Midnight Garden
by Kye
Chapter 9
"What the HELL DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?" I groaned and flipped over in my bed. Being shouted at was pretty much the least pleasant way to wake up. Listening to other people being shouted at was not so much better. Brad's voice tended to carry, when he wanted it to, and when he was angry at Schu, he wanted.
"I TOLD you not to drink unsupervised, I TOLD you you couldn't go out, and this is what you do?! Look at yourself! You're a hung-over, half sentient, amoeba-brained mess!" I sighed, rolled out of bed, and pulled something to wear out of my closet.
"What kind of idiotic thing were you trying to do, huh, Schuldich?! After what happened last night with WHOMEVER it is that Eszett has sent after us?! You GO OUT ALONE?!" I opened my door, still half asleep, and padded into the livingroom. Brad loomed over the sofa; there Schu sat, hair mussed, eyes fuzzy, looking sulky and headachy. Farf was exactly where he had been the night before, sitting cross-legged at the end of the couch. He watched Brad silently but venomously, chewing on those needles he liked so much. If Brad hadn't been in full Crawfish mode, he probably would have been concerned about that look.
"Whaddya do, Schu?" I asked, covering a yawn with one hand.
"Drank," he answered. "Without Mommy Crawford holding my hand." Brad's face pinched up like he'd sucked all the air out of his cheeks, and turned roughly the color of lettuce.
"Schuldich!" he snapped. With a nauseous-sounding moan, Schu dropped his head to his knees, covering it with both arms.
"Dn't be sho loud," he mumbled into his legs. Brad's hand shot out, neatly catching the back of Schu's collar. He heaved Schu to his feet, his expression like a hurricane. Farf tensed, then twisted around to look over end of the couch. I heard a sharp hiss as he sucked in his breath.
"Leave it, Farf," I said in a low voice. "Brad'll get what's coming." Farf didn't turn around, but he also didn't rip Brad's throat out. That was good enough for me.
"If your head hurts now, it's your fault," Brad barked. Schu stared askance at him, and said evenly
"Let go of me, Brad Crawford." Brad didn't, of course. He was still The Crawfish, and The Crawfish didn't back down from those he considered his subordinates. For a pre-cog, he certainly pushed his luck. If it had been me, I would have let Schu go and then offered to buy him whatever he wanted for the next month.
"I won't ever be able to let you go, Schuldich," Brad answered smoothly. "The minute I let you off on your own, you just slip back into the pit I pulled you out of. You can't be let go. You're not strong enough." His smile was smug, and his eyes glittered coldly behind his glasses. "You need your leash." Schu's eyes narrowed, and he yanked furiously out of Brad's grip.
"Never," he said softly. "Never, never take the credit for anything in my life. You think you know me?" His voice began to rise. "You think it was the invincible Brad Crawford who redeemed my lost soul? You think you have me tied down like your little bitch assassin?! Don't you try to understand me, you self-righteous bastard! You. Do not. Know." He gave Brad one last all-powerful stare, then seemed to twitch out of his anger. "As for what the hell I thought I was doing," he said, glancing up again, "I was trying to block the voices." He stepped around the couch and Farf and me, towards his room. He paused, not looking back, and said in an empty voice, "I can't keep them out." He walked softly down the hall, and into his room, and shut the door quietly behind him.
I could just see the lightbulb going on in Crawfish's head, and I would have laughed inside at his expression if I hadn't had the same look on my own face.
"He can't block them," I whispered. Farf stood up, looking like he didn't know what to do with himself. I didn't blame him. Brad stood silently behind us, pale as a moon melon. I wasn't Schu, but I knew the gist of what all three of us were thinking.
oh, crap.
--------------------------------
Brad was reading the paper. He'd read another one before it, and had in the last two hours gone through four cups of tea and about half a loaf of bread and butter. I had supposedly been reading a book, but really I was just watching Brad. In regards to the book, I'd read only twenty pages 120 minutes. With regards to Brad, I was getting just a little annoyed.
"Brad," I said, "you have to talk to Schu. He's not going to come out." And why should he, I added to myself. It was Brad's fault, anyway.
"I will," said Brad, eyes still on his paper. "I will." The way he said it I knew he had Seen that he would, not that he would go without a fight. I snorted softly, disgusted, and turned a page. I wished Farf hadn't disappeared; he would have been much better company than the Crawfish.
"Yeah, of course. When it's too late," I muttered, burying my nose in the pages. I didn't mean this time in particular. I meant always. Brad's basic, all-purpose, all-scenario plan was to wait until nothing could be done about a thing and then blame it on fate. It was a painfully obvious lie; The only way Brad had survived this long was by changing fate. But still he did it.
For example. If Farf hadn't grown suddenly attached to Schu and decided he needed saving from the White Wimps, Schu probably would have been left to die. If Brad had as much control over us as he thinks he does, he would have been able to convince Farf and me that "everything was gonna be all right" and then play sad when Schu ended up dead in an alley. Brad hasn't got a problem with revenge, but when it comes to saving his own skin, he's extremely fickle. It's all a balance of what he can afford to lose. If he had felt like Schu was a necessary asset that night (and it makes me a li- ttle angry that he didn't) then he wouldn't have hesitated to recover him. He's definately a suit sometimes. All wallet, no heart.
Not that he can't also be human, complete with goodness and friendship, sometimes. He can. And that's what I was hoping to dig up.
"It's bad, Brad. He'll hurt himself, you know." He glared at me over the top of his paper. Abruptly he snapped it shut, dropped it on the side-table and stood up.
"Since you obviously won't stop whining about it if I don't, fine," he said brusquely. He stalked away, and I grinned behind his back.
"Just don't get in another fight," I said loud enough for him to hear.
"I won't," he said. He'd Seen that too.
"Good." I turned around, settled into the couch cushions, and began to read my book in earnest.
by Kye
Chapter 9
"What the HELL DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?" I groaned and flipped over in my bed. Being shouted at was pretty much the least pleasant way to wake up. Listening to other people being shouted at was not so much better. Brad's voice tended to carry, when he wanted it to, and when he was angry at Schu, he wanted.
"I TOLD you not to drink unsupervised, I TOLD you you couldn't go out, and this is what you do?! Look at yourself! You're a hung-over, half sentient, amoeba-brained mess!" I sighed, rolled out of bed, and pulled something to wear out of my closet.
"What kind of idiotic thing were you trying to do, huh, Schuldich?! After what happened last night with WHOMEVER it is that Eszett has sent after us?! You GO OUT ALONE?!" I opened my door, still half asleep, and padded into the livingroom. Brad loomed over the sofa; there Schu sat, hair mussed, eyes fuzzy, looking sulky and headachy. Farf was exactly where he had been the night before, sitting cross-legged at the end of the couch. He watched Brad silently but venomously, chewing on those needles he liked so much. If Brad hadn't been in full Crawfish mode, he probably would have been concerned about that look.
"Whaddya do, Schu?" I asked, covering a yawn with one hand.
"Drank," he answered. "Without Mommy Crawford holding my hand." Brad's face pinched up like he'd sucked all the air out of his cheeks, and turned roughly the color of lettuce.
"Schuldich!" he snapped. With a nauseous-sounding moan, Schu dropped his head to his knees, covering it with both arms.
"Dn't be sho loud," he mumbled into his legs. Brad's hand shot out, neatly catching the back of Schu's collar. He heaved Schu to his feet, his expression like a hurricane. Farf tensed, then twisted around to look over end of the couch. I heard a sharp hiss as he sucked in his breath.
"Leave it, Farf," I said in a low voice. "Brad'll get what's coming." Farf didn't turn around, but he also didn't rip Brad's throat out. That was good enough for me.
"If your head hurts now, it's your fault," Brad barked. Schu stared askance at him, and said evenly
"Let go of me, Brad Crawford." Brad didn't, of course. He was still The Crawfish, and The Crawfish didn't back down from those he considered his subordinates. For a pre-cog, he certainly pushed his luck. If it had been me, I would have let Schu go and then offered to buy him whatever he wanted for the next month.
"I won't ever be able to let you go, Schuldich," Brad answered smoothly. "The minute I let you off on your own, you just slip back into the pit I pulled you out of. You can't be let go. You're not strong enough." His smile was smug, and his eyes glittered coldly behind his glasses. "You need your leash." Schu's eyes narrowed, and he yanked furiously out of Brad's grip.
"Never," he said softly. "Never, never take the credit for anything in my life. You think you know me?" His voice began to rise. "You think it was the invincible Brad Crawford who redeemed my lost soul? You think you have me tied down like your little bitch assassin?! Don't you try to understand me, you self-righteous bastard! You. Do not. Know." He gave Brad one last all-powerful stare, then seemed to twitch out of his anger. "As for what the hell I thought I was doing," he said, glancing up again, "I was trying to block the voices." He stepped around the couch and Farf and me, towards his room. He paused, not looking back, and said in an empty voice, "I can't keep them out." He walked softly down the hall, and into his room, and shut the door quietly behind him.
I could just see the lightbulb going on in Crawfish's head, and I would have laughed inside at his expression if I hadn't had the same look on my own face.
"He can't block them," I whispered. Farf stood up, looking like he didn't know what to do with himself. I didn't blame him. Brad stood silently behind us, pale as a moon melon. I wasn't Schu, but I knew the gist of what all three of us were thinking.
oh, crap.
--------------------------------
Brad was reading the paper. He'd read another one before it, and had in the last two hours gone through four cups of tea and about half a loaf of bread and butter. I had supposedly been reading a book, but really I was just watching Brad. In regards to the book, I'd read only twenty pages 120 minutes. With regards to Brad, I was getting just a little annoyed.
"Brad," I said, "you have to talk to Schu. He's not going to come out." And why should he, I added to myself. It was Brad's fault, anyway.
"I will," said Brad, eyes still on his paper. "I will." The way he said it I knew he had Seen that he would, not that he would go without a fight. I snorted softly, disgusted, and turned a page. I wished Farf hadn't disappeared; he would have been much better company than the Crawfish.
"Yeah, of course. When it's too late," I muttered, burying my nose in the pages. I didn't mean this time in particular. I meant always. Brad's basic, all-purpose, all-scenario plan was to wait until nothing could be done about a thing and then blame it on fate. It was a painfully obvious lie; The only way Brad had survived this long was by changing fate. But still he did it.
For example. If Farf hadn't grown suddenly attached to Schu and decided he needed saving from the White Wimps, Schu probably would have been left to die. If Brad had as much control over us as he thinks he does, he would have been able to convince Farf and me that "everything was gonna be all right" and then play sad when Schu ended up dead in an alley. Brad hasn't got a problem with revenge, but when it comes to saving his own skin, he's extremely fickle. It's all a balance of what he can afford to lose. If he had felt like Schu was a necessary asset that night (and it makes me a li- ttle angry that he didn't) then he wouldn't have hesitated to recover him. He's definately a suit sometimes. All wallet, no heart.
Not that he can't also be human, complete with goodness and friendship, sometimes. He can. And that's what I was hoping to dig up.
"It's bad, Brad. He'll hurt himself, you know." He glared at me over the top of his paper. Abruptly he snapped it shut, dropped it on the side-table and stood up.
"Since you obviously won't stop whining about it if I don't, fine," he said brusquely. He stalked away, and I grinned behind his back.
"Just don't get in another fight," I said loud enough for him to hear.
"I won't," he said. He'd Seen that too.
"Good." I turned around, settled into the couch cushions, and began to read my book in earnest.