The early morning sun streamed in through the windows at the other side of the living room, warming the slight chill of the air conditioning and casting golden light across the delicate planes of Farfarello's face. He was sprawled across the couch on his stomach, one arm curled around the small pillow and holding it under his head, the other dangling, the backs of his fingers brushing the floor. A light knit blanket was draped over his hips, and thick scars criss-crossed his muscled back.
Sabbath held a bowl of cocoa puffs close to her chin and wolfed them down hungrily. She had never mastered graceful or genteel eating, though she always managed not to spit food at anyone or make grotesque noises. In short, she ate like a boy, with earnest speed and narrow focus. Her tongue caught drops of milk, turned dark by the chocolate balls, before they could fall on the floor or her hoody. Not that she particularly cared; tile was easy to wipe clean, after all, and the entire point of this particular sweatshirt was that it could get stained with absolutely anything at all and she would not try to prevent it.
Oddly enough, she spilled less on this sweatshirt than on the ones she DID care about keeping clean. But that was the law of the universe.
She watched Farfarello sleep, having stirred to consciousness just ten minutes prior, head and arms in his lap, the way she'd fallen asleep. Sometime during the night, he'd used her body as a pillow, and now that she was out from under, he was stretched out across the length of the couch.
After lengthy deliberation, she had decided that Farfarello was not insane and neither was she. Non-linear, certainly, but how did one define madness? There were so many afflictions and so many causes that it seemed a difficult thing at best to pin any one of them down. And in order to declare a mind deviant, a standard needed to be established; but every human being was different, so how could such a standard be determined? Farf was less sane than she was but more sane than Jeffrey Dahmer? She was more sane than Farf was but less sane than most of her high school classmates? But they were just as fucked up as she was in their own ways. How did a fascination with her shadow self make her somehow more fucked up? She had done nothing to them to deserve their scorn. They had ostracized her because she was different. Of course, at one point, she had snapped and started fighting back, but before then… before junior high, before she found her backbone, she had kept quietly to herself, sequestered with her vampire books in the back of the room.
Psychosis – the loss of the ability to tell the difference between fantasy and reality.
Insanity – when one's mental state affects one's work and one's relationships.
Her psychosis hadn't hurt anyone. Their thoughtless teasing, their callous disregard for her feelings, had hurt her deeply. Who was insane here, who was wrong in the head?
An ye harm none….
And nobody ever seemed to understand that they didn't have to hurt each other. They could live and let live, and if they didn't like her, they could keep her at arms length. But they did not have to seek her out. They did not have to make up names, songs, and sordid jokes. Children were cruel, and it was said that the true determiner of the character of any race was the behavior of its children. They could IGNORE her but they had refused and when she had fought back, she had gone from being a freak to being a freaky bitch. It wasn't fair, but such was life.
No, life was fair. It was people who weren't fair.
"And I still don't know what happened to you," she said, shaking her head as she let the bowl lower, the cocoa puffs having been ravenously consumed. A few drops of milk were left in the bottom of the bowl, dark against the off-white ceramics. "But people did it. People always do it. So what did they do to you, that made you this?"
Pain made itself known in her chest and Sabbath shook her head wryly. Every once in a while, she had what she called a 'hero' moment, when she felt acutely the weight of the sufferings of the world and wanted nothing more than to heal it, to fix things. So much was wrong. There was SO much pain. Centuries, millennia, billions of years of built-up angst. It was times like this, when she felt so much like crying and hugging everyone who crossed her path, that she felt incredibly close to Gaia. The earth-mother and the creator, the womb of all life, Gaia was a loving mother who's flesh was scarred as humans cut trees and spilled oil into the oceans. As her children hurt themselves, they hurt her, but she didn't rage or hate. Instead, she cried and reached out to them and wanted only to make everything right again.
Sabbath pressed a hand to her chest. The piercing ache just wouldn't go away.
It had all started with the first Discontent, she knew. Whether it was Adam and Eve in the garden or humanity rising from apes didn't matter. Somewhere along the line, humanity had gained the ability to realize that they were not whole, and they had become discontent. And so they had reached for the stars and dug into the earth and begun to pull themselves up from the mire of innocence. And Pride had followed soon after, convincing these humans that they did not need to respect the earth, that they were the masters, the dominant race.
Her connection to the earth was intimate and all-pervading. For dust we are and to dust we will return. And she felt caught up in it now, wondering if healing was even possible, or if the long road of redemption was worth attempting. Could she heal? She hadn't yet, though at times she forgot her pain and her rage. And what about someone broken so deeply and so cleanly as, say, Farfarello? Could he find peace? Should she even try to take him there? The perfect trust of a child was a terrible thing to betray, but the lesson it had taught him had been duly learned. And what of those who had wounded him? He hadn't told her, so she didn't even know.
Some said that people looked innocent when asleep, as if the cares of the world were lifted from their faces, making them younger and happier. Farfarello just looked inexplicably, incredibly beautiful, but his pain was too deeply ingrained. Even if the years did vanish from his face, Sabbath mused, the scars did not.
"You know, if you're going to harbor sugary thoughts about our resident psychopathic serial killer, you could have the decency to keep them to yourself," Schuldich muttered as he appeared at the other side of the living room, in a t-shirt and sweatpants, hair unbound and riotous. The sunlight caught it and set it on fire, making him a shining devil almost painful to look directly at.
Sabbath shook her head. "All right then. Teach me how to shield."
Schu paused and eyed her. "I'm sorry, what?"
She gave him an annoyed look. "If it's such an irritation to you to have to listen to me all the time, and if for some reason, you just can't be bothered to put up shields against ME, teach me to shield myself. Then you won't hear my thoughts, and … well, you won't hear my thoughts, so we'll both get what we want."
He snickered and moved past her into the kitchen, stopping for just a moment to cast an admiring eye at Farfarello's lithely muscled form. "Do I look like a kindergarten teacher?" he inquired silkily. "By the way, how was YOUR night? Have fun desecrating the couch? I'm impressed… you don't even look ruffled. And I can certainly attest to Farf's stamina." He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer, opening it with a twist of his fingers.
Sabbath rolled her eyes. "Reign in that mind of yours, Schu, before you lose it. You and I both know that a chaste time was had by all."
"Mmmm…." Schuldich smirked and leaned against the fridge, taking a sip of his beer and watching her through heavy lashes. "Then what were you up too, witchlaran? A bit of blood on the shower floor this morning."
"I'm sure you'll read about it in the papers," Sabbath said, shrugging boredly. "In any case, if you want a play-by-play, you can take it from my memories because I don't feel like talking you through it."
He snorted. "Now there's something I don't see every day… someone who's willing to let me dive into their thoughts. Who knows what I'll find when I'm in there. Are you sure you want to tempt me?" His smile was quicksilver and she returned it.
"There's nothing in there I haven't already seen," she told him matter-of-factly. "Maybe you're the one afraid of what demons you might uncover if you dig a little too deep." She turned to face him, setting her bowl down on the counter and for an instant stepping into him, hip to waist. "I'm on good terms with my demons, Schu, but you never know. They might eat YOU alive."
He snickered and leaned closer, tilting his head as though he might kiss her. She continued to smirk up at him, eyes dark, not at all cowed. "Your pathetic spooks are nothing to me," he purred. "I have been inside the bowels of ESZET. I have suffered torture that would snap your mind in two. For years I heard the voice of every creature within a ten mile radius in my head. What do you think you have that's so dark, and so painful, it could beat that? And I'm not afraid to dive into your thoughts, liebchen. You might be loud and annoying, but there's always something going on in there." A slender finger tapped Sabbath's forehead between her eyebrows. "And you're a lot less inane than most people."
"In other words, I'm interesting." She smirked. "Well, that makes two of us. And honestly, Schu, I don't care if you fuck around in my mind. But quit trying to turn my own mind against me. We're very close, my pain and I, and you're not going to turn us against each other. It's been us against the world for a very long time… something I'm sure you can understand."
He chuckled, breath brushing wisps of dark hair back from her pale, but olive-hinted skin. "Of course I understand. But what does it matter? You're close to the beast inside you… that just makes you more of a challenge. The every-day man is a pushover, my dear. But you... you are several years of entertainment." He raised his eyes and they glinted slyly. "Who knows? Maybe you'll become something like Farf, when you finally devour yourself from the inside."
"That doesn't scare me. But then again… I could always end up like you. A puppet-master just as hollow as his puppets." She slipped to the side, away from him, breaking the near-embrace. "And I wouldn't plan on years of entertainment just yet, Schu."
Schuldich rolled his eyes, then narrowed them suddenly as he caught a flash of some jagged thought from her. Turning slightly, he sent in a mental probe, digging deeper, brushing aside random other thoughts as he followed it all the way back to her subconscious where she'd been hiding it.
Thus, the connection was wide open when she pulled back and, once again, SHRIEKED into his mind.
Letting out a yelp, Schu clapped his hands over his ears and flung up shields, but then the shriek ended. He glared at her, but he'd lost the thread, and the thought was lost in waves of wry triumph from Sabbath.
"And here I thought you didn't care if I poked around in your head," he murmured, collecting himself. "So the pretty little black kitten has a weakness after all…."
She shook her head and left the kitchen, retreating to her bedroom to do whatever witches did.
Schuldich watched her with narrowed eyes. He had tasted something forbidden and now he was hungry. And she'd dropped him a hint, intentionally. Which meant she wanted him to find out sooner or later.
I wouldn't plan on years of entertainment just yet.
Shaking his head, he sighed and effected a put-upon air as he collapsed into one of the armchairs and crossed one long leg over the other, brushing strands of flame-like hair back from his face. "Ne, Farf, you have the oddest taste in lovers."
"I've slept with you," Farfarello pointed out, single golden eye opening to burn into Schuldich, though he didn't move a muscle.
Schuldich grinned. "I know. And quite the experience it's been, too. Honestly, though, I have a hard time understanding what you see in that girl. She's sweet honey to a telepath, but you're not that."
Farfarello yawned, cat-like, and rolled onto his back. "She never stops working," he said, "up here." A single finger tapped his own forehead, where Schu had tapped Sabbath's. "She reminds me of you."
"Don't insult me," Schuldich sneered. "I am a thousand times more interesting AND more wicked than that girl. She's not even a Psion. She's a… a non-psi. Her mind is unbelievably cluttered and there's no order at all." He let out a short chuckle. "Come to think of it, she reminds ME of YOU."
Farfarello smirked. "But you like me."
"Because you keep your thoughts to yourself and you don't talk HALF so much as she does," Schu pointed out. "Maybe if she'd learn to shut up, I'd like her better."
"Or maybe you just have no respect for women, since so many of them so willingly degrade themselves for a few minutes of pleasure at your hands," Farfarello proposed.
Schuldich sat up. "Don't mistake me," he said quietly, dangerously. "If I wanted her, I could give her mind one little twist and she'd bend over. She's no different from the rest of them."
"She is," Farfarello disagreed. "And you'd have to shatter her to do it. She wouldn't give in, not like the others. She isn't a weak mind."
"What DO you see in her anyway?" he demanded, irritated. "Don't tell me she's interesting. I know that, but I don't want to fuck her." He paused and thought about that. "Well actually… she is cute. But her personality is a definite turn-off."
Farfarello snickered. "You'd fuck her in a heartbeat, Schu, if she let you. It's always a contest between the two of you and if you thought you could establish dominance in bed, you'd try it. As for what I see in her… she looks, she listens, and she understands. She doesn't hide from what she sees even if it's grotesque. She doesn't pass judgment on others' worth. She is not shallow. And most of all, everything she is and everything she does is entirely and essentially TRUE. She knows herself." That single golden eye flicked toward the sunlit windows. "Even you don't entirely know yourself, Schuldich. You lose yourself in others and then the boundaries start to blur. You are layers and layers of complexity without a stable core. She has a core. I have seen it where it sits, deep inside her, and the maelstrom that is her thoughts and emotions just orbits it. Sabbath is a typhoon built upon a rock."
"A core of sanity, is that what you're saying?" Schuldich demanded, lighting a cigarette and dragging deeply on it as he too looked toward the window. "You'll drag her down with you. You know that, don't you?"
Farfarello shrugged. "I don't intend to use her as a life raft and I don't intend to cling to her as some sort of 'last vestige of sanity'. But I have had enough lies over the years. It is nice to have some truth." He tilted his head back thoughtfully. "You said thoughts taste like honey. So does she."
"I hate honey," Schuldich pointed out, and Farfarello smirked.
"I know you do. But that doesn't make its sweetness any less addictive."
There was the creaking of an opening door and Brad Crawford stepped into the living room, already dressed (in jeans and an untucked dress shirt, which cause Schuldich's jaw to drop), clean shaven, and smug-looking. He had a small duffle bag over one shoulder and ignored the both of them, heading straight for the coffeepot.
"Well, chain me up and fuck me with a cucumber," Schuldich said to his back. "I didn't realize you had 'casual day', Brad." He noted the duffle bag and smirked, stretching out in the chair and taking another swig of his beer. "Going somewhere?"
As the machine began to gurgle, Crawford turned and leaned back against the counter, folding his arms across his chest and smirking quietly at Schuldich. "Actually, it's come to my attention that my swordplay has grown rusty. I thought a little practice might be in order. If you need me, for some reason, I will have my cell phone with me. But do me the courtesy of not disturbing me unless it's Takatori, or something else important."
"Came to your attention, eh?" Schu mimicked, teeth flashing. "How does something like that 'come to your attention', Brad? Don't tell me you got your ass kicked by a college student."
Crawford didn't answer that, choosing instead to walk to the front door, open it, and pick up the newspaper lying just outside. Farf watched him languidly, then sat up abruptly.
Schuldich laughed. "Uh-oh, Farfie, did you and the little koneko get yourselves into trouble?"
Crawford eyed them both as he swung the door shut and pulled the paper from its plastic sleeve. "I thought I told you to be on you best behavior."
Farfarello shrugged. "Only two murders in the ten days we've been here IS me on my best behavior."
Hiking an eyebrow, Crawford slowly unrolled the paper and scanned the front page, then opened it and looked through the next few sections. "Well, well. Should I commend you on your discretion?"
"Nah, it's only the morning paper," Sabbath told him as she emerged. "They probably missed the first copy." She shot Farfarello a grin, which he returned. "Oy, Farf, since you're my official bodyguard, get a shirt on or something. I've got to go out and see some people." She had changed clothes, and was now clad worn jeans and a black halter top that tied together behind her back. A set of sunglasses was hooked into her top, in the crease of her breasts. She had her purse over her shoulder and looked more than ready to go out somewhere.
Crawford gave her a look of genteel curiosity. "Might I ask what's so urgent?"
"If we're going to organize any sort of joint effort between the Inconnu cells and Schwarz, I'm going to have to get the cooperation of all the local cell leaders. The call went out several days ago and I just got word that Raven's Gleaning is in town. They're the last ones in, so I need to see them and set up a meeting with you so you can convince them Eszet isn't going to royally fuck us over." She smirked at Crawford. "Which, I know, doesn't necessarily mean that Eszet WON'T fuck us over… but you still need to convince them either way. They're liable to think I'm a sell-out anyway, at least, I know Ice and Jake will. Rel might be a little more understanding, but then again, Rel isn't afraid of Eszet." She stepped aside as Farfarello passed by her, headed for his room.
Crawford nodded. "Good. Since Schu will be accompanying Takatori for the time being…"
Schuldich made a face.
"… My schedule is mostly open. I'm going out myself, but I'll have my cell phone with me. Farfarello knows the number. Please call me if and when you work something out."
"Yep," she agreed readily. "Don't party too hard."
He glanced heavenward, biting back a smile of wry amusement, nodded politely to her, and stepped out of the apartment, the door latching quietly behind him.
"Well, I might have underestimated your intelligence," Schuldich admitted gallantly as Sabbath waited for Farfarello to reappear. "At least you understand that no matter what they promised, Eszet WILL fuck you over."
Her smile was tight, and he was instantly on alert, scanning her thoughts closely. He thought he caught a flicker of something and quickly set about following it.
"I know they will. But we Inconnu have survived Eszet before, we'll survive them again."
Even if I don't.
Schu blinked as he found that thought, held it up, and tried to examine its angles, but Sabbath seemed to know he was poking around in her head and she quickly set up a cacophony of noise to distract him. It wouldn't have worked, except that she threw a picture at him of Brad Crawford on the receiving end of a biker gang's amorous attentions, and as he was trying to brush it aside while simultaneously laughing his ass off at the thought, Farfarello emerged and Sabbath's mental stream abruptly shut down and took up a new train.
"Let's go," she said quickly, and bolted out the door. Farfarello blinked and fell in step behind her.
Schuldich watched the door close and sat, pondering. He was getting brief flashes from Sabbath now, and he was certain they were intentional. She dangled a secret in front of him and yanked it back when he bit. And when he chased it, she set up interference. Was she just fucking with him? No… something was weighing heavily on her mind. She saw something dark in her own future, something that had to do with The One and with Eszet. And dropping hints to Schuldich was… was…
A cry for help.
"Hey, did everyone else already leave?"
It was Nagi, emerging from his bedroom dressed but rumpled after having spent all night on his computer again. His eyes were slightly red, and Schu was willing to bet the youth would go blind before his fiftieth birthday.
"Ja," he murmured absently, waving a hand. "Brad went to shadow-fence and Sabbath took Farfarello with her to meet the family. Since they're so CLOSE now." He grinned at the look of mild consternation on Nagi's face.
As Nagi went to fix himself a bowl of cereal, Schuldich continued to think. Why drop hints to HIM, of all people? Wouldn't Farfarello be the likely choice? The madman was already fond of her. No, more than fond. During their talk this morning, Schu had detected something even deeper than affection beginning to saturate his thoughts. Schu was rather certain that Farfarello would take offense if someone decided to hurt Sabbath now, though both of them were fiercely independent. So why not enlist him?
Perhaps she wasn't able to talk about it, which was why she was making Schuldich chase it into her mind. She wanted to him to FIND OUT… if she'd wanted to tell someone, he realized, she would have just done it. She didn't mince words. She was trying to let him know indirectly, passively.
Something very weird was going on here. He was the only telepath, so it made sense that he was the only one who could riffle through her thoughts, but why would she even consider trying to get his aid, even in such a roundabout fashion? Surely she didn't think that, even if something WAS wrong, he'd offer his assistance?
He shook the thoughts out of his head and concentrated on his alcoholic breakfast. If something was wrong with Sabbath, she'd keep playing this little mental game and he'd continue to pursue whatever she was keeping out of his reach. And when he knew what was going on, THEN he would decide whether it was worth his time or not.
Leaning back and stretching out, Schuldich eyed the coffee table and smirked.
"Hey Nagi, up for a game of checkers?"
X-X-X
Cross reclined comfortably in his seat at a little outdoor café in Greenwich, the awning behind him along with a set of expensive sunglasses shading him from the worst of the sun. It had turned into an oppressively muggy day with only hints of breezy relief, and sunset-red hair stuck to the back of his neck as a drop of sweat trickled down between his shoulder blades. He wore a very light white t-shirt and loose jeans, with sandals, but even in such light clothing he was sweltering. The tall glass of iced tea he was nursing only mildly helped.
Calan, in khaki shorts and a similarly colored Year of the Dragon t-shirt, pulled out the opposite metal chair with a scrape and sat down. Cross broke into a grin as Calan smirked, pulling his tarot deck from his pocket and shuffling it over the wrought-iron table.
"So," Cross began nonchalantly, "how'd it go with Crawford?"
Calan nodded thoughtfully. "Pretty well. He's formidable." He spread the cars out in a smooth arch and then swept them back up again to shuffle some more.
"How formidable?" Cross flagged down a waitress and prodded Calan to order a lemonade.
Calan smirked. "Well, he lost all three matches, but the third one was almost a tie, and he never lost by much. Best opponent I've had in… well, best opponent I've had since the last time I sparred with you."
"I'm sure you were in upper-class snob heaven," Cross chuckled. "How'd you manage to score on him, though?"
"Being precognitive doesn't automatically make you fast enough to react to what you see," Calan said absently, thumbing a card free from the deck and setting it down. "I was faster and that's all there is to it. So how did you do with the telepath? No, don't tell me…" He flipped the card over and smirked, plucking it off the table and flashing it at Cross. "The Magician… you sweet-talked your way into his bed, didn't you?"
Cross flushed slightly and grinned at his shoes.
Calan shook his head and sighed dramatically. "Why am I NOT surprised?" Reshuffling his deck, he watched Cross with teasing amusement.
"Yeah, well, I could have told you that," the redhead said cheerfully, leaning forward and propping his elbows on the table. "Why don't you try something useful? Like doing a reading on our immediate future?" His tone turned serious.
Calan shook his head. "Already done, but I can't make heads or tails of the results. And since you know next to nothing about tarot, I somehow doubt you're going to be much help."
Cross looked affronted. "Hey. I'm not an idiot. Tell me what you got and then at least there will be two of us thinking it over."
Calan shrugged and spread the deck again, laying a card on the table. He shuffled for a moment, picked out another card, and placed it above that card. Repeating this process, he soon had an equal-armed cross laid out on the table containing five cards. He flipped the right-hand one over. "This is the card that stands for the future. Two of Swords… it stands for conflict in which you can't win, you can only balance between the two forces. It means compromise, in essence. I understand that, because I've been considering compromising with Schwarz… and I KNOW you are."
Cross shrugged. "I choose not to judge as Kritiker judges. Schuldich is a devil, no doubt about that, but does he do anything worse than what we do? And personally, he doesn't strike me as Eszet canon anymore than we're common Kritiker stock."
"Precisely," Calan said, nodding and flipping over the middle card. "This one's the present. It can represent either us or the situation in which we currently find ourselves. Last time I turned it, it was the seven of cups, which indicated that we had a choice in front of us we'd rather not make. Now…" he tapped the card. "It's the Hermit. Which I think represents us, symbolizing that without Kritiker's knowledge or approval, we've decided to make our choices based on our own wisdom, retreating from the rest of the world to do what we believe is right."
Cross nodded, eyeing the cards as Calan flipped them. "So. Is there a way to get a clearer reading on the future?"
Calan shrugged. "Let's explore the rest of this first. Forces acting in opposition to us." He flipped the card closest to Cross. "This is The Moon, reversed… the same card I drew the last time, along with the Two of Swords. It stands for secrets, lies, and subtle darkness as well as mystery. A certain primal regression is symbolized by the wolves," he said, pointing to the gray animals painted on the card. "It means there's a LOT about this situation we don't know, and we're wandering blindly into the middle of a situation we don't understand."
Cross's brow furrowed. "Seems straightforward to me."
"Then who is the girl?" Calan asked pointedly. "And why is she with them?"
Cross hiked an eyebrow, then nodded gravely, accepting Calan's interpretation.
"So. Forces working for us: Strength." He smirked. "This is actually the other card, along with the Magician, that reminds me of you. It stands for strength of will rather than strength of body. The image is of a maiden gently shutting a lion's mouth, and indicates that it will be through dogged and GENTLE persistence that we have a chance of a favorable outcome."
"So no killing," Cross said with a grin, and Calan nodded.
"No killing." He shuffled the deck again as he lifted an eye to Cross. "I won't bother turning over the Past card, since we know what's behind us already. But here's a card for the far future, and hopefully the eventual outcome." He fingered the cards and then slapped one down, flipping it over and going still, except for his fingers. They found the gilt edge of the card and flipped it upward, so Cross could see.
"Okay," Cross said quietly. "I might not know much about Tarot, but even I know that The Tower is a very bad thing."
"Wait," Calan said, holding up a finger even as he shuffled his deck one-handedly. He pulled one final card and laid it down, and they both looked at it. "The Chariot."
"So." Cross said quietly. "Explain it to me."
"Something is going to go wrong. Some flash of truth… see the lightening striking the tower?... is going to bring our preconceptions crashing down and engage us in a terrible struggle. What was built will become rubble and there will be loss, but for us… for us PERSONALLY, and remember, the Two of Swords indicated balance between at least two forces, there will be eventual, hard-won victory or peace."
"Well, that's good to know," Cross said, "but it brings up more questions than it answers."
Calan shrugged and swept his cards up. "I know. That's almost always the case in divination. But we'll need to find those answers for ourselves, which means some further investigating is in order."
Cross nodded quietly. "I'll see what I can do, but it's harder than you think, purposefully NOT thinking about certain things. Even though I'm good at it. It's like trying to not think of a pink elephant…"
"I suppose I could come out and ASK Crawford," Calan mused. "But that man's a plotter. I'd never be reassured that he was being entirely straightforward with me."
Cross snorted. "Look, Cal, if Crawford is a plotter, Schuldich is the devil. The man's been abused to the point where he has absolutely no regard for others. Every living being around him is a tool for him to use. I don't know that I CAN get him to be honest, at least, not without revealing myself."
Calan shrugged. "Lies, secrets, and mysteries. But gentleness, combined with strength of will, will shut the lion's mouth. Pardon me for saying so, but if there's anyone alive who could smooth this situation over… it's a certain unfailingly gentle, silver-tongued redhead."
Cross sighed. "All right, all right, I'll see what I can do. But I'm not making any promises."
"I don't expect any."
They smiled wryly at each other, and then Calan stood. He always seemed to have somewhere to be, and now was no exception, and he saluted Cross as he turned away.
"I'll see you."
Cross nodded. "Yeah, see you at the guillotine."
Calan paused in mid-step, considering. "No, it's really more of a crucible," he said sagely.
"One cuts, the other burns," Cross shot back. "They both hurt."
"True. But the difference is in what follows the pain." He vanished in the light crowd, leaving Cross to finish his tea and lay down a five dollar bill.
"Except that I'm not afraid of death," he mused, "and not interested in perfection."
Oh well. It would be interesting, at least, to see what they'd managed to get themselves into this time. In any case, he needed to get his things together.
It was time to track down Schuldich.
X-X-X