Whee! Another chapter of weirdness. =3 I'm trying on ideas, people. Really, I am.
Disclaimer: WeiB Kreuz and its characters do not belong to me, but I may torture them a little for my own amusement. I have no connections to the creators of Sailor Moon. I do not endorse Rogaine and did not compose the Irish drinking song "Flogging Molly".
This chapter is for Carina. May she convince my parents that it's not a waste to spend $40,000 a year on an Ivy League school to grant me a degree in Art! XD
Want to contact me? Sure.
AIM: Sadistic Kyo
Schwarz Journals (Day 16/?)
April 30, 2001
Journal of Brad Crawford
I put up with a lot of crap from my questionably sane party, but today was the final straw.
Farfarello took the suit of mine that Schuldich's bingo partners had so "kindly" covered in ramen noodles and sold it on eBay as Article One in his line of edible clothing. Pleased at the price it rendered in the resulting bidding war, he has now apparently gone through my closet and covered –all- of my suits in disgusting food products in hopes of further auction success.
This leaves me both with an Irishman facing an indefinite period of punishment hanging upside down in his straightjacket but also without anything presentable to wear. Takatori was not pleased when I reported for work today in a pair of Schuldich's khakis and a Hawaiian-print shirt. I swear the bitch was lying when he said it was all that would fit me. I'm not –that- fat.
…On a completely unrelated note, I have taken it upon myself to join a local gym to improve my physique.
~ * ~
Crawford blinked, then scowled and x-ed out "physique," replacing it with the much more subtle "technique."
// Ah, perfect. //
~ * ~
Entry 16
April 30, 2001
Nagi's angry with me. I know it. Just because I fucked Kudou raw.-
~ * ~
~ WHAT?!?! ~
Crawford's head jerked back against the headboard of his bed, jarred by an all-too-familiar nasal note in his brain laced by a German accent. ..And possibly hints of too much strawberry pocky.
// These journals are none of your business, Schuldich. They're for my character assessments alone. //
~ Oh, well in that case, what do you want on your pancakes? Strawberries, syrup, or rum? ~
Crawford blinked.
"Rum? On pancakes?"
~ Rum it is! ~
"No, wait! I…..grrrrr…"
~ * ~
Entry 16
April 30, 2001
Nagi's angry with me. I know it. Just because I fucked Kudou raw.
It's not like I fucking –planned- to. I didn't leave the house this morning saying "Golly, wouldn't it be swell ta stick-a me lucky charm in Kudou Yohji today?"
Hell no. I grabbed the bitch off the street, stuffed him in a swiss-cheese loincloth, and fucked his ass rotten in one of the show models at the car dealership down the street. Those commercials are right, Crawford. There's nothing like fucking in that new car smell. …Reclining seats…fresh, clean leather…
…Okay, so it has a big blood and cum stain now, but that's irrelevant. I just don't get what the big deal is. I mean….you fucked Kudou, what, yesterday?
~ * ~
~ WHHAAATT?!?!?!?!?! ~
Crawford winced before the look of a deer caught in headlights came over his face.
"Shit…"
"YOU DID WHAT?!"
He didn't even need the mental connection to hear Schuldich scream that, though the sudden, fleeting image of his German lover battering him with a hot frying pan was helpful. In seconds Crawford had leapt from the bed and was shoving the journals away to make a break for it, tugging the bedroom door open only to discover Schuldich standing there with his flame-orange hair wild and eyes a definite black to match his scowl-o-death.
"Betray ME, will you?!"
"Schu~…. koi~.. Aishiteru…"
"Shut up!" Yep. He was holding a frying pan with the still-smoking, black remnants of their breakfast inside. "DIE BITCH!"
Crawford blanched.
"You… OW! THAT HURT YOU F-…OWWW!!! DAMMIT SCHULDICH! YOU FUCKED HIM TOO! OWWWW!!!"
That made the redhead pause, tip his head to the side in thought, then shrug and lower the pan he had been beating Crawford's head with.
"Okay. Your pancakes are ready, koi~!"
"…..I'm in pain…"
~ * ~
April 30, 2001
I'm starting to wonder if maybe I should let Farfarello be on top every now and then. I really don't consider myself an uke, but I would much rather he be content enough to remain monogamous.
The Internet porn was supposed to be his punishment for fucking Yohji Kudou, but apparently Farfie likes dressing in Sailor Moon cosplay for me to post hentai pictures of him online. He's even given up his edible clothing business in favor of making weapons for cosplayers.
I said the customers won't want to him to play with the weapons he's making for them. Farf said that's okay because he'll kill them if they don't, so either way he's happy.
I guess we'll see what success he finds in this business endeavor.
~ * ~
Crawford groaned. His head was sore and rather burnt from Schuldich's frying pan, but then it itched too. He had a sneaking suspicion that his skin was peeling much like a sunburn since when he went to scratch it he was forced to tug his hand away in pain.
"Damn you, Schuldich. This is going to hurt for a whole fucking week…"
~ * ~
Fuckbook
Day 16
I really wish you hadn't shoved Farfie's knives through the trash compactor. He's been just swinging there upside-down in his straightjacket all night singing Irish woe songs, and it's driving Nagi crazy. The little bastard moved his laptop into my room cuz he said his own was too close to all the noise, and mine was the other one with an Ethernet jack.
I've had lows before, but I've never wanted to kill myself until I saw Nagi uploading porn pictures of Farfarello onto a website today. It was horrible, Brad! Terrible! The horror! I would have just killed myself or at least gouged out my eyes, but you destroyed all the knives into the house, remember?
But it was the most disturbing image of my life. Farfarello should not wear skirts that color. The white just seems to clash with his hair. They don't match right. He'll never be good in the fashion industry with color sense like that.
~ * ~
Crawford blinked. Was that..hair..in Schuldich's journal? Slowly the American looked up to regard their vanity mirror (the very one Schuldich had threatened no sex if he didn't get) and he screamed.
"SCHULDICH, YOU FUCKING MADE MY HAIR FALL OUT!!!"
Indeed there were numerous bald spots now on his head brought on by the hot frying pan killing the skin cells wherever Schuldich had beat him. Damn it! He couldn't afford to be losing his hair now!
Crawford growled. He was NOT a happy camper.
~ * ~
~ * Schwarz Member Assessment : Day 16 * ~
Schuldich is going to be feeling my wrath very, VERY soon. I don't give a damn about his jealous tendencies; mine are enough to have to deal with as is. Perhaps a little relationship counseling should be in order.
Nagi is apparently using the T3-speed Ethernet jack I'm paying thousands of dollars a year for to post pornographic images of Farfarello in tacky skirts. While I generally do not care what he does in his spare time, I think I now understand what Schuldich means when he refers to Nagi's tendency to "rape the household bandwidth."
Farfarello will be given stronger tranquilizers. I can see no other means of keeping him under control long enough to regain my own sanity after the past few days' events. I am certain that the rest of us will be more than able to handle things without him for a while.
As for myself, I now fear it is time to do the unspeakable. …I must look into the benefits of Rogaine and perhaps a new lover while I'm in the market for improvement.
~ * ~
"New haircut, Crawford?" Nagi stood there in the doorway blinking at the older man, laptop in his hands with their latest assignment.
"It's Schuldich's doing."
"Ah. I wouldn't trust him to cut hair if I were you. Look what he does to his own. Normal hair doesn't stick up like that."
Crawford sighed, looking back to his own journal for only a moment before he was jolted again by a resounding, shrill scream emanating from the doorway and accompanying crash as Schuldich dropped the tray holding his rum-covered pancakes.
"You…. Your HAIR!"
"My carpet!"
"My laptop! You got syrup on my laptop! I can't believe y-…. ..Wait, that smells like ALCOHOL!!!"
"..Anou…"
"Who the fuck puts alcohol on pancakes?!"
Somewhere down in the basement Farfarello paused singing his own personal rendition of "Flogging Molly" to shake his head and sigh.
"I'm stuck livin' with a bunch of psychos."
~ * ~ * ~ End Day 16 ~ * ~ * ~