The Beach
By Trynnity
This one is very silly. Nagi convinces Crawford to take Schwartz to the beach. Here, the four must prevail against sun, wind, Weiss, umbrellas, beach volleyball, crustaceans, sandcastles that hurt God, and a complete lack of orange penguins. [Non-Yaoi.]
AN: Yes, unlike a lot of WK fiction, this is non-Yaoi. I have nothing against yaoi (*shuffles feet* Gravitation) but I dislike gratuitously matching everyone up. I also have nothing against Crawford- in fact, I rather like him, although I torment him mercilessly. Kyah. On with the fic.
Dedicated to: my friend and hamster, Rheori Strife, for inspiration, especially in relation to penguins. I understand that when you finish reading this fic, you may not want to be associated with it. This is your problem. (Hee-hee, hee-hee, hee-hee…)
Warnings: None
Read this while listening to: RipSlyme's Tokyo Classic album
Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss or Schwartz, even if Aya and Schu do own me. Yesh they do. ^_^
(~*~)
Chapter One: The Killer Frypan; or, A Man Defeated
(In Which Schwartz Is Introduced; Crawford's Daytime Viewing Habits Are Examined; An Air Conditioner Is Not Fixed; The Benefits Of Ear Phones Are Made Apparent, And Nagi Has An Idea)
It was, like, hot.
Like, really hot.
From his second-story window, sitting limply at his desk with a well-thumbed copy of Snow Crash, Nagi could almost see the tarmac bubble.
This was the third such day in a row, and the stifling atmosphere was beginning to wear on the teke's fragile nerves. He suspected the air conditioner had broken down, possibly because of Schuldig's valiant efforts to fix it, but couldn't summon the strength to drift downstairs and investigate the problem. His energy seemed to be evaporating off him in waves.
He returned his waning attention to his book, taking a swig from the tall glass of water beside him- once iced, it was now lukewarm and tasted oddly dry. This, for some reason, was the last straw. Nagi hissed something obscene in Japanese, telekinetically poured the lot onto the carpet and jumped viciously in the soggy puddle, enlivened by sheer frustration.
He was hot, edgy and very annoyed. He wanted to Share His Feelings With The Group.
"Crawwwwwwforrrrrd..……… I'm booooooooooooooored…"
(~*~)
Clank.
"Schuldig, you're doing it all wrong."
Kerchunk.
"Ach, like you know. I've got it all under contro-"
Sproing.
"Sheisse! Look what you made me do!"
The fiery-haired German shot to his feet, fiercely brandishing a battered screwdriver in the mildly amused face of Brad Crawford. Strewn around him were the component parts of what was, once, probably an air conditioner, although Crawford doubted it would ever be restored to its former condition. At least, not under Schuldig's inept ministrations. The telepath was many things, but a repairman was not among them.
"Aww. And you almost had it working, too." Crawford was positively radiating smugness, which only served to incense Schu further. Grr. Stupid Crawford. Schuldig considered throwing the screwdriver at him, then decided it probably wasn't worth the effort and flopped onto the couch.
He glared at the air conditioner, which seemed to return his gaze with Crawfordesque superiority. Schu dropped his spiky orange head into his hands. The thing was mocking him. He had lost. He had been measured, and found wanting. He was A Man Defeated.
He wondered what was on TV.
"Crawwwwwwforrrrrd......"
Chibi-Nagi floated up behind Crawford's shoulder and tapped it pointedly, glaring at the precog reproachfully with overlarge brown eyes. He'd thought that cuteness might give him an edge.
"...I'm booooooooooooooored."
"Gah." Schu had turned on the TV, which was halfway through the daytime soap 'Forbidden Romance.' He glanced at Crawford. "I can't believe people actually watch this crap."
"Er. Neither can I."
"Anou…" Chibi-Nagi poked his head around the couch. "Crawford-san, why is the VCR set to record…?"
Crawford sweatdropped. "Umm... Farfie?"
As Schu began to snicker uncontrollably, Crawford folded his arms and stormed into the kitchen, Nagi trailing after him like a chibi-sheep.
(~*~)
"Crawwwwwwforrrrrd......"
Crawford spun around to face Chibi-Nagi. His glasses caught the light in an evil, glarey way, which would have been quite terrifying if the effect hadn't been spoiled by the bright cup of frozen Coke in his hand. (Yes, Schwartz have a frozen Coke machine in their kitchen. Being evil and rich has to have its perks.)
"What?"
"...I'm booooooooooooooored."
"Go bug Schuldig for a while."
"It's hot. There's nothing to do. Can you take us somewhere?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I say so." Crawford whipped out an economy sized can of Chibi-Be-Gone and sprayed Nagi from head to foot, returning him to his former un-chibi state.
"But..." Nagi had a sudden brainwave. "I wanna go to the beach."
...the beach?
Crawford blanched, then tried to cover it with a nonchalant swig of frozen Coke. Gah. Brain-freeze.
"We're not going to the beach."
"Why not?"
"Well, we're obviously not going, because... I don't predict anything of the sort will happen today. Yeah." In actual fact, predictions of a nastily beach-like variety were hovering at the edge of his mind, but Crawford was desperately trying to ignore them. What the kid didn't know couldn't hurt him.
Think Minority Report, Brad! If you know your future, you can change it!
Unfortunately, Crawford was concentrating so hard on suppressing his talent that he completely failed to foresee what happened next.
"Well, Crawford, I have a prediction too."
Crawford dredged up a smirk. "And what is that, o thou of zero precognitive ability?"
"If you don't take us to the beach, then a really heavy frypan will inexplicably and repeatedly hit you on the head. Starting from right about…"
Crawford looked up.
Uh oh.
"...Now."
Being telekinetic was, like, fun.
(~*~)
"99 bottles of beer on the wall," Nagi chirped, "99 bottles of beer... take one down, pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall. 98 bottles of beer on the wall..."
With one hand on the steering wheel, Crawford pressed his rapidly melting frozen Coke against his bruised, aching head. Being chased by a killer frypan sucked. But, as he was rapidly discovering, this day had worse torments to offer.
"Schuldig?"
"Yeah, Farfie?"
"How do the bottles stay on the wall?"
"Er, I have no idea. Maybe they're on a shelf."
"Then why isn't the song called '99 Bottles Of Beer On A Shelf?'"
"I dunno, I didn't write it."
Jei Farfarello could not be safely left at home. The last time the members of Schwartz had attempted it, he'd honed every piece of cutlery in the house to razor sharpness without telling anyone. Schu had almost killed himself at breakfast the next morning. Those spoons had a serious edge to them.
And so, here he was. The madman himself. In a car. A car which was going to the beach. And he was seriously questioning the meaning of an inane, repetitive driving song.
"Bottles would fall off a wall. That doesn't make any sense. We should kill the person who wrote it. With a big knife."
"I think they're already dead by now, Farfie." Schu sensibly had his earphones on. Farfarello's Irish-accented eccentricities had to filter through the metal hurricane known as Rammstein (Asche! Zu Aschen!) before reaching the telepath's brain. Crawford had no such easy escape.
"That's good. You know, knives would stay in the wall. If it was a plaster wall."
"That's true."
"We should sing a song about knives stuck in a wall."
Schuldig's gaze met Crawford's in the rear-view mirror as he turned the volume on his MP3 player all the way up. "You can do that if you like."
"Okay!"
He started at 99 Really Sharp Knives In The Wall, and got all the way down to 2 before they arrived.
Crawford was A Man Defeated.
(~*~)
The Beach.
Well, it was... pleasant enough, Crawford supposed, if you liked that kind of thing. The sand was... sandy. The water was... wet. And the sun was very, very sunny.
Eep.
He wrestled the beach umbrella into submission and sat under it.
Unless you were Crawford, it was a perfect day. The fresh breeze took the burning edge off the heat, although it was still warm enough to make the rolling blue-green waves look very inviting. Schu, clad only in a pair of knee-length black shorts, was already swimming smoothly through the water, his orange hair pulled back in a damp ponytail, while Nagi was still bouncing around ecstatically at the mere prospect of being here. Farfarello, for his part, looked almost philosophical as he surveyed the scene in front of him.
"This beach looks nothing like the beach from Neuromancer. That one was dark. This is very... bright."
Nagi nodded. "It is, isn't it Farfie? Whatcha gonna do?"
"Can we kill these people?"
"Nope. If you did that, it would, er, make God happy."
Farfie looked aghast. "Good thing you warned me." Hands in his pockets, he looked down at the younger teke. "So what can you do here that hurts God?"
The real question was: how to keep Farfie harmlessly entertained?
"Well, you could... build sandcastles..."
"That hurts God?"
"Like you wouldn't believe." Nagi clutched at straws. "You see, God made the sand, and when you, er, lump it all together... it destroys its natural order. And makes God cry."
Farfarello's eye was shining.
"Putting shells on them is really painful."
Damage done, Nagi sauntered away, grinning. The beach was fun, but it was more fun when you didn't have to keep an eye constantly on Farfie. This gave you more time to look at other things. Like nice shells, and girls, and waves and, well, girls.
He drifted along, looking to see if he could spot any of the above. As a matter of fact, he could see a group of girls up ahead, but they appeared to be talking to someone. Or, at least, someone else was talking. They were doing a lot of laughing and hair-tossing.
He stopped short.
His dark eyes narrowed slightly, as if in recognition.
Someone had a portable stereo here. It was playing "Velvet Underground".
"So, how old did you ladies say you were?"
Yohji Kudou?!