Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss. Don't sue me, hire me instead.
Chapter 4
Berlin 1989It was like the world was on fire, well German anyway. The East and West were now one, forged together by the hearts of the people. The past was now meeting the future. He watched, a small blonde-haired, blue-eyed 10 year old watched from his perch on a tall pillar. He was amazed; the large wall that he'd seen every day of his life, the gargantuan eyesore that he associated with daily life for all of his ten year was now falling. He marveled at how something that seemed so permanent could be removed with one action- a stroke of a pick, an axe, a hammer, and the joyous helping hands of the people moving the once permanent graffiti wall to the ground; it had all been torn to rubble.
"Come Jörgen, let's go," her warm voice said. She tugged at his small hand and led him back home. They strolled the path that led away from the wall, a place called Schlechte Seite and even more to the red light district; it was time for his mother to go to work. He couldn't deny it; his mother was beautiful for a gutter rat. With her blue eyes, red hair, and pale skin she was the pride of her pimp. Wrapped up in her skanky faux fur jacket she dragged Jörgen to her small corner and stood.
"Now you know what to do Jörgen, tell them to come to me so momma can make some money. And don't look, listen, or special listen to what we're doing," his mother said to him smiling and ruffling his hair. She wasn't much older than him, only about twenty-three, patting a ten year old's head and chewing some gum; most people would have thought they were sister and younger brother, never mother and son. She was a good mother though, always had food for them, always had shelter, never let him see what she was doing with customers, but he knew, he'd always known, and he was curious. He'd done this for a while with her, waited with her while she turned tricks. He smiled at he knowingly, and started looking for prospects.
A limo pulled up, driving slowly and easily down the street sizing up each girl. She smiled down at him and Jörgen performed his mental magic. The limo pulled over and the window went down.
"Hey big spender, you need some company tonight?" his mother did the rest. The man in the car signaled for her to hop in. Usually she'd just take her customers to the back alley and get it over with, leaving Jörgen to stand and wait, this was different. She looked at her son waiting on the curb and then back to the man.
"Hey, mister, can my son ride in the front?" she asked. The man nodded and she told the little boy to hop in the front. The limo pulled off.
"That's your son in the front?" the man asked, the partition of the limo down so that the front was visible from the back.
"Ja," she answered.
"Do you come together?" it was a disgusting request and she knew it, but he pulled out a wad of American hundreds and as much as she wanted to reject, she couldn't. She swallowed her pride and what little morals she had left.
"Jörgen?" two blue, piercing innocent eyes stared back at her, "come back here with momma." Her voice held all the care of a mother singing her child to sleep at night. He smiled and climbed in the back. The American let up the partition. Berlin, 1989, it was always funny to him how things that seemed so permanent could be destroyed with just one action.
Schuldich sat up from his dream. He was sweat-soaked, his orange hair sticking slickly to his forehead. He was hard, as he always was after having that dream. He hated having that dream; the memories of his childhood were just too much for him to bear. That was his first time with a man and a woman; he shuddered just thinking about it. Ever since that day, he'd loved sex and used it to his advantage.
He stood from his bed, eyeing the small clock next to it; it was only a little after midnight, he'd gone to bed early. He walked towards the bathroom stumbling over his favorite pair of shoes as he did; he slipped on his boxers and turned on the light. He winced at the contrast between light and dark and stared at himself. Now he remembered why he'd gone to bed early. He'd been drinking. It had gotten so boring around the Schwarz house without any more missions from Eszet and with Crawford trying to find them a good job that he didn't know what to do with himself; so he just bought himself two large bottles of Smirnoff and called it a night. He was paying for those transgressions with one hell of a headache.
Stretching slightly and popping his back he walked into his bathroom and turned on the shower. It was too late for him to go clubbing but he still had this damn hard on. He needed a fresh body.
Nagi? No, too young.
Farfarello? As much as Schuldich loved mixing pain with pleasure he wasn't going that far.
Crawford? Maybe some day, but not now. The fearless American leader was too wrapped up with Thais, or as he liked to refer to as The Fucking Distracting Bitch!!! Schuldich snorted and examined himself in the mirror. He lifted his chin tracing the bit of blonde stubble that had developed in his sleep. He eyed the roots of his hair, golden traces coming to the forefront; maybe instead of sex he could dye his roots tonight. Or maybe he could…
No, he couldn't even think of that. Crawford would kill him; no Crawford would torture then kill him if he even so much as laid a finger on her pretty black hair. Schuldich relished the thought.
/Crawford torture is not a bad way to go/ The German smiled fiendishly at his reflection in the mirror. He mentally weighted the pros and cons.
One: he had a hard on with no other way to get rid of it other than self-manipulation or a prostitute. That was definite con.
Two: Nagi was too young, Farfarello was crazy, and Crawford had a stick up his ass instead of something a lot more pleasing. Definite Con.
Three: There was a defenseless female Empath sleeping soundly in the extra room. Pro.
Four: He hadn't seduced a woman in a long time. Pro.
Five: Crawford would torture and kill him but as he'd already decided that that was a pleasant way to die. Crawford torture definite Pro. Death, well that was a crapshoot. He was an assassin; he was going to die anyway. Besides, the look on Crawford's face when he found his beautiful, innocent, perfect Thais riding his favorite German assassin was just priceless. He smiled fiendishly again and stripped of his boxers and hopped in the shower. He would have to look his best if he was going to corrupt the innocence that was an Empath.
****
Schuldich walked into the living room to find both Nagi and Farfarello awake, sitting on the couch and watching TV. Both men looked from their movie towards Schuldich who was dressed in a pair of black vinyl pants and mesh black shirt. He held a long black trench coat over his shoulder and stood waiting to be praised. Both Farfarello and Nagi completely ignored him, looking back to the television.
"What are you up to tonight?" Nagi asked, knowing that Schuldich could be up to nothing but trouble when he was actually wearing more than a pair of boxers around the house.
"Where's Crawford?" Schuldich asked, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a glass. He reached into the refrigerator and grabbed the carton of orange juice and poured himself a glass.
"He's out having a meeting with some perspective clients. He left about an hour ago. Where are you going?" Nagi informed and asked.
"Why do I have to be going somewhere, Nagikins?" Schuldich asked, walking over to the small Japanese boy, whispering seductively into his ear. The boy recoiled slightly and narrowed his eyes.
"You're wearing more than a pair of boxers around the house, that's why? What are you up to Schuldich?"
"Where's the Empath Bitch?" Schuldich smirked. Nagi rolled his eyes.
"You know what Crawford said, if anything happens to her…"
"I know, I know, relax Liebling, nothing is going to happen to her. I just want to have a little fun. Farfarello, can I borrow one of your knives?" Nagi tensed at the question and Farfarello nodded.
"They're in my room, but don't use the new set. Use the gold-plated set," Farfarello seemed to smile. Nagi looked from the German to the Irishman with equal bemusement and disdain. Schuldich smiled and headed towards Farfarello's room but not before asking again where Thais was. Farfarello nodded his head towards her room; she must have been sleeping.
She'd been quite a sleeper since her continuing training with Eszet. It was said that Empaths took training a lot harder because of the constant wave of emotions that wracked them as they did. She'd been with them for more than three weeks and hadn't really emerged from her room other than to eat or go to her training or to run and sleep in Crawford's room. Schuldich was assured that they were fucking. Schuldich was more than jealous. He was under the impression that Crawford would have chose him as his lover if it hadn't been for this intrusion. She was from the past; Crawford needed to understand that.
The loving glances, the kind words or encouragement, the soft touches to her hand and the small of her back; it was like Crawford was a different man. Schuldich gnashed his teeth together; it was all so irritating.
He thrust the door open to Farfarello's room, the black-painted walls, the simple black sheet bed, and the lit candles everywhere. Ignoring the decoration, Schuldich walked over where he knew Farfarello kept his knives. The gold plated set sparkled in the moonlight, the beams dripping sensually over the bullion. Schuldich reached and pulled out his particularly favorite piece of cutlery. It looked like a fancy letter opener, but it was a small double-edged stiletto. Schuldich ran his finger sexually over the sharp blade, his finger catching and cutting over the knife. Blood, crimson and pure, dripped out of the cut and down his finger. Schuldich watched with morbid curiosity, as his white finger was marred with the scarlet liquid; he placed the digit in his mouth and sucked, tasting the metallic, slightly sweet flavor. He smiled; now he understood why Farfarello loved this so much.
The German stood and exited the room and walked back to his own to collect some of the things he would need for this particular seduction. He expected her to struggle, to scream, to panic and to fight against his will, but he wouldn't be refused tonight. When he returned to the living room he found Farfarello curled up under a blanket still watching the same B-horror film that he'd been watching earlier. Nagi had obviously gone to bed, not wanting to be awake when Crawford got home and found out Schuldich's handiwork.
"Hurting God tonight, Schuldich?"
"I plan to hurt God until he cries for mercy," Schuldich eyed the knife and smiled evilly. He started his way down the hall smirking at his evil plan.
"Don't hurt Crawford while you're out hurting God, Schuldich," Farfarello said after him, but the German didn't hear him. Schuldich was already down the hall.
It was funny how the apartment was set up perfectly. The living room was the great dividing line between who was important and who was expendable. There were three rooms on the east wing of the apartment, perfect for the underlings Farfarello, Nagi, and Schuldich. Crawford, of course, got the Master Bedroom and two extra rooms, one that he'd converted into a study and the other that was now used to house his lovers. Schuldich snorted; the German had rarely gone into any of these rooms. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time that he'd been Crawford's room or his study.
He knocked lightly on the door; there was no answer. He knocked again. Again, there was no answer. He pushed the door open slowly, slightly, where only a sliver of light could creep in. There she was, sleeping soundly on the bed, the crack of light illuminating her peaceful face.
/How adorable… Bitch!!/ Schuldich thought as he quietly entered the room. He didn't want her to wake up yet; he had other plans. He nimbly tiptoed to the side of the bed and looked at her. Smiling down he noticed a small bottle of pills and a glass of water; Sleeping pills, Crawford must have provided her with some to help her sleep.
/Good, I didn't want her to wake up yet, anyway./
The German pulled a few things out of his pocket, two scarves, a feather, and Farfarello's knife. He pulled the warm covers from her sleeping form revealing that she was only wearing a small tank top and some panties. He smiled.
/A perfect body; good job Crawford/
He pulled her limp hands from where they were tucked next to her and tied them both gingerly and tightly to the post above her. Slowly, he ran a hand from her face to her stomach, testing to see how asleep she was. She must have just taken the sleeping pills before Crawford left. The German lowered his head to kiss her lips; she didn't stir. Schuldich smiled.
/Now is time to have some fun./