn!"
Farfarello rarely spoke when fighting, but he grinned madly at Ken, and went in for a stab with his thin knife.
"Hn?" Schuldich's body, next to mine, jolted, and I looked up in time to see his head snap towards Crawford. "Craw-"
"Out!" Crawford yelled. "Farfarello, Nagi, out!" I looked towards him, and saw his eyes dilate, coming into focus. He'd just seen the future. He ran out of the office.
Farfarello took a last glance at Ken, as if considering finishing his attack, but Schuldich pushed him towards the door. I had just released Weiss from their braced positions, and was running out, when an explosion threw me into the open door.
---
---
Kasey's note of explaination:
In the third paragraph, I am certain that many sick-minded readers out there conjured up some rather explicit visions of a *very* flexible red-headed German telepath. Just to clear things up, I was referring the the idiom "blow your own horn," which just means that you *brag* a lot.
Incidentally, if anyone happens to draw a picture of said *very* flexible red-headed German telepath... don't hesitate to email me!
---
---