The American is talking on the phone. I think he is exasperated, but I'm still learning about the tones of voice when it comes to other languages. For a while, I thought he was singing to other people, then I realized they all talk like that.
I look at him and realize he's deadpanning—his looks put upon. He hangs up the phone, and gazes at me with an unreadable expression.
"Who was that?" I ask.
"Schuldig. I was telling him how much longer we'd be here," he says, in his funny-sounding Japanese. I wouldn't be surprised if he had learned it just before coming here.
"Will I meet him?" I ask.
"You'll be living with him."
Something in me sinks, and I try my best to squash the feeling. The American isn't what anybody would call nice, but he is the one person who never hated or feared me for what I am. It's almost as if he sees it all the time.
Crawford. I have to keep telling myself that. I almost never call people by their names. But something in me hopes that if I say it enough, maybe I won't have to go to another unwelcome place. Not that he ever welcomed me, really.
When I think about it, I hear a lot about this "Schuldig". Crawford's always calling him on the phone. And yet, despite hearing about him, I don't really know anything about him. Schuldig is the mystery. I know he is the only person I have seen yet who can annoy Crawford. That's all I know. It doesn't make any sense, to hear about someone, but never find anything out about the person.
Crawford moves to the desk running on the side of one wall, and takes out papers. I watch him work in silence for a few moments. Then I creep over, and climb on a chair next to him, looking at what he is writing. I can't read the letters. He looks at me and gives a small smile.
"Can you read this?" he asks.
I shake my head.
"They didn't teach you." I shake my head at again.
"Will you write your name?" My voice comes out smaller than I expected.
He writes eight characters on a sheet of hotel stationary. I've seen it written in katakana, only four characters. They don't write sounds the way we do. I try to say his name and put the sounds to the letters. No matter how I try, it always comes out wrong. If his Japanese sounds funny, my English must sound REALLY funny. Cuu-lo-foh-du. I scowl at my terrible pronunciation, and try again. Cu-llo-fohd. I sigh.
"Will you write my name?" I ask, this time with a little more hope.
He writes another eight letters, in two groups. Nagi Naoe. He then writes another eight. Schuldig. I take the paper and fold it. I put it in the small suitcase he bought me with my new clothes. Inside the shiny new shoes that I haven't had the courage to wear yet, for fear that they'd scuff.
"Arigato, Culoford-san," I say.
He nods to me. He's a man of few words.
Brad Crawford has called again.
"There's been a change in events."
"Hm?"
"The kid has changed the course," he says. "He freaked out and blew up the orphanage he was at."
"So does that mean we don't get him?" I ask.
"No," he says. "That means I already have him. I managed to find him and take him into custody, and they gave me permission to 'raise' him, instead of taking him to Rosenkreuz."
"…"
"Schuldig."
"You have way too many fucking connections," I tell him.
"I would prefer if you didn't swear when we come back," he says. "I would like him to learn proper English."
"Fuck you. I do speak proper fucking English." Okay, so now I'm just doing this to piss him off.
"Which reminds me," he says. "Mission?"
I roll my eyes. "You already know."
"Indulge me."
"Successful. With the minimum casualties. Nice and neat. Just like you like it."
He hangs up without a word. Again.
Once again, I call him an asshole, without him being able to hear.
Notes: Yay. I love Nagi.
I was thinking about how hard it must be for Japanese people to say western names. I also had a visitor from Japan once ask my dad not to sing when he was talking, that he couldn't understand. It was kinda funny, so I put it in the story.
I would love reviews.
Added note (after this was uploaded): You ever feel like you're ready to kill someone? If you found this on hopeforlorn (or moderate the site...) know that my email went and mootilated this, and for some reason took out the dividers >.