Adult-FanFiction.org : Anime

Mind Games and Coffee	By : Solaras Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 5491 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Weiß Kreuz, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is not mine. All its
characters and affiliates are also not mine. Nothing involving Weiss
Kreuz is mine. Sadly this is true.

Author’s Notes: Warning
for blood. Farfarello takes the stage. It’s not too bad. I could have done much worse, but since this
is not a fic dealing mainly with the workings of
Farfarello’s mind, I restrained myself.
It is important to me, however, to work in scenes like this because it’s
Schwarz. They kill people for a living,
and don’t appear particularly sorry for it.
It has to be dealt with, exorcised from my mind, and then turned into a
push for the plot. Oh and happy
news! I might just know the course of
the plot.

Review Responses: Whoo hoo up to two! Chapters keep coming, and reviews are increasing. The charts are looking good people.

JoAnna – Soon enough on the update? I’m trying to keep up a weekly update system.
*crosses fingers* I think I am taking
the long way, so refill the popcorn, and I hope to see you again.

throwerchick – Aww thank
you! *sniff* I
read reviews like yours, and wonder if we are talking about the same
story. Putting a damper on the cuteness
this time, but only because Farfie doesn’t like being cute when people are
watching.

~telepathy~ aka communicating

/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone’s mind

German Words:

Scheiße - shit

Chapter Ten

            Darkness
reigned inside. The inky blackness stood
poised to enslave all that should step within its reach; even being so bold as
to threaten the invading light spilling from the open door. Schuldig hovered in the doorway to
Farfarello’s room, casting his blue-eyed gaze about for any sign of life. Sedatives kept the Irishman from joining the
living the day before, but now, over twenty-four hours later…

            “Farfie,
you in there?” Schuldig questioned the
darkened room. “Scheiße, don’t tell me
you found a new way to sneak out.”

            Taking a
few steps into the room, Schuldig felt along the wall for the light switch, his
form slowly swallowed by the darkness.
His fingertips brushed across smooth plaster, till they felt even
smoother plastic. Along the edge of the switch
casing his fingers went, up over the metal screw head, and finally to the base
of the switch itself. A light build of
tension in the redhead’s arm flowed to his index finger, and was lost in a
spasm of flailing limbs!

            Schuldig’s
yelp, and ensuing curse, was lost in a heavy palm pressed over his mouth. A golden eye, the only thing of his assailant
that caught the scant light, glowed in the mass of darkness above him. The ball of fiery amber descended to within
an inch of the telepath’s own wide eyes.
Blue eyes quickly narrowed, and a muffled string of protests and curses
accompanied an angry struggle.

            Farfarello
rode out the bucking and flailing, as easily as any predator with a good grip
on its prey. The antelope was fast, but
the lion was stronger. The hand not
already busy shutting the German’s mouth, snatched up two wrists, and
restrained the pounding fists. Pushing
Schuldig’s arms above his head, Farfarello once again brought his eye level
with those of the telepath.

            “Tsk, tsk,”
Farfarello breathed against Schuldig.
“Be sober; be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring
lion, walketh about seeking whom he may devour.”[1] Farfarello’s hiss of laughter moved to brush
along his captive’s ear, the hair on Schuldig’s neck rose in its wake. “Tell me Guilty One, what is it like to
devour someone’s mind, gain their knowledge, defile that last stronghold, and
rip away their power? Do you think, if I
eat yours, I would gain your power? Bone
is such a flimsy barrier. The flesh is
weak. He made us so. He set us amongst the wolves with nothing but
skin to protect us, like a science project:
see how long man can survive. But
I have claws, Guilty One.”

            At some
point, unnoticed by Schuldig, the hand over his mouth had lifted, but he
noticed the edge of a blade when he felt it.
He could feel the deliberate increase of pressure, as the knife bit into
his throat.

            “Get off,”
Schuldig said evenly, while trying not to move his jaw muscles. His answer came in the burn of splitting
skin. A small slit nothing more, but
enough to rupture tiny blood vessels just below the surface. “I will kill you.”

            “Nay, for
you are no servant of God,” Farfarello purred.
“Though He may try and smite me, He has no power over us unless we give
it to Him. I will take of His, and
destroy. You, Guilty One, have never
been His. You will not strike me down. You will help me.”

            “Devil’s
disciple am I?”

            “Not the
Devil. Where he fails, I shall
succeed. The Fallen Angel reigns in
Hell. He has no more power here than
God. I am here, and God shall feel my
wrath.”

            Schuldig
felt the knife lift away, and replaced by the swipe of a tongue. A trail of warm wetness followed the cooled
path of blood down the telepath’s throat.
As he spoke, Farfarello’s breath pooled in the hollow of Schuldig’s
throat and slithered across his collar bone.

            “Come with
me purveyor of sin, and we shall sound the hunt.”

            “Why do you
think I’m here?” Schuldig smirked. “Brad
said it’s ok to play, so let’s go play.
Let’s go hunt your God.”

            Farfarello
raised his head and smiled. The light
from the doorway reached him at last, only to cast deep shadows across his
face. Schuldig grinned back at the
menacing set of teeth above him. Farfarello
knew that this close, it was his thoughts that danced through the telepath’s
mind. Once away from the apartment and
the Oracle, Farfarello’s mind would be the strongest influence. The Guilty One would help him destroy
God. Schuldig wouldn’t just restrain him
like Nagi, he would join in.
Farfarello’s red obsession would become Schuldig’s, and the hunt would
be twice as fun.

           There were
several reasons why Schuldig always accompanied Farfarello. Crawford, for all his love of good boxing,
abhorred the mess. Farfarello had always
respected the American’s own lust for blood, controlled as it was, but Crawford
preferred his suits in neutral colors, not red.
Nagi, by collective agreement, was too young for the Irishman’s brand of
killing. Farfarello liked the boy, as
his faith was placed in technology, the God killer. In front of Nagi, Farfarello made an attempt
at restraint. Killing was one thing, but
molding intestines was something else entirely.
Schuldig on the other hand, had no problem with blood. The German had seen enough of it gush from
his own nose by the age of six, for him to be squeamish. It was also therapeutic for the telepath to get
of his mind, so to speak, and Farfarello gladly let him romp through his.

* * * *

            Schuldig
grinned down at the Japanese man, whose arms he was holding. Farfarello sat on his legs, and proceeded to
make an abdominal incision. Slowly,
while the man screamed and pleaded, Farfarello pulled out the kinky rope of his
intestines.

            “Lamb of
God, I look to thee; thou shalt my example be; thou art gentle, meek, and mild;
thou wast once a little child.”[2]

            “Eh, I
don’t know that hymn. Pick another,”
Schuldig laughed.

            “Thou wast
once God’s child. Now your mine.” Farfarello wrapped the line of innards tight
around the man’s neck.

            “Scream if
you still can,” Schuldig said, “no one will here you, or at least they think
they won’t. Now the real science project
begins, which will kill you first: lack of air or pain.” The redhead watched as Farfarello began to
strip away skin. “Nice knife. Is it new?”

            “Home
shopping channel,” Farfarello stated without looking up. “Let’s see if it’s as good proclaimed. If it doesn’t skin him as well as the tomato
on TV, then I still have thirty days to return it.”

            The man
coughed and wheezed, while his throat muscles flexed beneath the fleshy
binding. Pink froth dribbled down his chin with every choked scream. Nasal laughter and a golden gaze haunted the
doomed man.

            Once the
man’s mind descended into black silence, the telepath left Farfarello to his
work. Schuldig sat against a relatively
bloodless space of brick wall, and watched the trail of smoke from his
cigarette slither towards the sky. Blood
seeped along the ground, pooling in cracks and potholes. The air in the alley, situated between two
warehouses, was thick with the smell of raw meat. Stray dogs waited behind dumpsters for the
humans to leave. Scavengers ate
last. Farfarello pulled out the dead
man’s liver, and threw it to a particularly large dog.

            “How pliant
is this Mephistopheles,” the psychopath said to the dog.

Beside him, laid out on the ground,
were the flayed skin and a pile of various fleshy lumps, organs. Only the small intestine and the eyes were
excluded from the sideline display. The
intestine was wrapped around its owner’s neck.
The eyes were left in.

“The Liar will look into your eyes,
and into you soul, there he shall find me,” the Irishman told the corpse. He stood and stretched like a large contented
cat; his pale skin splattered liberally with blood, and as he moved toward
Schuldig, a cloud of red rain followed him.
Wet gore splashed on Schuldig’s face, as he looked up at the man above
him.

“And what are you that live with
Lucifer?” Schuldig offered the line and Farfarello smirked.

“Unhappy spirits that fell with
Lucifer, conspired against our God with Lucifer, and are for ever damned with
Lucifer,” Farfarello replied.

“Where are you damned?” Schuldig
quoted again.

“In hell.”

“How comes it then that thou art
out of hell?”

“Why, this is hell, nor am I out of
it.”[3]

End Chapter

Farfarello demanded that the chapter end on that line. I wanted to make the chapter longer, but he’s
armed and I’m not. I always thought
Farfarello seemed like someone who might appreciate Marlowe, and now just
seemed an interesting time to work that in.
If you’ve read it, you’ll get it.
If not, then it’s still a cool set of lines. Off to work on the next chapter. More BradxSchuness
next time.   ^_^

Endnotes, because I put way to much thought into this
chapter.

[1] Bible, 1 Peter v. 8

[2] Wesley, Charles. “Gentle Jesus, Meek and Mild”

[3] Marlowe, Christopher. Doctor Faustus. Scene 4 Lines 30, 71-78.
- 9
- 10
- 11
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Mind Games and Coffee