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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
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: Going for the weekly update. A little angst, but there can’t be sunshine
all the time.

Review Responses:

Ann – Schu doesn’t visit Großmutter
this time, but he will in the future.
More adorable Schu on the way.
Thanks for reading.

~telepathy~ aka communicating

/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading
someone’s mind

German Words:

Großmutter - Grandmother

Halt die Schnauze – Shut up (I
found several different ways to say this online and in my

dictionary. I don’t know which way would be used, but I
like this one the best. It’s literally
‘Stop the lip,’ and it made me think of a teacher or my mom saying ‘Don’t give
me any lip.’ ^_^

was auch immer- whatever

Chapter Nine

            Schuldig
stood, hand on the doorknob, staring at his half closed door. He wanted to close it; to shut Crawford
out. He wanted to keep it open, so that
he wasn’t alone. He wanted to be alone,
but he couldn’t be alone. There were the
voices, always the voices. He wanted to
go back to the living room, lie on the couch, and listen to the silence that
was Brad. He wanted a physical reminder
that the voices weren’t disembodied phantasms haunting him, that he wasn’t
imagining things. He was fine. People could be like him; were like him. It was normal. He wasn’t possessed. His mother didn’t have to be afraid. The doctors in their white coats and the
priest in their black robes lied. He
wasn’t sick. There was no need for
locks. Demons may like the dark, but he
didn’t. He was human. He was human!

Schuldig breathed in a shaky
breath, and released the doorknob; the impression of which remained on his palm. He left the door half open.

/Mom just doesn’t get it./

/Is he cheating on me?/

/I wonder if it comes in blue…/

/I could ask. I could go right up to her. Oh shit here she comes!/

/Could death be any worse?/

/I wish she’d get off my case./

/Maybe if I did my hair, he’d
notice me./

/or red…/

/She’d never go out with me./

/Would anyone notice if I did it?/

            The
telepath stood in front of the doorway, just listening. There were always so many people, so many
thoughts. Language never seemed to be a
problem in people’s minds. Thoughts,
Schuldig thought, were the ultimate barrier breaker. To bad everyone didn’t know that, or to bad
everyone didn’t know Schuldig knew that; depending on the point of view. For a moment Schuldig just listened to a
chorus only he could hear, and let it carry him away. His mind floated on a sea of noise that
became closer to static the wider he let the field grow. Mentally scattering himself verged on
extremely dangerous. If the net was to
thin, it would break. Just one mind in
excess, and Schuldig could lose himself forever in a sea of chaos, but the
white noise; however, could be just as addicting as silence. If the voices couldn’t be silenced, then
block them with more noise till there was nothing remotely resembling
words: the Telepath’s Symphony.

            Schuldig
sank to the floor. His head fell back to
rest on the end of the bed, and there he sat staring at nothing, as music only
he could hear filled his head. Slowly,
above the din, his own thoughts collected.
As oil from water, Schuldig’s mind slipped drop by drop to float
together all the while shaking clingy interlopers away. There beyond the interference of other minds
and personalities, Schuldig thought his own thoughts, confident in the
knowledge that they were his thoughts.

            Brad
Crawford, he thought, was not supposed to be serious. Brad Crawford was supposed to be a game to
amuse Schuldig, and to prove that Großmutter was
wrong. Flirting with Brad Crawford was
supposed to be fun because annoying Brad Crawford was fun. If he managed to get laid in the process,
however unlikely, all the better, but it shouldn’t be serious. Of course the precog should worry about
Schuldig, he was planning an usurpation of a powerful organization, but where
was the line of professional interest?
Schuldig could take care of himself.
He didn’t always need Brad Crawford, bastard precog extraordinaire. He just needed Brad sometimes, occasionally,
not even that; just when he did, but only because Brad was usually already
there. The precog knew what it was like
to have a talent (gift/curse) ready
to engulf him. Precognition may not be
as volatile as telepathy, but Brad could understand enough. That didn’t mean Schuldig needed the
bastard. He could do without Brad, and
he could certainly make his own coffee. Brad
Crawford was not supposed to be serious.
Brad Crawford wasn’t supposed to look at Schuldig with honey colored
eyes, and Schuldig wasn’t supposed to like them so much.

            But
Schuldig, who was never really alone, didn’t want to be alone. He wanted someone outside the voices, a
physicality that he could see and touch.
He wanted to exist outside his mind.
He wanted to be noticed, and not cast aside. He wanted to be recognized, touched, and
heard. He wanted to be real to somebody,
and not just a voice in someone else’s head.
He needed to exist.

            Mental
strain was starting to set in. Beyond
the white noise, pain waited. Blackness
hovered just out of the telepath’s control.
Carefully, Schuldig began to filter through the noise. He retracted back into his own mind. The sounds became more distinct, gaining
syllables, and whole words. No longer
actively scanning, the voices lessoned in intensity. He could still hear them flowing through the
back of his mind, around his own thoughts, occasionally through them, and back
again. Slowly he came down from his
high. He blinked once, again, then
slowly focused on the ceiling.

            “Does
Crawford know you’re doing that?”

            “Halt
die Schnauze.”

            “Dinner’s
ready.”

            “Ja, was
auch immer.”

            “I’m not
saving it, if you don’t eat.”

            “Nagi,” Schuldig’s eyes rolled down to gaze, past his nose, at the
voice not in his head, “don’t tell Brad.”

            “I
suppose if your head was going to combust, Crawford would have seen it.”

            “He’s
focused on Estet. He pushes everything
else out.”

            “Not
stuff involving your brain exploding.”

            “How
do you know?”

            “Schuldig,”
Nagi sighed irritably, “don’t be stupid.
He would know if one of us was going to die. He’s Crawford.”

            “Yeah,
sure kid.”

           “Don’t
call me that,” Nagi snapped. “You look
like crap.” The Japanese boy walked the
few steps to the bathroom, rummaged through a drawer, and came back. Dropping a small bottle in the telepaths lap,
he turned to leave again. “Crawford
hates it when you’re reckless.”

            “He
hates disorder,” Schuldig replied to Nagi’s retreating back. The redhead held up the bottle of eye drops,
which apparently was the signal for his eyes to announce their dry and
bloodshot state.

            After
his eyes no longer resembled veined marbles, Schuldig strolled to the
kitchen. He took his customary seat with
Brad on his right and Nagi on his left.
Across from him, Farfarello’s seat was empty, as it always was on Sunday. Brad gave a raised eyebrow glance in the
telepath’s direction, before returning his attention to dinner. Schuldig stared at his plate of nikujaga,
feeling strangely comforted by the sight of potatoes. The vegetable may have been coated in soya
sauce, but the German always liked it when he could identify his food. Food, in his opinion, shouldn’t be
unpredictable. There were enough things
in life to watch out for other than food.
But Japanese food, in his opinion, was full of oddities. Life, in his opinion, was full of oddities;
namely one bastard precog extraordinaire with honey colored eyes.

End Chapter

Well what do yall think so far? I’m letting Schuldig take the route of
epiphany. Is it working? I still have no idea how long this thing is
going to be. On one hand (aka lazy) I
could get to the point and make it short.
On the other hand (aka plot) I could make it long and work in more of
the anime and end up with a long story full of impact (one can dream). I’ve been setting it up to go the long
route. Now tell me honestly people,
would you hang around for the scenic tour?
My muse demands plot! Writing
gods help me.

Oh yeah, Farfarello fans rejoice. Our favorite psychopath should be getting
some stage time in the near future.
Maybe next chapter if I don’t detour again.

Solaras
- 8
- 9
- 10
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Mind Games and Coffee