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Survivor: Schwartz	By : sefiru Category: Weiß Kreuz > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1784 -:- 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
- 6
- 7
Survivor: Schwartz

By Sefiru

Warnings: NC-17, M/M, oral, anal, D/s (as usual), evil.

Pairings: C/S, N/F

Summary: four psychic assassins on a desert island. Hijinks ensue.

Hmm, some of the reviews have disappeared. Anyway, thanks for reading, everyone.

This is the last chapter … and late again, too -_-; My brain just isn’t getting traction on this one.

***

Chapter 7: Escaping the Island

***

     The first order
of business was building a raft. Scratch that, the first order of business was
enjoying the relative lack of hangover resulting from an evening of beer and
roasted cockatrice (and yes, they did taste like chicken). Since Nagi didn’t drink and Crawford, who was a dork, only had
one, Schuldig and Farf had split the rest of the case
between them. Glorious alcohol, without which the world was a
dull and barren place. The second order of business was building a raft
so that they could reach the spot marked on the map.

      Abyssinian – if
it really was him – had kindly provided them an axe, so the job was easier than
most things he’d tried to do on this island, and that included Crawford. They
made a bamboo deck about two meters square and added a rope anchor at the end
of one of their salvaged ropes. At Crawford’s direction, Schuldig and Farf paddled the raft and dropped the anchor over their
target, then swam back to shore for lunch. At this point Schuldig realized that
he’d forgotten to complain about the work even once. This freaky island was
making him more responsible in spite of himself! The sooner they escaped, the better.

      “So what do you
think is down there?” He asked over his dish of coconut-cockatrice salad.

      “Who knows?” Nagi shrugged. “If the letter is telling the truth it’s
something to help us escape. Maybe a transmitter or
something.”

      “I’ll bet it’s bicycles,” Farf remarked. Now
that would suck. Crawford just looked at them with his
I-know-something-you-don’t-know smirk.

      Well, if he had
that expression on it couldn’t be all bad. “Maybe it’s a magic dragon who’ll
grant us three wishes and teleport us back to Tokyo.”

      “The way this
island is, it would probably eat us first.” Farf
rose, settled his knives in his belt – some things never changed, he had all
the stone ones as well as his new steel – and strolled down the beach with his
hands in his pockets. This time all four of them stripped down and swam to the raft.
After a brief interlude of sunbathing (Crawford), ogling (Schuldig) and
fish-chasing (Farf), they settled down to examine the
area. The brilliantly clear water gave them a perfect view of the sea floor,
revealing … absolutely nothing.

      “It’s buried in
the sand,” Crawford said, and dove off the edge of the raft. Schuldig sighed
and followed him; he heard two splashes as Farf and Nagi did, too. The next ten minutes or so were a cycle of
dig a small hole, keep an eye out for sharks, go up for air, go back down and
dig another hole. Schuldig was on his third hole when he hit something. He
scraped away more sand, uncovering a section of blue plastic tarp. That
couldn’t be there by accident. I think I found it, he sent over their link.
Crawford motioned for everyone to surface; they caught their breaths and
examined the now less-than-pristine sand.

      Schuldig pointed
out his hole and Nagi reached down with his power to
carefully move the sand aside. A tarp-covered shape emerged, rounded at one end
and pointed at the other, with a long, narrow ridge bisecting it … “It’s a
boat!” Farf exclaimed.

      Duh. Nagi cleared off the rest of
the sand and they all went down to unwrap the tarp.
Under it was a sporty thirty-foot sailboat with its mast laid against its deck
and the name Bad Kitty painted on the stern. It was also, of course, full of
water.

      “It’s too heavy
for me to lift,” Nagi said once they were back on the
raft.

      “It won’t do us
much good in Davy Jones’ locker,” Farf said. “I don’t
think the kitties would go to all this trouble and not leave a way to raise
it.”

      “The balloons! There were like a thousand of them in the
crate. We can use those to float it.” Schuldig felt proud of himself for
figuring that out. The only problem was that the balloons were back at their
campsite.

      “In any case,
it’s time to start making dinner,” Crawford said. “Let’s return to shore and
continue this in the morning.” And naturally that’s what they ended up doing.
Damn precog.

***

      “The bow is starting
to float,” Crawford announced, leaning his elbows on the raft.

      “That’s – hfff – just great – hfff.”
Schuldig tied off the latest balloon and pressed it to the water’s surface,
where Nagi’s power caught it and pulled it under. The
kid was sitting in the middle of the raft with a palm-leaf hat shading his
head, his eyes closed as he focused all his attention on sinking balloons and
stuffing them into the boat’s hull. On the other side of the raft, Farf was busy inflating latex as well. Schuldig had lost
count of all the balloons they’d filled; he’d never spent so much time blowing
and enjoyed it so little. Crawford managing to look suave and dignified while
soaking wet and wearing only his shorts wasn’t helping.

     If one end of the
thing was floating, though, that meant that they were almost done. Even
stakeouts weren’t this boring. He picked up another balloon and tried to ignore
his sunburned back; he must have zoned out for a while, because the next thing
he registered was the glub … glorp
of Bad Kitty coming to the surface. “Great, now we have to bail the thing out,”
he grumbled.

     “We still need a
few more balloons to get the hatch clear,” Crawford said.

     “Fuck.”

      Through some
miracle, they had the boat fully afloat and bailed out by evening, and used the
oars thoughtfully lashed to the deck to get it to the beach. Which led to that
night’s entertainment: getting rid of all those balloons by throwing knives at
them. That made Schuldig feel a whole lot better.
“Take that, you latex sonofabitch! Die, airbag!”

      Abyssinian had
packed the boat with even more useful gear – such as sails – in waterproof
bags. But more importantly from Schuldig’s point of
view, it had beds. And a kitchen. And a toilet – okay,
it was one of those hand-cranked maritime ones, but he wept tears of joy when
he saw it. Over the next two days, he and Farf got
the Bad Kitty rigged and floating, Nagi collected
food for the trip, and Crawford worked out where they were going. Typical
pre-op work, pretty much. For souvenirs they had the giant cat skin, half a
dozen cockatrices in a wicker cage, and Farf’s magic
bushes in pots – not to mention all his stone knives. Farf
refused to give them up.

      They spent their
last evening aboard the boat – mattresses, what luxury – and were up at the
dawn. Nagi pulled up the anchor and Farf set the sails. As they floated out with the tide,
Crawford stood up and cleared his throat. “I believe this occasion calls for a
few words.” He turned to face the island and bellowed, “Fuck you, Eszet!”

      “Fuck you, Eszet!” echoed the others, lifting imaginary mugs. Bad
Kitty was on her way.

***

Le End. I’ll leave their meeting up with Weiss to your
imaginations …

My next story, Yusuke’s Revenge, will be starting October 17
in the YuYu Hakusho
section. Yes, it’s the sequel to Hot Mazoku Action.
Please check it out!
- 6
- 7
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Survivor: Schwartz