Belonging To The Pack

BY : draelynn
Category: Wei▀ Kreuz > General
Dragon prints: 478
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is not mine, no money made. just enjoying self indulgence...

Written in response to a prompt on Livejournal - Weiss_Kreuzmas - written for  wispykitty.

Prompt:  Farfarello wrestling a grizzly bear, while Schuldig watches on, unconcerned | Era: No preference | Genre: It can either be humourous (not crack humour though) or serious.

“There was much he did not tell us.” Farfarello broke the silence first. It was a flat observation; the inflections in his Japanese were not perfect but most definitely improving.

“You just noticed?” Schuldig snorted. “Have no fear. Crawford will tell us what we need to know. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The Irishman turned to regard the redhead at the wheel.  Crawford and Schuldig were a curious pair. It was clear to his eyes that he was never privy to half of the conversation when the two of them were in the room. They were less of a team, more like a pack of wolves.  One would be foolish to turn their back on either one of them. 

“You trust him, then?”

“That, my friend, is a dirty word in our line of business.”

“And you, my friend, have difficulty with straight answers.”

Schuldig passed him a sideways glance, chuckling softly.

“Hopefully, this will be a lesson you learn quickly. When the Oracle says ‘duck’, I wouldn’t recommend questioning his motives.”

“You question him constantly.”

Again, a wide smirk creased the telepath’s face. He looked … pleased.

“And when you see the difference you will be a member of the pack. “

Farfarello wasn’t sure how he felt about his thoughts being picked at like carrion for a vulture. He had no particular attachment to them – if the telepath found them interesting he was welcomed to them.  What he did with them would be another matter altogether. 

Schuldig slowed as they approached the parking garage, taking the ramp up, parking the Ferrari on the rooftop level.

“There. Two blocks over… the factory… it’s been converted into shops and such. Our target lies somewhere within the Mah-Jongg hall.”

“Crawford said they are Yakuza?”

“He thought your particular style would be most effective in sending the proper message.”

Farfarello smiled with a near silent chuckle at the compliment.  He pulled two blades from his vest, sliding them from their elaborate sheaths, testing their razor sharp edges with a draw of a well scarred thumb.

The redhead regarded his new teammate warily, nearly dizzy with vertigo as the madman balanced on the precarious edge of sanity. It mocked him from the distorted, fun house mirror reflections glinting in the polished steel. It was terrifying and exhilarating and it seemed to be his normal state of mind. Schuldig couldn’t help wondering what, exactly, shoved him over that edge on the regular basis his Rosenkreuz files described. There would only be one way to find out and the telepath found himself giddy with the possibilities.

They made their way to the proper block, assessing their options from the alleyway behind the building. With a squint, the redhead went still for a moment then turned to his teammate with a grin.

“Crawford only had two warnings;  one- disable the surveillance systems and two – stay out of the basement.”

“Did he say why?”

Schuldig tossed his head back and laughed out loud as he headed down the alleyway.

“It’s three am. I think the front door will do.” The redhead called back over his shoulder.

Farfarello headed after him, his picture of the wolf pack just that bit more clear.

There was little traffic on the street, and only the shadiest of pedestrians lurking in all the expected places. Even though the marquee was dark and the lobby lights dim, there was no masking the activity within from the telepath.  With a light rap on the window, a suited man met them at the door. His suspicious glare almost instantly melted as he ushered them in.  The hall was much larger than the exterior of the building belied; thick carpets, velvet seats, aged oak mah-jongg tables glistening beneath massive crystal chandeliers.  The Yakuza were so subtle. 

“You control him?” Farfarello thought in the telepaths direction, unsure if or how this strange talent of his worked.

“Merely made a few suggestions, is all.” Schuldig smirked from over his shoulder as he pulled his gun from the holster at his side, sliding the barrel into a silencer from his pocket.

“There are ten men in the building. Including this one, there will be nine in the room. I’ll deal with the last one.”

Farfarello nodded, more than willing to follow the redhead’s lead for the moment. Schuldig was far too casual, far too comfortable to be a stranger to what lie ahead.  Even more reassuring, this team he was now a part of was well warned about his – idiosyncrasies. They did not fear him but insisted on his placement on their team for those very same reasons.

He smirked to himself. Wolves recognize their own, even at great distances.

They were lead into a lavish back room where two tables of four men each sat embroiled in rousing games of mah-jongg.  By the looks of it they had been at it for hours. The smoke and whiskey was thick in the air, the piles of yen unevenly distributed around the room. More importantly, their jackets were off, hanging from chairs and a coat rack in the corner of the room. The room fell instantly silent as their usher announced them.

“Mitsuya-san, messengers from Takatori Reiji.”

All eyes shifted to the pair. Schuldig assessed them all with a casual glance. Farfarello’s amber eyes zeroed in on the three targets he saw as the greatest threat, holding their stares, daring them to make a move.

Mitsuya placed a hand on the shoulder of the man to his right who was already reaching back for his jacket.

“Why does it not surprise me that Takatori would send gaijin to represent himself?”  The men around him laughed quietly.

“Perhaps he actually wants the job done right the first time – unlike your failure in Shinjuku.” Schuldig smirked. It would be much too easy to insult this young Yakuza prince and his band of would be gangsters.

The men all passed outraged glances to their prince, waiting, quite obviously, for his word. The young Yakuza glared, studying the redhead. To their eyes, he was cunning. To Schuldig, he was merely indecisive.

“Well, if no one is going to make a decision…” Schuldig’s long suffering tone just barely masked a hint of glee.

“Take the right.” He directed at Farfarello.

In a single blink, one of Farfarello’s targets had a throwing knife lodged in his neck as a second howled, a thick blade pinning his hand to the table. Just as fast Schuldig put a bullet between Prince Mitsuya and his number one. 

“Gentlemen, I suggest you abandon all thoughts of reaching for your weapons.” Schuldig strolled around the table, gun leveled in their faces, relieving each man of any weapons they may be harboring. Farfarello did the same, pausing to smack at the hilt of the dagger imbedded in the table a few times. The man the hand was attached to was writhing in pain, nearing panic.

“This is hardly diplomatic for a man like Takatori-san. I’m sure we can reach a compromise.”

Schuldig smirked. It was just a little late to be showing Takatori some token of respect now. He shooed all but Mitsuya from around the tables, out of their seats and up against the far wall. Except for the one pinned to the table. He was sure Farfarello had plans for that one. He lept up onto Mitsuya’s table and crouched down in his face. He ran the muzzle of the silencer through his hair then down his cheek, sneering at the stain of grease left on the metal.

“You want to offer us money? Drugs? “ Schuldig paused a moment then laughed. “A job?!  Sorry, I’m not that kind of whore.”

With his attention seemingly diverted, one of the men against the wall made a break for the door. With barely a twitch and a glance, Schuldig dropped him with a single shot.

“What kind of whore are you then?” Mitsuya rallied his bravado.

Farfarello watched intently as Schuldig chuckled, then cupped the man’s chin in his hand.

“I thought you’d never ask…” Schuldig whispered nearly up against his lips.  He seemed to be doing nothing at all yet the Yakuza began sweating, his eyes growing wide as he began grunting in pain.

After a few moments, Schuldig released him. Mitsuya immediately collapsed back into his seat.

“Oh you are a sick little fucker, aren’t you? “ Schuldig stood and with a kick sent the prince sprawling to the floor.

“These two live.” Schuldig tossed a vicious grin to Farfarello as he separated the prince and his right hand man from the others, tying them back to back with their own ties. “It’s only proper that you have an audience for this command performance. I have one small loose end to attend to… have fun.”

Farfarello’s lips curled into a vicious scar of a grin as he stalked towards the huddle of men across the room. 

Schuldig headed off to attend to the surveillance systems with a chorus of searing screams following in his wake.  As much as he hated to miss the Irishman’s handiwork in action, duty did in fact call and this was not all the fun this night had to offer.

The redhead made short work of installing Nagi’s virus into the surveillance mainframe and tracking the man who was supposed to be at their controls to the bathroom. There was something so lurid about dying in a bathroom with your pants around your ankles. He was almost tempted to allow the man the dignity of pulling up his drawers before blowing his brains out but the sweet taste of terror being orchestrated by his new teammate was impossible to resist.  With a solid kick the door flew open, the shocked look on the man’s face would forever be frozen there as the bullet pierced his skull.

“Fate’s a bitch.”  Schuldig tossed the corpse a sympathic pout then headed back to the main attraction. 

The Irishman was meticulously cleaning the blood from the variety of blades he had used. Other than a few small streaks of red across his arms, he was remarkably clean, unlike the gore coating all four walls of the room. But he did save one last man for Schuldig to enjoy.  He squirmed there like fish on a hook, still pinned to the table, moaning pathetically, pleading in hoarse whispers under his breath.

“You’ve redecorated! I love what you’ve done with the place.” Schuldig sauntered over to the prince and his right hand man, draping an arm around their shoulders, fully appreciating the sheer terror written across their faces.

“Please, don’t let me interrupt…” The telepath waved in the direction of the final man in Farfarello’s sights.

Farfarello grinned as he pulled a t-handle from his vest, slowly extending a long poniard. The man at the table was beyond panic but apparently he felt the need to confess his sins before death. He began to pray in hurried hushed tones.

The childlike glee the Irishman had been entertaining instantly morphed into outrage. It was then that Schuldig felt Farfarello fall over that precarious edge. The man’s thoughts slipped through his mental fingers like so many snakes slithering in all directions.  With a small bit of trepidation, Schuldig realized he could no longer read him. A dark thrill coursed ice cold through his veins as he shivered in delight. He wasn’t sure exactly how this would play out or if Farfarello was even capable of recognizing him as the partners they were supposed to be. Where Farfarello had skillfully transected the others around the room, this man, mumbling manic pleas to a God he only vaguely acknowledged in the course of his life, would meet with his full focused  fury. 

It was terrifying. It was nauseating. It was perfectly glorious.

The Irishman was so skilled he managed to keep the man alive for forty five minutes all the while demanding he renounce God. In the end, he did. And still, Farfarello slit his throat wide, a brilliant crimson geyser of fresh arterial blood shooting clear across the room. There was not enough left of him to survive much longer anyway.

After many long minutes, Farfarello composed himself and looked to Schuldig who had nothing but admiration in his eyes.  As the Irishman returned to his usual state, his thoughts reappeared, somewhat disorganized but thankfully clear.

Schuldig was now certain they would get along just fine.

“What of these two?” Farfarello turned his blade in the direction of Schuldig’s captives as both men sank back.

“Oh, we have something special for these two… sick little monkey that our new friend Mitsuya is.” Schuldig hugged the terror stricken men to his side.  “We are heading to the basement.”

“I thought Crawford said to avoid the basement.”

“I consider it a suggestion…”

“No… no…” Mitsuya’s eyes went even wider, new levels of panic creeping into his brain. Schuldig again shivered in delight. The reactions of them all piqued Farfarello’s interest.

“What is in the basement?” One snow white eyebrow arched upward.

“Follow me and we shall see!” Schuldig began dragging the last two Yakuza with him to the small elevator at the back of the room. Farfarello aided their progress with little more than a glare and a flick of his blade.

The basement below was not sectioned off like the shops above. This massive, open gallery was a decadent waste of space in this sprawling city.  To the far left, they housed an impressive collection of exclusive automobiles, the center section was appointed as a private club of sorts – complete with small apartments towards the back for their whores to entertain clientele. But, off to the far right, there was what could only be described as a small stadium. Schuldig shoved the men in that direction, anxious to confirm what he had found in Mitsuya’s mind.

This was no plebian cock fighting ring, or dog fighting pit. In the center of the ring, the floor had been cut away into the subbasement and even into an abandoned section of ancient sewer. The deep growl and snorts coming from one of those dark tunnels sent a shiver up Schuldig’s spine.

“Your father was so proud the day you gifted him with this.” Schuldig grabbed Mitsuya’s cheek giving it a shake and then a slap. “Such a MAN, so worthy of his seat when he finally steps down from the family business…”

From out of the tunnel below a huge lumbering mass of fur wandered into the dim light, nose to the air.

“A Kodiak? You have enslaved a bear?” Farfarello turned a sharp stare on the Yakuza prince. 

Schuldig quirked an eyebrow.  Farfarello was actually angered by the concept. It seemed he had a deep, abiding respect for the natural predators of this world. He was teetering on that oh-so-enticing precipice once again.

“The old man bought the Roman gladiator pitch hook, line and sinker. But even worse is the real reason why. Do you want to tell him?” Schuldig mockingly offered the opportunity to Mitsuya. “No? Okay then, I will. You see, our two friends here need the beast to hide their shame. They hunt young boys to feed their perversions… young and frightened, milky skin so soft… and tight…” Schuldig put his lips right up against Mitsuya’s ear. “… how furious would your father be? Hmmm? Knowing you are gay…”

Mitsuya blanched several shades of pale and roared in frustration, struggling furiously as the flight response well up hard. Schuldig adjusted himself in his pants as he panted lightly against his ear.

“He hides his shame by disposing of the evidence in this pit, letting an animal consume his guilt. Like a coward. Tell me, does it get you both hard watching them plead for their lives? To watch that creature overwhelm them… consume them… while they scream for your non-existent mercy?” Schuldig ran his fingers through the bigger man’s hair, delving deep into his shame with a groan of delight.

Farfarello was suddenly torn. If indeed these men defiled God’s law then he would usually see fit to let them live to defile again another day.  But the bear was much like him – one of God’s noble beasts, created and then abandoned to this world. Betrayed by the divine, not even granted a soul. It, too, deserved its’ revenge.

Schuldig spun to decipher this new twist in his teammate.

“So which deserves this beast’s wrath? Both defile young boys…” Schuldig cupped Mitsuya’s chin. “This one obeys every depraved, indecent order his father hands down, then hides his own depravity with torture and lies. And this one…” Schuldig tangled his fingers in the bigger man’s hair. “This one wants nothing more than to defile you, Mitsuya, every bit as much as those young boys… God, he loves watching you fuck…” and with that small bit of provocation Schuldig pulled their bindings loose, freeing both men.

Schuldig wandered over to Farfarello’s side as Mitsuya lost his own battle with all reason. He lunged at his number one throwing wild frenzied punches and kicks, spitting profanities. They fought and struggled, the big man cajoling all the while, his heart just not in the fight until Mitsuya gained the upper hand over his reluctant opponent and tossed him into the pit.

The bear was instantly on the big man, a huge swipe of claws ripping his back clean open, a roar and then a bite to his exposed neck. The crack of bone beneath those massive teeth resounded off the stadium walls.  Farfarello leaned over the railing mesmerized by the massive animal.

“I… I have never been uke for any man…” Mitsuya argued, more for his own benefit than anything else. Schuldig found his lack of empathy for his closest friend refreshing.

“God makes no such distinctions, sinner.” Farfarello had finally decided that Schuldig had been right. This man was nothing more than a coward.

“And we don’t really care…” Schuldig closed the distance between them in with impossible speed. A single kick to Mitsuya’s chest sent him sailing over the railing to face the same fate as his friend.

Schuldig looked on, amused but quickly grew bored now that their thoughts fell silent.  Farfarello, though, began to pity the beast below despite the fact that it would no longer go hungry.

“This is criminal.” Farfarello spit the words.

“Interesting choice of words. Okay, I’ll bite… what is criminal?”

“This animal was created to fight – to struggle to survive. It has been kept here like a fat housecat. No fight. No challenge. This is wrong.”

Schuldig smirked, unsure where the Irishman was going but decided to tag along.

“And you know how to fix it?”

Farfarello began stripping out of his vest and shirt. He pulled all the various blades off his person and dropped them in a heap on the floor. Without a glance back, the Irishman leapt over the railing.

Schuldig’s eyebrows peaked for a moment, actually taken by surprise by the seemingly random conclusion his new teammate reached.

“You realize that is a starving grizzly bear, right? Outweighs you by… a lot.” Schuldig called down.

“Come beast, live as you were intended to live! Fight!” Farfarello circled the bear encouraging it to charge, oblivious to anything else.

“You have got to be shitting me…” Schuldig watched with detached curiosity as the Irishman went hand to claw with the lumbering beast. The bear simply seemed annoyed and, at one point, decided to try and walk away, back to its’ meal. That only seemed to enrage the Irishman who then renewed his attacks.

Twenty minutes later, Schuldig was leaning disinterestedly against the railing picking at his fingernails.

It was then that the bear landed a lucky blow. With one massive, albeit accidental, backwards swipe of its’ claws it connected, ripping clean through Farfarello’s face with a gush of blood.

The Irishman roared, not in pain, Schuldig confirmed, but in fury.

“That is your best?! Your heart is broken, you are unworthy of this existence!” Farfarello wrestled the bear into a headlock and managed to pry its jaws open. With a few deft moves, he positioned a boot on the animal’s lower jaw and with an unearthly screech and the sickening crack of bone and sinew, he ripped the animal’s jaw clean off.

Schuldig looked on in disbelief and a carefully controlled sense of awe.

Farfarello stood triumphant over the beast as it bled out with a dramatic gurgle of blood. Farfarello too was bleeding in spectacular fashion, his shredded eye hanging limp from its socket, the tears across his face exposing bone. It appeared that his files were accurate. He should be in agony from his wounds but he was clearly none the worse for wear.  

“Are we done now? Look at you… you’re a mess.”

Farfarello reached up to touch his face, feeling the remnants of his eye where it hung out of the socket. He tugged it free and tossed it aside like so much garbage.  He clambered up the wall, reclaiming his clothes and blades.

“It is better this way… putting it out of its misery.” The madman glanced back, a bit of pity seeping into his thoughts but, it quickly dissipated.

“You lost your eye… to a grizzly bear… in the middle of fucking Tokyo.” Schuldig laughed. He did have to admit he rather enjoyed the irony of the entire situation however unbelievable it was.  

“I suppose that was why Crawford didn’t want us in the basement. Perhaps next time he’ll grace us with a reason why.” Farfarello quipped in actual, identifiable humor.

Schuldig spit out a reluctant chuckle then caved in, roaring in laughter. It was doubtful that Crawford would see the humor of it all but he was looking forward to the conversation when they returned home all the same.

“Honestly, he expected us to ignore a grizzly bear? How often do you see that?” Schuldig eyed up his new partner, making to toss an arm around his shoulders but then paused with a bit of a sneer. “You’re going to bleed all over my car…”

“You should have thought of that before you lured me down there.” The Irishman drawled.

“Okay, now you sound like Crawford.”

“You trust him so I will take that as a compliment.”

“I never said that!”

“You did not have to.”

Schuldig finally conceded with a smile, unused to being maneuvered quite so thoroughly by anyone other than Crawford. This crazy Irishman seemed he would be the perfect fit after all. He gathered up a few of the jackets in the lounge to pack over Farfarello’s wounds. 

“Welcome to the wolf pack, Farfarello.”

Farfarello chuckled softly to himself. This was first time he had found a place where he felt he actually belonged.







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