Sorry for making you wait so long for this chapter. I've been on a
costuming binge this week (glomps Tohma and Shuichi). Also, //\\ means
mental communication, so even though it says "talked" or "says", it's all
in the mind.
Disclaimer: Schwarz belongs to KT and PrjW. I also quoted a few lines
from a book somewhere in here - "Moon Shot" by A. Shepard & D. Slayton. I
needed to quote a book and it was the closest one. Everything else is
mine.
************************************************************************
Berlin, Germany: One month later
//.feel the thoughts; make them a physical entity in your head. Get a hold of them; push them away. Take your own conscience; make it a physical entity. Pull it up in the way of the thoughts.\\
Schuldig sat at the table with his eyes closed listening to the other man talk to him. Before he had come here to Rosenkreuz, he had never communicated with another telepath. It was very comfortable, like finding someone who speaks your language in a foreign country.
He had to admit, despite Estes' true intensions, this place had helped him with his mental problems. Before he came here, he had no mental blocks. There was just a constant onslaught of voices; peoples thoughts. Schu was still amazed that he hadn't gone completely insane yet. Part of his curriculum here was controlling the voices, controlling his mind. He was getting better, although he was nowhere near perfect. There were still voices, plenty of them. But they didn't seem to bother him as much anymore. The headaches though.they seemed almost worse.
//Can you feel you're thoughts? Can you feel the voices?\\
Schuldig squinted, //Ja, can we stop for today? I'm getting a headache.\\
The man sitting across the table nodded. "Yeah, why don't we. You've made great progress. I want you to practice still." The man stood up and gathered some folders that were on the table. He looked at Schuldig who was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Have you taken my advice and asked for help from your mentor?"
Schuldig looked at the man, "Crawford? No, I haven't."
"You should. I've never met anyone who can form mental blocks like that. Maybe he could teach you a few things." He left the room.
"As if I don't have a big enough headache," Schuldig said aloud. He really didn't socialize with Crawford. It figures that his only ally in this hellhole and Crawford really didn't want to say anything to him. Well, it was more like avoiding him. In this past month or so, the only time the two of them ever talked was when Crawford had no choice in the matter.
Dealing with him was so hard. The man showed no emotion what so ever, but Schuldig knew he possessed it. He found that out in a most enjoyable way. He would have smiled at the image if it weren't for the throbbing pain whisking the thought away.
He walked to the bathroom for his particular floor. He went in and stood at the sink. Schu turned on the cold water and splashed some on his face. The chill gave him minimal relief. As he rubbed the liquid across his face, he looked at himself in the mirror. Schuldig never realized how green his eyes were. They did stand out, didn't they?
Schuldig brought his hands away from his face and stared at himself. He needed a trim. His hair had gotten rather long. The orangey-red strands draped down and over his shoulders. He had always liked his hair long; he didn't know why. It just seemed to suit him. It made his seem flirtier, which was good in the line of work he was in.was.
His hair, one of the few things he liked about himself and Schuldig really didn't like himself. No, he hated himself. He hated what he was, he hated what he made himself, he hated what he had become. Why, why did he do this to himself? "Okay, you," he said aloud, "You are not going to get depressed right now because you are just going to start crying again and then you'll have a worse headache than you already have."
Schuldig splashed more water on his face and then headed to his room. His head hurt so badly. This was one of the worst he had had in awhile. He walked into his room, his roommate reading some book on his bed. Schu climbed into his own bed and buried his head in his pillow.
//.pure, naked, uninhibited emotion. It gathered substance over the ocean.\\
"What the hell are you reading?" Schuldig said to his roommate.
The man stopped reading and looked over at him, "Umm, a book."
"Can you do it a little quieter please?"
"Umm.okay."
Schuldig closed his eyes and stuffed as much of the pillow in his ears as humanly possible.
//.in the palmetto scrub, from every point.\\//.so where are we going to send him.\\//.Geeze, I have to piss.\\//.Wait a minute.\\//.what do you.\\//.see it.\\//.hell.\\
Schuldig could feel the tears coming to his eyes. He tried to bring up those barriers that he was being taught to create, but it was so hard to concentrate. If everyone would just shut up for two seconds, he might be able to do it, but there were too many voices and they would shut up. Just constant talking, thinking, thinking and talking. Constant, constant, constant. Nobody would shut-up, nobody would whisper at least, they kept screaming, getting louder and louder and louder."
"Shut Up!!!" Schuldig started banging his head into his bed hoping the constant pounding of his physical head would stop the pounding of his mental head. His roommate stared at him.
Schuldig stopped. He got up and walked out of the room, his roommate's eyes following him the whole time. Schu needed to find a quiet place, anyplace, far away from people. But there where people all over, everywhere. A quiet place, a quiet place. Somehow he ended up at Crawford's office.
Did he really want to go in there? He knocked on the door. Schuldig leaned against the doorframe. There was no answer. He opened the door and stepped inside. No one was in there. "Crawford," he called out. No answer. Schu went in and looked around. It was quiet in here, surprisingly quiet.
Schuldig sat on the couch. He brought his legs up and rested his head on his knees. His head still pounded. The voices still wouldn't stop, but there were less. Less was good. He tried to concentrate now, but to no avail. Schu started to cry again. Why wouldn't the voices stop."Please stop, stop, stop."
"What are you doing in here?" came a voice from the doorway.
Schuldig's mind focused on reality a bit. He noticed that he was shaking and rocking back and forth. He looked up just enough to see a Crawford standing in the doorway. "I needed some place quiet to sit."
"So you chose here? Why do you need a quiet place?"
Schuldig raised his head to expose his tear stained face to the older man. If he didn't know better, Schu would have sworn a look or surprise and distress came over Crawford's face. "Because, I have a head ache."
//.feel the thoughts; make them a physical entity in your head. Get a hold of them; push them away. Take your own conscience; make it a physical entity. Pull it up in the way of the thoughts.\\
Schuldig sat at the table with his eyes closed listening to the other man talk to him. Before he had come here to Rosenkreuz, he had never communicated with another telepath. It was very comfortable, like finding someone who speaks your language in a foreign country.
He had to admit, despite Estes' true intensions, this place had helped him with his mental problems. Before he came here, he had no mental blocks. There was just a constant onslaught of voices; peoples thoughts. Schu was still amazed that he hadn't gone completely insane yet. Part of his curriculum here was controlling the voices, controlling his mind. He was getting better, although he was nowhere near perfect. There were still voices, plenty of them. But they didn't seem to bother him as much anymore. The headaches though.they seemed almost worse.
//Can you feel you're thoughts? Can you feel the voices?\\
Schuldig squinted, //Ja, can we stop for today? I'm getting a headache.\\
The man sitting across the table nodded. "Yeah, why don't we. You've made great progress. I want you to practice still." The man stood up and gathered some folders that were on the table. He looked at Schuldig who was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Have you taken my advice and asked for help from your mentor?"
Schuldig looked at the man, "Crawford? No, I haven't."
"You should. I've never met anyone who can form mental blocks like that. Maybe he could teach you a few things." He left the room.
"As if I don't have a big enough headache," Schuldig said aloud. He really didn't socialize with Crawford. It figures that his only ally in this hellhole and Crawford really didn't want to say anything to him. Well, it was more like avoiding him. In this past month or so, the only time the two of them ever talked was when Crawford had no choice in the matter.
Dealing with him was so hard. The man showed no emotion what so ever, but Schuldig knew he possessed it. He found that out in a most enjoyable way. He would have smiled at the image if it weren't for the throbbing pain whisking the thought away.
He walked to the bathroom for his particular floor. He went in and stood at the sink. Schu turned on the cold water and splashed some on his face. The chill gave him minimal relief. As he rubbed the liquid across his face, he looked at himself in the mirror. Schuldig never realized how green his eyes were. They did stand out, didn't they?
Schuldig brought his hands away from his face and stared at himself. He needed a trim. His hair had gotten rather long. The orangey-red strands draped down and over his shoulders. He had always liked his hair long; he didn't know why. It just seemed to suit him. It made his seem flirtier, which was good in the line of work he was in.was.
His hair, one of the few things he liked about himself and Schuldig really didn't like himself. No, he hated himself. He hated what he was, he hated what he made himself, he hated what he had become. Why, why did he do this to himself? "Okay, you," he said aloud, "You are not going to get depressed right now because you are just going to start crying again and then you'll have a worse headache than you already have."
Schuldig splashed more water on his face and then headed to his room. His head hurt so badly. This was one of the worst he had had in awhile. He walked into his room, his roommate reading some book on his bed. Schu climbed into his own bed and buried his head in his pillow.
//.pure, naked, uninhibited emotion. It gathered substance over the ocean.\\
"What the hell are you reading?" Schuldig said to his roommate.
The man stopped reading and looked over at him, "Umm, a book."
"Can you do it a little quieter please?"
"Umm.okay."
Schuldig closed his eyes and stuffed as much of the pillow in his ears as humanly possible.
//.in the palmetto scrub, from every point.\\//.so where are we going to send him.\\//.Geeze, I have to piss.\\//.Wait a minute.\\//.what do you.\\//.see it.\\//.hell.\\
Schuldig could feel the tears coming to his eyes. He tried to bring up those barriers that he was being taught to create, but it was so hard to concentrate. If everyone would just shut up for two seconds, he might be able to do it, but there were too many voices and they would shut up. Just constant talking, thinking, thinking and talking. Constant, constant, constant. Nobody would shut-up, nobody would whisper at least, they kept screaming, getting louder and louder and louder."
"Shut Up!!!" Schuldig started banging his head into his bed hoping the constant pounding of his physical head would stop the pounding of his mental head. His roommate stared at him.
Schuldig stopped. He got up and walked out of the room, his roommate's eyes following him the whole time. Schu needed to find a quiet place, anyplace, far away from people. But there where people all over, everywhere. A quiet place, a quiet place. Somehow he ended up at Crawford's office.
Did he really want to go in there? He knocked on the door. Schuldig leaned against the doorframe. There was no answer. He opened the door and stepped inside. No one was in there. "Crawford," he called out. No answer. Schu went in and looked around. It was quiet in here, surprisingly quiet.
Schuldig sat on the couch. He brought his legs up and rested his head on his knees. His head still pounded. The voices still wouldn't stop, but there were less. Less was good. He tried to concentrate now, but to no avail. Schu started to cry again. Why wouldn't the voices stop."Please stop, stop, stop."
"What are you doing in here?" came a voice from the doorway.
Schuldig's mind focused on reality a bit. He noticed that he was shaking and rocking back and forth. He looked up just enough to see a Crawford standing in the doorway. "I needed some place quiet to sit."
"So you chose here? Why do you need a quiet place?"
Schuldig raised his head to expose his tear stained face to the older man. If he didn't know better, Schu would have sworn a look or surprise and distress came over Crawford's face. "Because, I have a head ache."