Disclaimer: Weiß Kreuz and all associated and registered trademarks are copyright Project Weiß and associated firms. In the writing of this fanfiction I am making no claim or stake in the profits of it. In other words, I don't own these sexy bishounen, and I don't intent to. Get it? Got it? Good.
Weiß Schrecken
Chapter Six: Gegenüberstellung
--------------------
Schuldich!
Such would have surely been spoken, had Youji's mouth been moving as fast as his mind. The sudden appearance of not only an enemy, but the very man who was responsible for Omi's current state, at his side helped a great deal with the playboy's manner, snapping some of his mind back to a more alert mode. The alcohol was by no means gone, but the unstoppable surge of adrenaline that accompanied the surprise held it at a greater distance than Youji could have wanted it. After all, being alert meant that he could think, and thinking meant that he could remember Omi, and that hurt. And he was drinking to avoid that hurt, damnit.
However, considering his situation, he had to admit a certain level contentment at that sudden alertness; it meant that he was a little better equipped to handle the German telepath than might have been expected. Not that it could help, seeing as Weiß, as a group, had a hard enough time trying to get in a single shot at Schuldich while sober. Youji would probably be lucky to be able to see the man in some sort of focus, but most likely nothing beyond that. Still, it was better than a kick in the teeth, though if they got into a fight, chances were that the playboy would get such a kick in the scuffle.
Damn drunkenness.
"What the hell do you want?" he finally managed to growl out, shrugging off the arm that had lazily draped itself over his shoulder. Emerald eyes glared into jade ones, anger staring into amusement. Both pools of green held the certain haze of being intoxicated, tainting each depth with a mask of incoherent stupor; it seemed that both had come to the bar to get drunk, and the meeting was a mere coincidence. What fortune... Really.
Lazily, the German shrugged his shoulders, resting his displaced arm on the bar as he claimed the stool next to the playboy, pushing off the unconscious man who had just been occupying it. "You were thinking really loudly about that damn team mate of yours," he complained, his nasal tones picking up a distinct whine. "I wanted to shut your mind up for a bit so I could get some peace and quiet."
Watching the telepath steal another's drink and down it, Youji allowed the scowl that had been trying to surface to taint his lips. "Here's a tip, German mindfucker," he retorted, the growling anger growing in his voice. "Don't touch him next time and I won't have a god damned reason to think about him, now will I?"
Those foreign features twisted up in a look of disgust, the head of fiery hair shaking negatively in response. "Nein, nein; if I leave the boy alone, you'll just think about him in those disgustingly happy and sappy ways," he muttered. "Which is worse; gives me nightmares, all that..." The male paused, a shudder breaking his frame. "... happiness."
Wait a second; back up there. Blinking, Youji cast a glance to the telepath, his sunglasses dropping low on the bridge of his nose in the motion. One slender eyebrow arched, half in question, half in surprise, both in response to what Schuldich had said. Mostly, his response was based on the 'what the hell is he talking about?' concept, the uncertainty in his comprehension of the words dominating above all. "What do you mean by happiness?" he asked guardedly, watching the other closely, as sharply observant as his intoxicated mind could manage.
"Ja, ja, happiness," the German replied, pressing his palms against his temples as though the word along were enough to cause a cavity headache. "All your thoughts about that boy leave such a sour taste in the mind, not at all like honey..." Muttering something about how he wanted a bit of honey-like depression and anger right now, instead of the acerbic taste of the fluffy thoughts that tended to slink about without warning, Schuldich reached out and took the drink Youji had just ordered, thanklessly downing it.
Narrowing his eyes, Youji stole the glass back from the other's slender fingers. Given the ease of the theft, he could realise that the German wasn't currently benefiting from the same sort of adrenaline rush that had snapped back the worst of the intoxicated stupor that had found Youji. That, in consideration, was a good thing, as being so drunk made the telepath half as dangerous as his usual, sober self. Whereas Youji was aware, enough now, of the surroundings, giving him the upper hand in the conversation and situation. Something that he would relish, if he weren't both startled by the German's words and infuriated at the basic audacity of the man's presence after all that had been done to Omi though his will. "That didn't answer my question," he retorted, the dangerous hints of that anger still tingeing his tones.
Blinking, it was Schuldich's turn to look at Youji with that half-confused cloud in his eyes. It took a few seconds for the question reference to click in his mind, at which point he smirked, his whining about happiness fading away at this growing opportunity to screw further with the playboy. Apparently Balinese had forgotten that being a telepath meant that he could read minds, especially pitifully unprotected ones like the white kitten's own. For a multiple date-style of playboy, he didn't have many mental blocks that could keep out a properly prying hand; it was amazing that the male had yet to be caught for his two- or three-timing. "Ja, I suppose it didn't," he replied, nodding slowly. "Tell me, Kätzchen, what you think it means, and I'll tell you if you're right."
The sharp heat of anger was quickly starting to dominate the playboy's mind, made no better by that assuredly confidant smirk stretching lips that so oft spoke of words to torment Weiß endlessly. "Better idea," he snarled, "is that you tell me what it means before I strangle it out of you."
The German paused to consider this, tilting his head unsteadily in thought. In his mind he was turning over the good and bad points to this situation, and trying to make something suitably sadistic rise out of it is possible. After all, life just wasn't life without mental torment mixed in at every possible opportunity. Sensing an opportunity to further the blond assassin's mental anguish, he decided to give in an share his little mysterious secret, the one that Balinese himself had no clue about. Gesturing the shaded-playboy a bit closer, he leaned forward to whisper the words in his ear. "Happiness as in what you feel for that pathetic fluff," he murmured. "The way you feel lighter when he's in the room, how pathetically sappy you want to get when he smiles. Mein Gott, all that cavity making crap that Harlequins are made of, without all the really good sex!" Snorting, his shook his head at the pathetic nature of it all. "At least you stopped thinking that now... Took kidnapping that creampuff and nearly killing him, but at least you shut up and went back to miserable, depressing, honey-like thoughts for a while."
Twitch.
The slight motion was clear in Youji's features, his fingers curling into a fight fist as the brighter emerald tones faded to a near black. When he spoke, his voice was low, dangerous undertones catching and clinging to each word in warning to the telepath. If what he was beginning to connect together was true, then Schuldich had better learn to run fast, for Youji was a few seconds short of losing his barely held cool. "Are you saying that the whole point of kidnapping Omi was to..."
Nodding, Schuldich grinned again, as though immensely proud of his plan and the results it had brought. "Ja, exactly, Kätzchen!" he replied, patting the assassin's shoulder heartily to commend him for linking up points A through C. "You were starting to give me nightmares from all that sap, and Brad thought that the cavity danger was too high. So, I got permission to play a little game to get your minds back in the depressive rut where they belong. Farfarello's involvement was really spur of the moment, though I think that turned out well." Preening a bit, he began to examine his nails, as though expecting compliments to be gushed about the utter perfection of his little plan.
The only thing that ended up gushing was blood from his nose as Youji's fist connected solidly with it, sending the German to the floor as he stood, glaring down at him. Taking a deep breath, the playboy watched him with unmasked fury, absinthe eyes staring over the rims of his sunglasses, fire clear in their depths. Reaching down in one swift moment, he grabbed the telepath's shirt collar, lifting him by it with ease. When one killed people simply by hanging them until they died from sharp lack of oxygen, lifting another by a single hand was hardly a task to break sweat over.
Features set into a deep scowl, he brought the other closer to his level, alcohol tainted breath spilling from his lips, hot and angered from his temper's snap. "You kidnapped Omi and let all... that crap happen to him... just because you had a few bad dreams?" The words came slow, low in tone and halted, anger choking his throat every few seconds. How someone, anyone, even a bastard like Schuldich, could do that was beyond mortal comprehension. To just toy with another's life was a sin beyond all sins, something that Youji wished he could simply kill outright for. Especially in this case, where an unrelated innocent, as innocent as one could be raised as an assassin, was brought into it and hurt for it.
Making a nasal snort at being lifted up, Schuldich didn't bother trying to pry away the hands of Balinese. He far lacked the strength to combat a man who could pick him up with such ease. Besides, it was simply easier to be stood up by another, since his own sense of balance had been wavering during his intoxication. The words of the assassin were again considered, a sleeve covered hand raising to clean away a bit of blood from his nose. "Well, not just because of that," he admitted. "I was growing bored, and his pain always has appealed to me. The best of all honey, and amusing to no end how cutely he goes about these things. The whole 'leave them and me alone' approach is really quite adorable. So, ja, I suppose I had an ulterior motive in that."
This man deserved to die. That was the only thing that wanted to make itself known in Youji's hazy mind. That Schuldich deserved to feel the bite of his wire, to feel his own life slipping away breath by breath, or lack thereof. To pay for every sin in his life, most importantly that of all he did to Omi, attacking the boy time and time again for his own sadistic pleasure. He deserved to die for that alone.
Snarling, both at the telepath and himself, Youji released him with enough force to send the former again to the ground, earning his action a German curse at the roughness of it. Breathing heavily still, attempts to reign in his anger made with each shuddering action, he restrained carefully from the want to just kick the man while he was down. As good as it might have felt, to kick or kill him, Youji knew that it would only bring him down to the other's level. When he had joined Weiß, he'd sworn only to kill another while on a mission, and the foray of getting drunk was hardly official in those terms. Schuldich would live, for now; but damned if Youji did not try to find a reason to make him a mission target for all this sins.
Later, though. Right now he had to get out of there before his carefully held anger snapped once more, taking with it the telepath's neck.
Turning on his heel, the playboy walked towards the door. Still intoxicated, his path wavered a little, but one thing was certain: It never turned to go back and slaughter the German bastard sitting on the floor with the bleeding nose. Even when the taunting nasal laughter rose at his back, mocking his retreat each step of the way.
No, he couldn't kill him yet. One day he would, though, when the time was right and Kritiker gave the word. That was the thought he held onto as he walked, not looking back. He had better things to do than dirty his hands further with the blood of that bastard tonight.
Author's Note:
Six months and my rabid apologies to anyone who's been waiting for the next chapter. Much has happened in the interim, most of it being college. Done that for another four months, though, so I'm snaring some time to get up new chapters to a number of my fics. WS, being my oldest one, is first on my list. ^^;
Weiß Schrecken
Chapter Six: Gegenüberstellung
--------------------
Schuldich!
Such would have surely been spoken, had Youji's mouth been moving as fast as his mind. The sudden appearance of not only an enemy, but the very man who was responsible for Omi's current state, at his side helped a great deal with the playboy's manner, snapping some of his mind back to a more alert mode. The alcohol was by no means gone, but the unstoppable surge of adrenaline that accompanied the surprise held it at a greater distance than Youji could have wanted it. After all, being alert meant that he could think, and thinking meant that he could remember Omi, and that hurt. And he was drinking to avoid that hurt, damnit.
However, considering his situation, he had to admit a certain level contentment at that sudden alertness; it meant that he was a little better equipped to handle the German telepath than might have been expected. Not that it could help, seeing as Weiß, as a group, had a hard enough time trying to get in a single shot at Schuldich while sober. Youji would probably be lucky to be able to see the man in some sort of focus, but most likely nothing beyond that. Still, it was better than a kick in the teeth, though if they got into a fight, chances were that the playboy would get such a kick in the scuffle.
Damn drunkenness.
"What the hell do you want?" he finally managed to growl out, shrugging off the arm that had lazily draped itself over his shoulder. Emerald eyes glared into jade ones, anger staring into amusement. Both pools of green held the certain haze of being intoxicated, tainting each depth with a mask of incoherent stupor; it seemed that both had come to the bar to get drunk, and the meeting was a mere coincidence. What fortune... Really.
Lazily, the German shrugged his shoulders, resting his displaced arm on the bar as he claimed the stool next to the playboy, pushing off the unconscious man who had just been occupying it. "You were thinking really loudly about that damn team mate of yours," he complained, his nasal tones picking up a distinct whine. "I wanted to shut your mind up for a bit so I could get some peace and quiet."
Watching the telepath steal another's drink and down it, Youji allowed the scowl that had been trying to surface to taint his lips. "Here's a tip, German mindfucker," he retorted, the growling anger growing in his voice. "Don't touch him next time and I won't have a god damned reason to think about him, now will I?"
Those foreign features twisted up in a look of disgust, the head of fiery hair shaking negatively in response. "Nein, nein; if I leave the boy alone, you'll just think about him in those disgustingly happy and sappy ways," he muttered. "Which is worse; gives me nightmares, all that..." The male paused, a shudder breaking his frame. "... happiness."
Wait a second; back up there. Blinking, Youji cast a glance to the telepath, his sunglasses dropping low on the bridge of his nose in the motion. One slender eyebrow arched, half in question, half in surprise, both in response to what Schuldich had said. Mostly, his response was based on the 'what the hell is he talking about?' concept, the uncertainty in his comprehension of the words dominating above all. "What do you mean by happiness?" he asked guardedly, watching the other closely, as sharply observant as his intoxicated mind could manage.
"Ja, ja, happiness," the German replied, pressing his palms against his temples as though the word along were enough to cause a cavity headache. "All your thoughts about that boy leave such a sour taste in the mind, not at all like honey..." Muttering something about how he wanted a bit of honey-like depression and anger right now, instead of the acerbic taste of the fluffy thoughts that tended to slink about without warning, Schuldich reached out and took the drink Youji had just ordered, thanklessly downing it.
Narrowing his eyes, Youji stole the glass back from the other's slender fingers. Given the ease of the theft, he could realise that the German wasn't currently benefiting from the same sort of adrenaline rush that had snapped back the worst of the intoxicated stupor that had found Youji. That, in consideration, was a good thing, as being so drunk made the telepath half as dangerous as his usual, sober self. Whereas Youji was aware, enough now, of the surroundings, giving him the upper hand in the conversation and situation. Something that he would relish, if he weren't both startled by the German's words and infuriated at the basic audacity of the man's presence after all that had been done to Omi though his will. "That didn't answer my question," he retorted, the dangerous hints of that anger still tingeing his tones.
Blinking, it was Schuldich's turn to look at Youji with that half-confused cloud in his eyes. It took a few seconds for the question reference to click in his mind, at which point he smirked, his whining about happiness fading away at this growing opportunity to screw further with the playboy. Apparently Balinese had forgotten that being a telepath meant that he could read minds, especially pitifully unprotected ones like the white kitten's own. For a multiple date-style of playboy, he didn't have many mental blocks that could keep out a properly prying hand; it was amazing that the male had yet to be caught for his two- or three-timing. "Ja, I suppose it didn't," he replied, nodding slowly. "Tell me, Kätzchen, what you think it means, and I'll tell you if you're right."
The sharp heat of anger was quickly starting to dominate the playboy's mind, made no better by that assuredly confidant smirk stretching lips that so oft spoke of words to torment Weiß endlessly. "Better idea," he snarled, "is that you tell me what it means before I strangle it out of you."
The German paused to consider this, tilting his head unsteadily in thought. In his mind he was turning over the good and bad points to this situation, and trying to make something suitably sadistic rise out of it is possible. After all, life just wasn't life without mental torment mixed in at every possible opportunity. Sensing an opportunity to further the blond assassin's mental anguish, he decided to give in an share his little mysterious secret, the one that Balinese himself had no clue about. Gesturing the shaded-playboy a bit closer, he leaned forward to whisper the words in his ear. "Happiness as in what you feel for that pathetic fluff," he murmured. "The way you feel lighter when he's in the room, how pathetically sappy you want to get when he smiles. Mein Gott, all that cavity making crap that Harlequins are made of, without all the really good sex!" Snorting, his shook his head at the pathetic nature of it all. "At least you stopped thinking that now... Took kidnapping that creampuff and nearly killing him, but at least you shut up and went back to miserable, depressing, honey-like thoughts for a while."
Twitch.
The slight motion was clear in Youji's features, his fingers curling into a fight fist as the brighter emerald tones faded to a near black. When he spoke, his voice was low, dangerous undertones catching and clinging to each word in warning to the telepath. If what he was beginning to connect together was true, then Schuldich had better learn to run fast, for Youji was a few seconds short of losing his barely held cool. "Are you saying that the whole point of kidnapping Omi was to..."
Nodding, Schuldich grinned again, as though immensely proud of his plan and the results it had brought. "Ja, exactly, Kätzchen!" he replied, patting the assassin's shoulder heartily to commend him for linking up points A through C. "You were starting to give me nightmares from all that sap, and Brad thought that the cavity danger was too high. So, I got permission to play a little game to get your minds back in the depressive rut where they belong. Farfarello's involvement was really spur of the moment, though I think that turned out well." Preening a bit, he began to examine his nails, as though expecting compliments to be gushed about the utter perfection of his little plan.
The only thing that ended up gushing was blood from his nose as Youji's fist connected solidly with it, sending the German to the floor as he stood, glaring down at him. Taking a deep breath, the playboy watched him with unmasked fury, absinthe eyes staring over the rims of his sunglasses, fire clear in their depths. Reaching down in one swift moment, he grabbed the telepath's shirt collar, lifting him by it with ease. When one killed people simply by hanging them until they died from sharp lack of oxygen, lifting another by a single hand was hardly a task to break sweat over.
Features set into a deep scowl, he brought the other closer to his level, alcohol tainted breath spilling from his lips, hot and angered from his temper's snap. "You kidnapped Omi and let all... that crap happen to him... just because you had a few bad dreams?" The words came slow, low in tone and halted, anger choking his throat every few seconds. How someone, anyone, even a bastard like Schuldich, could do that was beyond mortal comprehension. To just toy with another's life was a sin beyond all sins, something that Youji wished he could simply kill outright for. Especially in this case, where an unrelated innocent, as innocent as one could be raised as an assassin, was brought into it and hurt for it.
Making a nasal snort at being lifted up, Schuldich didn't bother trying to pry away the hands of Balinese. He far lacked the strength to combat a man who could pick him up with such ease. Besides, it was simply easier to be stood up by another, since his own sense of balance had been wavering during his intoxication. The words of the assassin were again considered, a sleeve covered hand raising to clean away a bit of blood from his nose. "Well, not just because of that," he admitted. "I was growing bored, and his pain always has appealed to me. The best of all honey, and amusing to no end how cutely he goes about these things. The whole 'leave them and me alone' approach is really quite adorable. So, ja, I suppose I had an ulterior motive in that."
This man deserved to die. That was the only thing that wanted to make itself known in Youji's hazy mind. That Schuldich deserved to feel the bite of his wire, to feel his own life slipping away breath by breath, or lack thereof. To pay for every sin in his life, most importantly that of all he did to Omi, attacking the boy time and time again for his own sadistic pleasure. He deserved to die for that alone.
Snarling, both at the telepath and himself, Youji released him with enough force to send the former again to the ground, earning his action a German curse at the roughness of it. Breathing heavily still, attempts to reign in his anger made with each shuddering action, he restrained carefully from the want to just kick the man while he was down. As good as it might have felt, to kick or kill him, Youji knew that it would only bring him down to the other's level. When he had joined Weiß, he'd sworn only to kill another while on a mission, and the foray of getting drunk was hardly official in those terms. Schuldich would live, for now; but damned if Youji did not try to find a reason to make him a mission target for all this sins.
Later, though. Right now he had to get out of there before his carefully held anger snapped once more, taking with it the telepath's neck.
Turning on his heel, the playboy walked towards the door. Still intoxicated, his path wavered a little, but one thing was certain: It never turned to go back and slaughter the German bastard sitting on the floor with the bleeding nose. Even when the taunting nasal laughter rose at his back, mocking his retreat each step of the way.
No, he couldn't kill him yet. One day he would, though, when the time was right and Kritiker gave the word. That was the thought he held onto as he walked, not looking back. He had better things to do than dirty his hands further with the blood of that bastard tonight.
Author's Note:
Six months and my rabid apologies to anyone who's been waiting for the next chapter. Much has happened in the interim, most of it being college. Done that for another four months, though, so I'm snaring some time to get up new chapters to a number of my fics. WS, being my oldest one, is first on my list. ^^;