A/N: My apologies for taking so long between updates - I'll try and update
more regularly but homework generally takes precedence over fanfics (as
much as I hate to admit it!) Please review because I love hearing feedback
on what was good/bad about each chappie. Enjoy the next installment!
Disclaimer: I do not, by any stretch of the imagination, own Weiss Kreuz it's related characters or plots. I do however own all original characters and storylines created in this piece of fanfiction. Do me a favour and please don't sue me.
Warning: This fic is going to be upped to R after this chapter - if you think it needs to be changed *this* chapter please don't get my fic taken off, e-mail me and I'll gladly change it. There is coarse language in this chapter, if it might offend you I suggest you don't read any further. There's also a slight, homosexual reference - same deal - if you find it offensive my apologies, if you think it might be offensive don't read any further.
Flames Of Insanity - Chapter 5
Upstairs Crawford sighed before sitting down in his well padded leather desk chair and picked up the phone he had seemingly replaced only seconds before. He almost lazily tapped the flashing "on-hold" button and answered, considerably calmer after his episode with the fax machine, and answered coolly,
"Brad Crawford."
"Mr. Crawford, my name is Anna Mavericks."
The name rang a bell in his memory, holding the phone to his ear with one hand he began rifling through the neat stack of papers before him with the other, at the same time commenting with what was probably not considered his most intellectual answer ever,
"Yes."
The voice on the other end sighed in what the Schwarz leader assumed was either from boredom or exasperation. However the sigh seemed to be cut short, as if the person on the other end of the line had suddenly been silenced, for reasons unknown to him. The American's assassin's instincts kicked in, honed from too much overtime at his tedious job, he was about to speak when the girl continued,
"I heard you - "
This time the phone just fell dead for a moment before the familiar beeping of a phone offline came to rest in the Precognitive man's ears. It took barely a moment for this to register before he slammed the accursed phone back down in its cradle and his still scavenging hand alighted upon the first facsimile sheet. The ebony haired man peered down at the gothic looking girl in the photo and for the first time his eyes rested on the name printed across the top of the page - 'Anna Mavericks'
He whirled towards the office door and flung it open, hearing the hinges creak ominously as he did so before he bellowed down the hall,
"Schuldig! Trace that call!"
Pulling a mobile from his pocket as he strode quickly down the cream carpeted hall, ignoring it's less than immaculate state. Damn he hated it when he was boxed in. Damn he hated being out maneuvered. Damn this Pyrokinetic and her obvious lack of sense.
The orange haired German looked towards the stairs when he heard his superior's voice call and the swift steps that were currently pelting down the hall towards him. The coffee finished brewing at the exact moment Crawford stalked into the room and the Mastermind made an executive decision that his cravings were more important than whatever Crawford was going to yell at him to do. That and there was the added bonus of annoying the hell out of an already annoyed leader.
Jumping lightly down from the bench, opening one of the cedar cupboards and removing two white mugs from it before kicking the door closed Schuldig couldn't help but grin, Crawford was so uptight that his barriers were wavering - ever so slightly. Crawford glared at the Telepath who was "blissfully unaware of his leaders presence".
Lips tight, jaw rigid and eyes flashing dangerously the American strode the few paces across the kitchen to stand a few centimeters away from the orange haired man. Schuldig didn't seem phased, instead he indicated to the mugs on the bench and the coffee pot in his hand,
"Coffee, Crawford?"
Crawford slammed his fist down on the cheery coloured wooden bench top and snarled in the German's ear,
"Schuldig, did you trace that call?"
Schuldig dropped two teaspoons of sugar into one of the coffee mugs and slid the other, plain black on, towards the older man before shrugging and giving his painfully cryptic reply,
"I trace calls and I trace calls." The Telepath glanced over his shoulder with an impish grin lighting his wicked face, "Which one were you after?"
Crawford glared at the Telepath before leaning even closer and saying quietly, in the tone of voice you use when someone has died - or is about to,
"The one I just asked you to trace, Schuldig."
The German feigned innocence and replied, arrogant thoughtfulness dripping from every syllable,
"The one you just asked me to - oh, that call!" Schuldig smirked and commented, "Why didn't you say so?"
The Telepath idly drummed his fingers on the bench top and frowned, his brow furrowed in mock thought,
"I think it was from Saudi Arabia - some oil baron's palace."
"Schuldig." Crawford growled a warning that the orange-haired man didn't heed,
"Oh, no wait, it was from a Karaoke bar in downtown Tokyo.no, that's not it."
"Schuldig." Crawford was shaking with rage and he clamped a hand onto the German's shoulder and subconsciously tried to crush the smaller man's collarbone. The seemingly unconcerned Telepath commented
"Gee Crawford, you really shouldn't trust me with these important things, my little mind just can't cope!"
Crawford slammed the younger man into the bench ledge behind him with such force that the coffee mugs left it's cherry hued surface and landed with a bang and the slosh of coffee. Crawford didn't notice as he yelled,
"Schuldig, tell me where the damn call came from!"
Schuldig sighed weakly and replied with a cool glare at the American,
"Off the main highway, near that alleyway where we cornered the kittens once."
"Are you fucking with me, Schuldig?"
Despite himself the Telepath grinned and commented,
"Well I didn't know you were that way inclined bu.."
The German's sentence was cut off as he found himself slammed into the bench once again, an random thought told him he was going to have a nice bruise in the morning, he ignored it and concentrated on returning the air to his deprived lungs before he raised a hand to his heart and coughed,
"Telepath's honour."
Crawford closed his eyes in frustration before he muttered,
"That's not much to rely on."
With that the American let go of the younger man and turned, walking towards the doorway, picking up the keys to his BMW as he went. The leader had an inkling that for once the Telepath might have told him the truth. Years of dodging through Schuldig's mind games as well as his earlier premonition made the German's story somewhat believable. As he placed his hand on the doorknob he thought of something and yelled over his shoulder,
"Schuldig!"
The Telepath demonstrated his trademark speed, apparently having not suffered too much after his close encounter with the bench and replied with a dry smirk,
"You yelled?"
"Get Farf in his cell before I get home," The American swung open the door and as he was stepping out added as an afterthought, "And feed Nagi."
Crawford continued walking and closed the door firmly behind him not waiting for a reply.
A/N: For all those who don't think my warning at the start was irrelevant - I'm paranoid about offending people (partly because I don't want them to tell the "head honchos" here at ff.net to get rid of my fic and partly because it would stop people enjoying my fic) so don't flame me if you think it was or wasn't necessary and please don't flame me if you had a problem with the language/reference - I warned you. I stated I would change it if people felt it needed changing. Please don't flame me and please review!
Disclaimer: I do not, by any stretch of the imagination, own Weiss Kreuz it's related characters or plots. I do however own all original characters and storylines created in this piece of fanfiction. Do me a favour and please don't sue me.
Warning: This fic is going to be upped to R after this chapter - if you think it needs to be changed *this* chapter please don't get my fic taken off, e-mail me and I'll gladly change it. There is coarse language in this chapter, if it might offend you I suggest you don't read any further. There's also a slight, homosexual reference - same deal - if you find it offensive my apologies, if you think it might be offensive don't read any further.
Flames Of Insanity - Chapter 5
Upstairs Crawford sighed before sitting down in his well padded leather desk chair and picked up the phone he had seemingly replaced only seconds before. He almost lazily tapped the flashing "on-hold" button and answered, considerably calmer after his episode with the fax machine, and answered coolly,
"Brad Crawford."
"Mr. Crawford, my name is Anna Mavericks."
The name rang a bell in his memory, holding the phone to his ear with one hand he began rifling through the neat stack of papers before him with the other, at the same time commenting with what was probably not considered his most intellectual answer ever,
"Yes."
The voice on the other end sighed in what the Schwarz leader assumed was either from boredom or exasperation. However the sigh seemed to be cut short, as if the person on the other end of the line had suddenly been silenced, for reasons unknown to him. The American's assassin's instincts kicked in, honed from too much overtime at his tedious job, he was about to speak when the girl continued,
"I heard you - "
This time the phone just fell dead for a moment before the familiar beeping of a phone offline came to rest in the Precognitive man's ears. It took barely a moment for this to register before he slammed the accursed phone back down in its cradle and his still scavenging hand alighted upon the first facsimile sheet. The ebony haired man peered down at the gothic looking girl in the photo and for the first time his eyes rested on the name printed across the top of the page - 'Anna Mavericks'
He whirled towards the office door and flung it open, hearing the hinges creak ominously as he did so before he bellowed down the hall,
"Schuldig! Trace that call!"
Pulling a mobile from his pocket as he strode quickly down the cream carpeted hall, ignoring it's less than immaculate state. Damn he hated it when he was boxed in. Damn he hated being out maneuvered. Damn this Pyrokinetic and her obvious lack of sense.
The orange haired German looked towards the stairs when he heard his superior's voice call and the swift steps that were currently pelting down the hall towards him. The coffee finished brewing at the exact moment Crawford stalked into the room and the Mastermind made an executive decision that his cravings were more important than whatever Crawford was going to yell at him to do. That and there was the added bonus of annoying the hell out of an already annoyed leader.
Jumping lightly down from the bench, opening one of the cedar cupboards and removing two white mugs from it before kicking the door closed Schuldig couldn't help but grin, Crawford was so uptight that his barriers were wavering - ever so slightly. Crawford glared at the Telepath who was "blissfully unaware of his leaders presence".
Lips tight, jaw rigid and eyes flashing dangerously the American strode the few paces across the kitchen to stand a few centimeters away from the orange haired man. Schuldig didn't seem phased, instead he indicated to the mugs on the bench and the coffee pot in his hand,
"Coffee, Crawford?"
Crawford slammed his fist down on the cheery coloured wooden bench top and snarled in the German's ear,
"Schuldig, did you trace that call?"
Schuldig dropped two teaspoons of sugar into one of the coffee mugs and slid the other, plain black on, towards the older man before shrugging and giving his painfully cryptic reply,
"I trace calls and I trace calls." The Telepath glanced over his shoulder with an impish grin lighting his wicked face, "Which one were you after?"
Crawford glared at the Telepath before leaning even closer and saying quietly, in the tone of voice you use when someone has died - or is about to,
"The one I just asked you to trace, Schuldig."
The German feigned innocence and replied, arrogant thoughtfulness dripping from every syllable,
"The one you just asked me to - oh, that call!" Schuldig smirked and commented, "Why didn't you say so?"
The Telepath idly drummed his fingers on the bench top and frowned, his brow furrowed in mock thought,
"I think it was from Saudi Arabia - some oil baron's palace."
"Schuldig." Crawford growled a warning that the orange-haired man didn't heed,
"Oh, no wait, it was from a Karaoke bar in downtown Tokyo.no, that's not it."
"Schuldig." Crawford was shaking with rage and he clamped a hand onto the German's shoulder and subconsciously tried to crush the smaller man's collarbone. The seemingly unconcerned Telepath commented
"Gee Crawford, you really shouldn't trust me with these important things, my little mind just can't cope!"
Crawford slammed the younger man into the bench ledge behind him with such force that the coffee mugs left it's cherry hued surface and landed with a bang and the slosh of coffee. Crawford didn't notice as he yelled,
"Schuldig, tell me where the damn call came from!"
Schuldig sighed weakly and replied with a cool glare at the American,
"Off the main highway, near that alleyway where we cornered the kittens once."
"Are you fucking with me, Schuldig?"
Despite himself the Telepath grinned and commented,
"Well I didn't know you were that way inclined bu.."
The German's sentence was cut off as he found himself slammed into the bench once again, an random thought told him he was going to have a nice bruise in the morning, he ignored it and concentrated on returning the air to his deprived lungs before he raised a hand to his heart and coughed,
"Telepath's honour."
Crawford closed his eyes in frustration before he muttered,
"That's not much to rely on."
With that the American let go of the younger man and turned, walking towards the doorway, picking up the keys to his BMW as he went. The leader had an inkling that for once the Telepath might have told him the truth. Years of dodging through Schuldig's mind games as well as his earlier premonition made the German's story somewhat believable. As he placed his hand on the doorknob he thought of something and yelled over his shoulder,
"Schuldig!"
The Telepath demonstrated his trademark speed, apparently having not suffered too much after his close encounter with the bench and replied with a dry smirk,
"You yelled?"
"Get Farf in his cell before I get home," The American swung open the door and as he was stepping out added as an afterthought, "And feed Nagi."
Crawford continued walking and closed the door firmly behind him not waiting for a reply.
A/N: For all those who don't think my warning at the start was irrelevant - I'm paranoid about offending people (partly because I don't want them to tell the "head honchos" here at ff.net to get rid of my fic and partly because it would stop people enjoying my fic) so don't flame me if you think it was or wasn't necessary and please don't flame me if you had a problem with the language/reference - I warned you. I stated I would change it if people felt it needed changing. Please don't flame me and please review!