Disclaimer: Not. Mine.
Midnight Garden
Chapter Four
by Kye
Crawford was itching to kill, itchinger than I had expected. As soon as I was up and around, which didn't take long, he was up and waving weapons at me. When he wasn't talking about gorey murder, albeit classy gorey murder, he was- yuck- fussing.
"Are you ready? Can you handle it?" he asked me, four dozen times and counting.
"Yes, Brad, I'm fine, just like last time you asked." He would pout at me in a manly way, drop it for five minutes, and then do the whole thing over again. The annoyance factor kind of faded after we hit two hundred.
Somewhere in the middle of his fidgeting, we managed to come up with a plan. It was pretty basic: 1. enter their house. 2. kill them. 3. leave their house. We were fairly confident in it. There wasn't much you could do to screw it up, besides dying, and once you were dead it wouldn't much matter. So once we had our plan, and lots of weapons, we went out to find some blood.
It was dark, which was fitting, and the night was frozen. Weiss was quiet. They hadn't come up with any new plans to kill us, and they hadn't found anyone else to practice on. So when we first saw them, they were sitting around in their basement livingroom with a deck of cards spread between them.
"Kiddy games," Nagi muttered, lying flat against the frost-frozen grass to see through the window.
"It would be much more fun if they bet on their lives. 'Oh! Bad hand!' Goodbye, head." Farfarello ran his tongue over his canines.
"No matter," I said. "They'll die either way." He smiled at me, his scary predator smile. I was sincerely glad it wasn't aimed at me. I hoped not, anyway.
Crawford flapped his hand at us to make us shut up.
"Do you want them to know we're coming?" he asked, sincerely interested.
"Only at the last second," Farfarello answered.
"Then shut your mouths. You can talk later."
"In a room with four corpses," added Nagi softly. He was thinking gruesome thoughts again. He did that sometimes, and when he did, I wasn't sure they weren't more gruesome than what Farfarello always thought. Of course, no one else thought twice about what he said, because he didn't elaborate. Not out loud, anyway. In his head, he was as imaginative as they come, and the pictures he painted were not pretty. If Brad could have seen he would have been proud.
"Yes," said Crawford. "Let's go, please." Nagi shrugged. The thoughts of blood slipped sandlike to the back of his brain, into the dark places, and he concentrated on his job.
He curled his fingers into the snow, staring intently at the window. Slowly the hooks rose, and the glass rode free, holding in place two inches from the frame. Brad reached into his coat and pulled out a thin metal cylinder, then dropped it through the open window. It stayed in freefall for less then a foot, and stopped short, making the rest of its journey to the floor in controlled silence. Not even when it touched down did it clink. Nagi brought his attention back to the floating window, drawing it back in to place and latching it without a hitch. He relaxed and took a row of deep breaths.
"Perfect," said Crawford as Nagi stood. "Let us continue." Nagi rubbed his eyes.
"That was some expensive insurance," he muttered from below his hands.
"You've got more than enough energy to pay for it," said Brad. "Don't whine." Nagi dropped his hands and shut up, and we followed Crawford.
For us, the doors opened and the floorboards didn't creak. The light from the basement was plenty to lead us. As we came to the steps, the only noise was the fwap of plastic coated cards hitting a plastic coated table. The players didn't look up. They were much too busy pretending to like their game to notice ours.
Our name was for a reason. We crept up in blackness, while the white sat looking at nothing in foolish confidence.
I heard Farfarello's thoughts: blood. Beautiful, rushing blood, freed from its man-shaped cage. Euphoria filled him, and threatened to overcome me as well, as a blade slipped into his hand. He would spill it. It would be his.
"God won't cry over you," he whispered. Ran Fujimiya's head shot up. He searched the shadows for us as his fingers searched for his katana. They found it on the couch, and drew it, poised in front of him. The others looked confused for some seconds, which, in Ken's case, was some seconds too long.
He blinked up from the floor, leaning on the wall against which Nagi had just thrown him. Ken was somewhat dazed. Nagi was somewhat armed. He walked deliberately to the wall, pulled out a handgun, and calmly fired. Ken slumped and his eyes glazed over.
"Goal," said Nagi.
Brad had gotten ahold of Youji.
"Blondes are usually my type," he said. "Unfortunately, you are not a woman, and I want to kill you." Youji searched with stumbling fingers, and found very quickly that his trusty, shiny, killing-string wasn't where it should have been. And that was because Brad had it.
Where Brad had it was around Youji's neck. Tight. Not tight enough to kill. That was why he had the knife.
"Never, if it is avoidable, kill with a weapon you don't know," he advised, and thrust the wide blade in an upward arch that caught just beneath the breastbone. "It's not dependable," Brad continued, as though he didn't notice Youji's anguished eyes. "A familiar weapon, however-" Youji stared at the knife, and then stared at Crawford, eyes focusing and unfocusing. Crawford freed his blade with brisk yank "-is." Youji let loose the kind of whimper a Schnauzer makes when a potbellied pig sits on it, and fell to the floor with a lumpy sort of thump.
"Lucky they won't have to worry about cleaning bills," I said, looking at the blood pooling around Crawford's prey. Brad shrugged his agreement, and turned his head. I followed his gaze to where Farfarello was playing Fujimiya. Farfarello was winning, but it didn't look as though his opponent knew that. He was fighting like he thought he would win. Sure, he got some blood, but only because Farfarello wanted to bleed. There was a smile on one face, which should have been Ran's first clue. But then, Weiss always was clueless.
Sure of his victory, Ran stabbed forward...only to find his enemy not there.
"Silly kitten," Farfarello breathed in his ear. Before Ran could fully turn his head, Farfarello twisted his foot around Ran's and dumped him to the floor. Sword raised and -CRACK- it broke through bone and muscle and everything in between. Ran wriggled, and gurgled a little, and stilled. Farfarello pulled back the blade and slowly, ecstatically, licked away the blood.
"You know, you can get diseases that way," said Crawford. Farfarello spared him a disdainful, catlike glance.
"From Fujimiya?" I snorted. "Yeah, right. Guy couldn't get laid if a whore bit him in the ass."
"Not now, anyway," Nagi said with a small smile. We all paused to think about this happy thought. If he couldn't get laid, he couldn't have children, which, I thought, was lucky for humanity. Not that I should be one to talk.
I felt our minds change focus, all at the same time. Of one accord, we turned on the one piece of Weiss cake that thought we were to full to munch it.
"Omi-kun," I said with a smile. "Nice to see you again. We've had some good times, huh? I guess I just can't stay away." He got paler and paler as I spoke, and he'd must have invested in a vacuum packer, because he seemed to have shrunk to about a third of his normal size. He looked rapidly from me to the darker shadows around me, unable to decide which was worst. I could feel the others' minds snaking in deadly coils. If I hadn't recovered by then, I was healed on the spot. It's so beautiful to know that you have friends who are willing to maul by your side.
Farfarello looked at Omi in his lazy-dangerous way, his elbow resting on my shoulder as he played at the ends of my hair.
Omi stuttered.
"It was revenge. I deserved it. You deserved it. You killed her. Killed her. My sister. It was right. Right. One for one. And you're not even dead. It's even. It was--I--" His eyes darted to his dead companions.
"'One for one'," I said. "Interesting. Very Old Testament. You should talk to Farf about that. I'm sure he'd have a lot to say on it, although usually he prefers horrible, wracking death to sermons." Omi stared.
"You're wrong," Farfarello said to Omi, dropping my hair. "He didn't even kill her." His voice pitched up and became singsong. "He di-dn't kill her...stupid little kitten." Omi, at this point, was as white as an albino platypus.
"No."
"Um...yes, actually," said Nagi.
"Very sloppy," said Crawford. "Not even knowing who you want revenge against."
"No!"
"It was Farfarello," said Nagi.
"No..." he moaned quietly. Back into Angstlund. I wished Angstlund would lock him out. Say, sorry, you can't come in, you've been here too many times and you're making the natives suicidal. So sorry. Try the country next door, I hear they make a mean cheese pastry.
"Your mistake," I said. "I'd let it drop if you'd let me, but I know what a justice freak you are."
"I didn't know!" I laughed.
"Ain't that the story of the world! And hey, Newton's third law isn't there for nothing. Sorry, kid."
"No...no! NO!" I shrugged, drew a knife, and dove into his head. And this time, I was ready.
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Author's Notes: Yay! A nice gooey chapter. Don't worry, I have a couple things planned off of this one. Hey...how many people are really, really angry about what I just did to the title characters? Well, I'm just following reader orders. Someone said Schu could've killed them and Farf should've. Ta-da! ^^ Question: does this merit an R-rating, or am I still kiddy safe? *thinks* It would be funny if it were R, since that would mean, according to the ratings, that I can't read my own story without an adult...until next time! Oh- Newton's third law is the one about every action having an opposite reaction. ^^ get it?
Midnight Garden
Chapter Four
by Kye
Crawford was itching to kill, itchinger than I had expected. As soon as I was up and around, which didn't take long, he was up and waving weapons at me. When he wasn't talking about gorey murder, albeit classy gorey murder, he was- yuck- fussing.
"Are you ready? Can you handle it?" he asked me, four dozen times and counting.
"Yes, Brad, I'm fine, just like last time you asked." He would pout at me in a manly way, drop it for five minutes, and then do the whole thing over again. The annoyance factor kind of faded after we hit two hundred.
Somewhere in the middle of his fidgeting, we managed to come up with a plan. It was pretty basic: 1. enter their house. 2. kill them. 3. leave their house. We were fairly confident in it. There wasn't much you could do to screw it up, besides dying, and once you were dead it wouldn't much matter. So once we had our plan, and lots of weapons, we went out to find some blood.
It was dark, which was fitting, and the night was frozen. Weiss was quiet. They hadn't come up with any new plans to kill us, and they hadn't found anyone else to practice on. So when we first saw them, they were sitting around in their basement livingroom with a deck of cards spread between them.
"Kiddy games," Nagi muttered, lying flat against the frost-frozen grass to see through the window.
"It would be much more fun if they bet on their lives. 'Oh! Bad hand!' Goodbye, head." Farfarello ran his tongue over his canines.
"No matter," I said. "They'll die either way." He smiled at me, his scary predator smile. I was sincerely glad it wasn't aimed at me. I hoped not, anyway.
Crawford flapped his hand at us to make us shut up.
"Do you want them to know we're coming?" he asked, sincerely interested.
"Only at the last second," Farfarello answered.
"Then shut your mouths. You can talk later."
"In a room with four corpses," added Nagi softly. He was thinking gruesome thoughts again. He did that sometimes, and when he did, I wasn't sure they weren't more gruesome than what Farfarello always thought. Of course, no one else thought twice about what he said, because he didn't elaborate. Not out loud, anyway. In his head, he was as imaginative as they come, and the pictures he painted were not pretty. If Brad could have seen he would have been proud.
"Yes," said Crawford. "Let's go, please." Nagi shrugged. The thoughts of blood slipped sandlike to the back of his brain, into the dark places, and he concentrated on his job.
He curled his fingers into the snow, staring intently at the window. Slowly the hooks rose, and the glass rode free, holding in place two inches from the frame. Brad reached into his coat and pulled out a thin metal cylinder, then dropped it through the open window. It stayed in freefall for less then a foot, and stopped short, making the rest of its journey to the floor in controlled silence. Not even when it touched down did it clink. Nagi brought his attention back to the floating window, drawing it back in to place and latching it without a hitch. He relaxed and took a row of deep breaths.
"Perfect," said Crawford as Nagi stood. "Let us continue." Nagi rubbed his eyes.
"That was some expensive insurance," he muttered from below his hands.
"You've got more than enough energy to pay for it," said Brad. "Don't whine." Nagi dropped his hands and shut up, and we followed Crawford.
For us, the doors opened and the floorboards didn't creak. The light from the basement was plenty to lead us. As we came to the steps, the only noise was the fwap of plastic coated cards hitting a plastic coated table. The players didn't look up. They were much too busy pretending to like their game to notice ours.
Our name was for a reason. We crept up in blackness, while the white sat looking at nothing in foolish confidence.
I heard Farfarello's thoughts: blood. Beautiful, rushing blood, freed from its man-shaped cage. Euphoria filled him, and threatened to overcome me as well, as a blade slipped into his hand. He would spill it. It would be his.
"God won't cry over you," he whispered. Ran Fujimiya's head shot up. He searched the shadows for us as his fingers searched for his katana. They found it on the couch, and drew it, poised in front of him. The others looked confused for some seconds, which, in Ken's case, was some seconds too long.
He blinked up from the floor, leaning on the wall against which Nagi had just thrown him. Ken was somewhat dazed. Nagi was somewhat armed. He walked deliberately to the wall, pulled out a handgun, and calmly fired. Ken slumped and his eyes glazed over.
"Goal," said Nagi.
Brad had gotten ahold of Youji.
"Blondes are usually my type," he said. "Unfortunately, you are not a woman, and I want to kill you." Youji searched with stumbling fingers, and found very quickly that his trusty, shiny, killing-string wasn't where it should have been. And that was because Brad had it.
Where Brad had it was around Youji's neck. Tight. Not tight enough to kill. That was why he had the knife.
"Never, if it is avoidable, kill with a weapon you don't know," he advised, and thrust the wide blade in an upward arch that caught just beneath the breastbone. "It's not dependable," Brad continued, as though he didn't notice Youji's anguished eyes. "A familiar weapon, however-" Youji stared at the knife, and then stared at Crawford, eyes focusing and unfocusing. Crawford freed his blade with brisk yank "-is." Youji let loose the kind of whimper a Schnauzer makes when a potbellied pig sits on it, and fell to the floor with a lumpy sort of thump.
"Lucky they won't have to worry about cleaning bills," I said, looking at the blood pooling around Crawford's prey. Brad shrugged his agreement, and turned his head. I followed his gaze to where Farfarello was playing Fujimiya. Farfarello was winning, but it didn't look as though his opponent knew that. He was fighting like he thought he would win. Sure, he got some blood, but only because Farfarello wanted to bleed. There was a smile on one face, which should have been Ran's first clue. But then, Weiss always was clueless.
Sure of his victory, Ran stabbed forward...only to find his enemy not there.
"Silly kitten," Farfarello breathed in his ear. Before Ran could fully turn his head, Farfarello twisted his foot around Ran's and dumped him to the floor. Sword raised and -CRACK- it broke through bone and muscle and everything in between. Ran wriggled, and gurgled a little, and stilled. Farfarello pulled back the blade and slowly, ecstatically, licked away the blood.
"You know, you can get diseases that way," said Crawford. Farfarello spared him a disdainful, catlike glance.
"From Fujimiya?" I snorted. "Yeah, right. Guy couldn't get laid if a whore bit him in the ass."
"Not now, anyway," Nagi said with a small smile. We all paused to think about this happy thought. If he couldn't get laid, he couldn't have children, which, I thought, was lucky for humanity. Not that I should be one to talk.
I felt our minds change focus, all at the same time. Of one accord, we turned on the one piece of Weiss cake that thought we were to full to munch it.
"Omi-kun," I said with a smile. "Nice to see you again. We've had some good times, huh? I guess I just can't stay away." He got paler and paler as I spoke, and he'd must have invested in a vacuum packer, because he seemed to have shrunk to about a third of his normal size. He looked rapidly from me to the darker shadows around me, unable to decide which was worst. I could feel the others' minds snaking in deadly coils. If I hadn't recovered by then, I was healed on the spot. It's so beautiful to know that you have friends who are willing to maul by your side.
Farfarello looked at Omi in his lazy-dangerous way, his elbow resting on my shoulder as he played at the ends of my hair.
Omi stuttered.
"It was revenge. I deserved it. You deserved it. You killed her. Killed her. My sister. It was right. Right. One for one. And you're not even dead. It's even. It was--I--" His eyes darted to his dead companions.
"'One for one'," I said. "Interesting. Very Old Testament. You should talk to Farf about that. I'm sure he'd have a lot to say on it, although usually he prefers horrible, wracking death to sermons." Omi stared.
"You're wrong," Farfarello said to Omi, dropping my hair. "He didn't even kill her." His voice pitched up and became singsong. "He di-dn't kill her...stupid little kitten." Omi, at this point, was as white as an albino platypus.
"No."
"Um...yes, actually," said Nagi.
"Very sloppy," said Crawford. "Not even knowing who you want revenge against."
"No!"
"It was Farfarello," said Nagi.
"No..." he moaned quietly. Back into Angstlund. I wished Angstlund would lock him out. Say, sorry, you can't come in, you've been here too many times and you're making the natives suicidal. So sorry. Try the country next door, I hear they make a mean cheese pastry.
"Your mistake," I said. "I'd let it drop if you'd let me, but I know what a justice freak you are."
"I didn't know!" I laughed.
"Ain't that the story of the world! And hey, Newton's third law isn't there for nothing. Sorry, kid."
"No...no! NO!" I shrugged, drew a knife, and dove into his head. And this time, I was ready.
--------------------------------------
Author's Notes: Yay! A nice gooey chapter. Don't worry, I have a couple things planned off of this one. Hey...how many people are really, really angry about what I just did to the title characters? Well, I'm just following reader orders. Someone said Schu could've killed them and Farf should've. Ta-da! ^^ Question: does this merit an R-rating, or am I still kiddy safe? *thinks* It would be funny if it were R, since that would mean, according to the ratings, that I can't read my own story without an adult...until next time! Oh- Newton's third law is the one about every action having an opposite reaction. ^^ get it?