Disclaimer: Not mine. NOT mine! *bursts into tears* Just borrowed. From...eto...*shrugs* ...other people? The song mentioned therein is property of Cat Stevens and unknown others, i.e. NOT me.
Comments: This is what happens when you don't watch where you're writing. I started another fic – on paper! – and only after writing about two pages of it did I discover that somehow I had 'jumped' over two pages. The result? Two pages of clear, bright, white space left. Farfarello also thought these pages should be filled 'to hurt God'. (If I wouldn't, then... Well, you can guess. ^__^;;;)
Thanks: Coppelia. *hugs* Thank you for reviewing 'Verdammt'. *blinks* And so fast, too! ^^V
Warning: It's weird! – It's Farfarello. (What did you expect anyway...!?) Possibly OOC-ness (Because I don't really know anything about Farfie's background other than what I've been told or have read.)
SPOILER ALERT!!! Spoilers ahead for eps.12: Abschied, as well as bit of eps.18: Schuld of the anime!!!
T h e F i r s t C u t
by Muraki Hotaru
Schuldig. Schuldig. Schuldig had let him out. Would he also tuck him in again? Because the German usually was the one to release him from the straight-jacket. It hurt God. It hurt God even more when Crawford released him. Rarely did this happen, but Crawford was stronger than Schuldig. So it hurt God even more. Farfarello chuckled. Yes, God had been hurt today. A lot. Schuldig had quarrelled with Crawford. Crawford had been not-angry ice. And Schuldig had been very-angry fire. They had clashedslashedblazedquarelledargued. Oh, how God had been hurt!
Farfarello hummed contentedly. On top of that, Crawford had allowed him – and Nagi, he grudgingly admitted – to cook dinner. Farfarello had voted for Tartar while Nagi opted for sukiyaki. In the end, they had settled on making stew and fruit-salad for dessert. So here they were, in Schwarz' roomy kitchen, cooking dinner. Crawford was...elsewhere.
Nagi, knowing Farfarello's penchant for slicing things up – including himself – had soon set him on cutting the raw meat he had dragged from the fridge. The Irishman had even gone so far as to use his favourite knife, sharpened to a razor's edge, to cutslicecarve the meat. Hehehe..... This was fun...
While Farfarello was busy, Nagi had not been idle either. He had added the finely cut lumps of meat to the other ingredients already assembled in the pot. And Nagi was glad that he had been able to convince his assistant that frying the meat would hurt God more than eating it raw. *shudder* What a horrible thought!
With a slight nudge of his gift, Nagi turned on the radio. Maybe the resulting noise would drown out Farfie's melodic but disconcerting humming. He sighed. Why me? What did I do to deserve this? He itched to be back with his computer. There was this one chat-room and that online-acquaintance Nagi wanted to go back to... Shaking his head, he continued with his task. Really. What had their leader been thinking? Well, at least the song playing seemed to distract Farfarello. He didn't even notice when Nagi exchanged the bowl of meat for the bowl of fruits.
Farfarello grinned. This song was good. It surely was hurting God lots and lots. Little by little, he drifted back into his past, the song his only guideline.
I would have given you all of my heart
He was back home in Ireland. It was Sunday and he was in the church with his family, celebrating the Mass. How the glass-stained windows glowed, illuminating the altar and gilding the Cross with a shine almost too bright to look at!
But there's someone who's torn it apart
Then the scene switched. Farfarello saw his eight-year-old self, standing in a pool of blood. Around him, he saw the bodies of his family, all dead.
And He's taken all that I've got
After that, he didn't remember much else for a time. It was all a blur to him. There were some stupid people who tried to tell him that what had happened had been the work of some terrorists. They tried to tell him it wasn't his fault. Sure it wasn't. It was God's fault. God had hurt him. So he would hurt God back. It was as simple as that.
But if you want I'll try to love again
Baby, I'll try to love again but I know
…that it won't work. And why should it? Why should he love God again when He had hurt him like that? Pictures flashed by. His father, the minister, throat cut almost from ear to ear. His mother, wrists bleeding. His little sister Deirdre, stabbed through the heart.
The first cut is the deepest, Baby I know
Jei saw the knife descending, catching his sister unaware. Little Deirdre just mada a kind of surprised 'oh'-sound, her small, pink rosebud-mouth opening in surprise – just as the knife plunged straight through her heart.
The first cut is the deepest
Crying, Jei turned away. Farfarello just shrugged. How could one little boy's tears hurt God? He went on to look for the minister.
But when it comes to being lucky he's cursed
Unlike the little girl and the mother that had been caught totally by surprise, the priest insisted on struggling, resulting in a prolonged and rather...messy end. That one hadn't quite gone as planned...
When it comes to loving me, she's worst
Jei had adored his mother. He admired her kind generousity, her unquestioning faith and her piety. Farfarello just felt a sharp, hateful contempt towards that woman.
But when it comes to be in love, she's first
Farfarello clearly remembered all the times that Jei had to come second or even third in rank compared to Jei's mother's service to God. Prayer, Mass and Service – all these things were more important by far than the family. That made Jei sad. Farfarello was just plain and simple angry.
That's how I know
God had hurt him. A lot. So he would hurt God, to pay Him back for all that he had to endure. Lots and lots. But how could he ever hope to accomplish that?
The first cut is the deepest, Baby I know
And then, Farfarello was swept back to the orphanage he had been brought to when the corpses of his family had been discovered. There he had first tried to hurt God by hurting himself, something the wardens had all too quickly become aware of. Hence knives or any other sharp-edged objects were kept from him. He was not too happy about that for how would he be able to hurt God then?
The first cut is the deepest
Then one day, a tall American had come to the orphanage. The man had heard of his story and his behaviour. Telling Farfarello that he knew of a very good way to hurt God – to hurt Him very, very much – the American said that if he, Farfarello, would accompany him, he'd learn how to really hurt God. And so it came to pass that Farfarello and his new boss, Bradley Crawford, went to Japan.
There, true to his word, Crawford explained to Farfarello how to 'hurt God'. He was taught by professionals how to kill, torture and murder without any regrets. In his opinion, the more honest an assignment was, the more God would be hurt. Farfarello's increasing skill to execute even the most difficult target was only hampered by his fondness of inflicting damage on himself. This was especially troublesome when it happened before a mission. His growing immunity to pain and his unwillingness to acknowledge any harm or injury, however, more than made up for this. But since, Farfarello habitually tried to kill himself, he had to be restrained in a straight-jacket more and more often.
Farfarello thoughtfully cut up his second banana, then dumped it into the bowl. Hm... What else was missing? Ah, right. A fruit salad was not complete without that. Smiling somewhat insanely, he picked up some apples. Adam had hurt God, too. So cutting and eating those apples would hurt God back at least a little, right?
Farfarello set to his new task with a relish. And still the song was playing, taking him back in time once again.
That day back then... Oh, he remembered the little Weiß kitten's distress all too clearly. How he had cried! How he had howled his anguish towards the uncaring heavens! And all that hurt and pain over just one little girl. His half-sister even! Farfarello was sure that God had hurt incredibly that day. And all the others could do was stand there and watch. They had been too late to save that Oka-girl. All in vain. Too late to save their little angel from having his heart tortured like that...
He and Schuldig had made their escape when the other Weißes had rushed to comfort their fallen, wing-broken angel. At the top of the incline, Farfarello had turned back for the last time, watching the three shadowy silhouettes cluster about two collapsed ones. Despite the approaching dusk, he could see their distress clearly. But the way the other Weiß-kittens reacted to the pain of one of their own... There was something there that... Hadn't he known better, Farfarello would have almost felt...jealous? Why?
I still want you by my side
He had been quiet that evening. So unusually quiet in fact that even Crawford had taken notice and enquired. Schuldig had locked him up as usual but instead of going, the telepath had stayed a while to chat. Then Nagi had come down to bring them their dinner. He'd said that Crawford had told him to. Farfarello had not had company for dinner in a long, long time. Perhaps too long a time. It made him feel...strange. He wasn't sure whether he really liked that.
Just to help me dry the tears that I've cried
That night, for the first time in years, Farfarello had dared to dream of something other than his craving, his burning desire to 'hurt God'. What was it that made Weiß so...different from Schwarz? Apart from the fact that they were much, much weaker, that is. And what was Schwarz to him? Really just a means to an end...?
'Cos I'm sure gonna give you a trial
Having finished cutting the innocent apples into tiny cubes, Farfarello pondered on this question. He had, despite what the others might think of his attention span, noticed that their leader seemed more and more...stone-faced these days. Certainly the precog had seen some major event looming up ahead. Maybe it heralded a change for the future of Schwarz, too? Maybe that was the reason for the sudden increase in phone-calls Crawford had made? But with whom…? And for what?
And if you want I'll try to love again
Ha! Not bloody likely! But still... Farfarello hoped that Schwarz would survive the trials unscathed. Maybe even the Weiß-kittens would survive – despite their weakness. Then they could...
Baby, I'll try to love again, but I know
"Farfarello, what did you do now?" Nagi sounded exasperated.
"I cut myself," the Irishman deadpanned, holding up a bleeding hand.
Nagi just shook his head, sighing in defeat.
The first cut is the deepest, Baby I know
The first cut is the deepest...
A short time later, Farfarello's hand was bandaged and he was back at the kitchen counter, cleaning his knife while Nagi put the finishing touches on the fruit-salad. Using his telekinetic abilities, he had already set the table earlier, so now there was not much left for Nagi to do. Except one thing...
Just as he was dividing the dessert up into the little chocolate containers he had recently bought, Crawford wandered into the kitchen. Nagi and Farfarello looked up, gazing questioningly at their leader. Since when had the American ever entered the kitchen at any other time than...? Then Nagi smiled slightly, having heard an almost inaudible grumble.
"Crawford…"
"I know."
"…dinner is ready." Farfarello finished.
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O W A R I °__°;;V
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Note 1: (I'm starting to scare myself, here. Really, understanding Farfarello – how bad can that be? *blinks* Don't answer that. *sweatdrops*)
Note2: This is only an interlude of sorts. It was conceived by accident, inattention and stupidity. I hope you like it nevertheless. C&C are welcome! And DON'T tell me you want to know what happens at dinner? *listens to off-voices* Are you really sure about this? *listens again* You ARE...!? *sighs* Oh well...