There are not many things that he likes. Or, rather, not many things that I know of.
He likes when he shoots somebody. He doesn't do it often. Perhaps he just has to get to the first step of confirming that he intends to shoot them, or perhaps he doesn't give himself too much of a good thing, lest he grow bored with it. But I do know that he does like it; he feels powerful when he draws the trigger, knows he has the person's life in his hands.
He likes being the driver of the car. He knows that he's in control of what happens that way. You wouldn't think it, but he's what some might call a "reckless driver". I guess it isn't recklessness, because he hasn't gotten us killed, or even scraped, yet. He'll cut you off in a moment, because he knows exactly when he can. He can See that stuff. With a capitol "s".
He likes driving as fast as he can get away with. I hear him mutter, "Dirt bag", as we pull up alongside a car that looks like it'll break down in a moment. He then speeds up farther, and cuts the guy off. He likes passing Mr. Porsche, showing the guy in the fancy sports car that he's bigger and better and more powerful. At this point we're going 110 mph, by his American car. And now we're racing Mr. Porsche down the Autobahn, and gaining speed.
I grip the sides of my seat as I see us heading straight at a policeman.
"Hey," I say, "what's the point of having policemen here?"
"Why don't you tell me?"
Of course. This is exactly like him. He sets me to an exercise as he's racing down the highway. I'm only able to catch a glimpse of what Mr. Policeman is thinking before we're gone.
"I couldn't," I tell him. "We were going too fast."
A smirk. And then he's cutting off Mr. Porsche, who blasts his horn just as we hit an exit. I turn to see that he's skidded a little, and I stick my tounge out and grin.
"That wasn't very nice," he comments.
"Since when were we nice people?"
A smug look. He likes that. He knows it's true, and he knows that's how we like it best. Being nice never got either of us anywhere.
We've pulled up to a large stone building. An Esset faculty. We're led to a room with light blue walls and a large couch and several armchairs. Three old people are sitting on the couch, and I know they're the elders. For some reason they've taken a particular interest in him. Several Esset administrators are sitting in the armchairs.
"You're early," one says.
Crawford glances at his watch. "I didn't want to waste any time."
"Most would be back for another hour, nonetheless. Unless you found a way to get here extra quickly."
They're looking at us suspiciously. We did do the job, we just got it done rather painlessly. I can't help myself. "It was Mr. Porsche's fault, anyway," I mutter.
"Oh?" One of the elders has spoken up. "Why is that?"
I look up from the floor to see Crawford looking at me somewhat apprehensively. It's a look that says 'Don't fuck this up'.
I smirk and say, "He decided to show Crawford who was boss."
The old lady laughs. "And nobody tells Crawford who's boss, right?"
"No," I say, then add. "Well, that is, almost nobody. Certainly no Talentless'."
Smiles from the elders. Crawford visibly relaxes. It doesn't matter that the others don't like us, the elders aren't worried.
"This is your new....ah....protégé?" she asks. They've heard to story. Of course they have, nobody gets out of RosenKruez after only a year, but I did. Strings were pulled, rules were bent, and now I'm the first new member of his field team.
"Yes, Ma'am." He said. "I wanted to train him....independently. There are some side effects that Rosenkruez has that I don't want on my own team members."
A nod. "We're sending you off to Japan for a few years. We believe that you will work best there. Your car will be sent over too, and when you are ready for a new team member, we will send over a plane to take you back to Rosenkruez for you to decide."
"You are dismissed," one of the others says.
He likes this too. He likes getting away with almost anything. That he can wiggle with way out of any mess. And that he can pull as many strings as he needs to, to get exactly what he wants. Every time.
%%%%
Notes: Yeah. This was a bit of randomness from me. I can't even remember where I came up with the Autobahn idea.
Btw, Schu is about fifteen or sixteen in this.
He likes when he shoots somebody. He doesn't do it often. Perhaps he just has to get to the first step of confirming that he intends to shoot them, or perhaps he doesn't give himself too much of a good thing, lest he grow bored with it. But I do know that he does like it; he feels powerful when he draws the trigger, knows he has the person's life in his hands.
He likes being the driver of the car. He knows that he's in control of what happens that way. You wouldn't think it, but he's what some might call a "reckless driver". I guess it isn't recklessness, because he hasn't gotten us killed, or even scraped, yet. He'll cut you off in a moment, because he knows exactly when he can. He can See that stuff. With a capitol "s".
He likes driving as fast as he can get away with. I hear him mutter, "Dirt bag", as we pull up alongside a car that looks like it'll break down in a moment. He then speeds up farther, and cuts the guy off. He likes passing Mr. Porsche, showing the guy in the fancy sports car that he's bigger and better and more powerful. At this point we're going 110 mph, by his American car. And now we're racing Mr. Porsche down the Autobahn, and gaining speed.
I grip the sides of my seat as I see us heading straight at a policeman.
"Hey," I say, "what's the point of having policemen here?"
"Why don't you tell me?"
Of course. This is exactly like him. He sets me to an exercise as he's racing down the highway. I'm only able to catch a glimpse of what Mr. Policeman is thinking before we're gone.
"I couldn't," I tell him. "We were going too fast."
A smirk. And then he's cutting off Mr. Porsche, who blasts his horn just as we hit an exit. I turn to see that he's skidded a little, and I stick my tounge out and grin.
"That wasn't very nice," he comments.
"Since when were we nice people?"
A smug look. He likes that. He knows it's true, and he knows that's how we like it best. Being nice never got either of us anywhere.
We've pulled up to a large stone building. An Esset faculty. We're led to a room with light blue walls and a large couch and several armchairs. Three old people are sitting on the couch, and I know they're the elders. For some reason they've taken a particular interest in him. Several Esset administrators are sitting in the armchairs.
"You're early," one says.
Crawford glances at his watch. "I didn't want to waste any time."
"Most would be back for another hour, nonetheless. Unless you found a way to get here extra quickly."
They're looking at us suspiciously. We did do the job, we just got it done rather painlessly. I can't help myself. "It was Mr. Porsche's fault, anyway," I mutter.
"Oh?" One of the elders has spoken up. "Why is that?"
I look up from the floor to see Crawford looking at me somewhat apprehensively. It's a look that says 'Don't fuck this up'.
I smirk and say, "He decided to show Crawford who was boss."
The old lady laughs. "And nobody tells Crawford who's boss, right?"
"No," I say, then add. "Well, that is, almost nobody. Certainly no Talentless'."
Smiles from the elders. Crawford visibly relaxes. It doesn't matter that the others don't like us, the elders aren't worried.
"This is your new....ah....protégé?" she asks. They've heard to story. Of course they have, nobody gets out of RosenKruez after only a year, but I did. Strings were pulled, rules were bent, and now I'm the first new member of his field team.
"Yes, Ma'am." He said. "I wanted to train him....independently. There are some side effects that Rosenkruez has that I don't want on my own team members."
A nod. "We're sending you off to Japan for a few years. We believe that you will work best there. Your car will be sent over too, and when you are ready for a new team member, we will send over a plane to take you back to Rosenkruez for you to decide."
"You are dismissed," one of the others says.
He likes this too. He likes getting away with almost anything. That he can wiggle with way out of any mess. And that he can pull as many strings as he needs to, to get exactly what he wants. Every time.
%%%%
Notes: Yeah. This was a bit of randomness from me. I can't even remember where I came up with the Autobahn idea.
Btw, Schu is about fifteen or sixteen in this.