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Strange Times	By : fireun Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 3711 -:- 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
- 1-Strange Times
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 13-13
- 14-14
- 15-15
- 16-16
- 17-17
- 18-18
- 19-19
- 20-20
- 21-21
- 22-22
- 23-23
- 24-24
- 25-25
- 26-26
- 27-27
- 28-28
- 29-29
- 30-30
- 31-31
- 32-32
- 33-33
- 34-34
- 35-35
- 36-36
- 37-37
- 38-38
- 39-39
- 40-40
- 41-41
- 42-42
- 43-43
- 44-44
- 45-45
- 46-46
- 47-47
- 48-48
- 49-49
- 50-50
- 43
- 44
- 45
Omi was going to learn to hate the phone; its ring was an impartially disruptive call to duty, and duty was never pleasant. His voice bland with perfectly acceptable professional interest, Omi answered the phone, and proceeded to thank anything listening that he had turned down the secretary he had been offered. He wouldn’t wish Schuldich on anyone before noon.

“Hey boss.”

It was amazing how much irreverence could be crammed into two simple words. Omi frowned a mix of professional disproval and exasperation. “Schuldich.”

“I need to talk with you.”

‘Privately.’

Traces of exhaustion, pain and a rather fiendish excitement whirled around Omi’s mind, carrying the words. “I have time later this afternoon.”

“Screw that. I’m going back to bed.”

‘Play some solitaire. I’m sure you muck around on the computer like the rest of us when bored or avoiding work.’

“If you change your mind, you are more than welcome to call and make an appointment.”

After a string of snarled expletives Schuldich hung up and Omi settled back into his chair and fussed with the computer for a few minutes before settling on the suggested game.

‘Abyssinian is on his way to your office right now. And when I say Abyssinian, I mean it. If you don’t want some poor front desk monkey skewered for doing its job, I suggest you send people on lunch and leave your door open or something.’

The furrow in Omi’s brow could have easily been caused by the game in front of him, the way he had to reshuffle the desk to accommodate another solitaire move.

‘Here’s what has Abby’s tail in a knot. Your little club is unsurprisingly rotten, kid. And just as unsurprisingly geared towards a little on the side death and mayhem. You have more factions to deal with than I have fetishes. They want to urge you towards an inelegant demise, and have it figured the best way to that end is to kill off your beloved Weiss. And, since someone oh so thoughtfully tossed me into that little party, I am sitting on that hit list.’

Omi absently moved a red king into position, and started tapping at the mouse in a way that could be considered contemplative, given the external circumstance of the game as opposed to the internal monologue he was receiving.

‘As soon as I recover from this hole in my side I intend on coming down for a nice office visit with my new fearless leader. That’s you, by the way. I am accepting this gig, seeing as everyone else has assumed I have and I do have a sort of personal interest in staying around. I am not doing this because you wanted. I am doing this because someone shot me and I am doing this because the alternative is killing every one of your little agents, and that would not sit well with Abyssinian. I will play nice while we sort this out. Nice by my definition. Now, play nice with Abyssinian, and remember to thank me for the heads up and briefing when you see me next. I’m going to take some of the nice drugs sitting on the nightstand and go the hell back to sleep.’

A headache teased at him in the wake of Schuldich’s information dump, and Omi clicked his game closed and stretched. He needed to step out of Persia’s den for a bit. The deceptively sterile office was oppressive, especially when one took into account just how many silent watchers were possible in so many different places. Every corner screamed spy, and Omi’s twitchiness howled paranoia.

But really, as went the old question, was it paranoia when they actually were out to get you?

Gathering his jacket, Omi exited the office, hoping to meet Aya outside, perhaps urge him to go to lunch.

Omi should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Aya was just entering as Omi tried to exit, and Omi could tell by the set to his friend’s shoulders, the utter lack of a facial expression, that he was dealing with a rather determined Abyssinian. Smiling at the older man, Omi offered a hand in greeting, and continued with an ease born of experience as his hand was utterly ignored. “I was just about to head out for lunch. Would you join me?”

Aya’s stare would have withered the young woman at the desk, and Omi was glad he had taken Schuldich’s advice. “I have things I need to discuss with you.” While the words were quiet, the demand apparent in the tone was anything but.

“Can we talk over bento or coffee? I need to get out of the office for a bit.” Omi scratched at the side of his head, cupping his left ear, a gesture that had always implied a bugged room mid-mission.

Aya’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “Coffee would be fine.”
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Strange Times