The Black Cross

Farfarello woke in a very good mood. His mood was often good these days. He'd used to think it was better to be as angry as possible as often as possible, to use his mind to channel as much righteous rage as he could, assuming that it would make him stronger. Strong enough to fulfill his purpose. But now...he'd never felt stronger than he did now that his eyes had been fully opened. The rage was replaced with a serenity that made him feel untouchable, powerful in an almost mystical way. He was able to feel pleasures he'd never known before, even just doing the same things he'd been doing for years.

Juggling a few of his throwing knives with enviable dexterity, he walked from his sparse bedroom into the living room, instantly spotting Schuldig's eye-searing mane.

"Morning, my lovely."

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There was an endless supply of ways to answer such a charming greeting. Schuldich was pretty sure he had tried ‘simpering’ yesterday, and it hadn’t managed to even dent Farfarello’s uncanny bout of good temper.

Maybe today he would try 'amiable disdain'.

He greeted Farfarello with a raised eyebrow and smirk, and then uncurled from the couch as he heard the unmistakable sound of coffee preparation. The Great Provider had come to save him from a slow, decaffeinated death.

If he was lucky, Farfarello would do something interesting with one of those knives and provide entertainment to go along with breakfast.

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OOC- okay, trying again. This being my first RP and all and far from my usual style of writing. If it's still not right, I'll delete again and just watch for a while.

Crawford walked in from his office, prompted by a vision involving Schu, Farfarello and a game of catch using very sharp objects. To keep the mayhem to a minimum (bloodstains are such a bitch to remove from carpeting) he left the sanctity of his office to put in a leaderly appearance.

"No ordering in of anything," he said before Schu could even open his mouth. "Or don't you recall the last delivery boy to come here? I do *not* want any news articles to point attention our way."

Crawford set up the coffee maker, his movements hampered by a hovering telepath behaving very much like a cat attracted by the sound of a can opener. It was a shame Schuldig's speedy reactions spared him the elbow jabs. One of these days Crawford would get the drop on him.

Coffee in hand, Crawford sipped thoughtfully, watching over the rim Schuldig and Farfarello and wondering how long before the boredom of not having a job would drive those two to do something outrageous. Unfortunately, his internal eight ball said, "Outlook hazy. Try again later."

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“It wasn’t my fault Farf opened the door that time. And we didn’t do anything to him. At least, nothing permanent…”

Schuldich sniffed, trying to sort out whether Crawford was brewing the good stuff, of skimping and tossing the supermarket swill into the pot. Dodging unnecessary nudge after nudge, Schuldich decided to settle back and wait, though not before making his displeasure known. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the desk this morning.”

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Crawford tilted his head just right to do the evil, glinty glasses thing.

"I was working, unlike some who think channel surfing earns a paycheck. And, speaking of morning, what are doing up this side of noon?"

Crawford's smile was maliciously wicked, his fatigue chased away by the joy of baiting the telepath.

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Secreting his knives on his person, Farfarello entered the kitchen. He raised an eyebrow at Crawford pulling the flashing lenses on Schuldig so early in the day. Seemed like he was doing it more often since Eszett fell.

Opening the freezer, he grabbed two blueberry toaster waffles, butter spread from the fridge, and grabbed a plate to keep crumbs off the table. He sat down and began buttering the waffles.

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Crawford kept a discreet eye on Farfarello having his breakfast, not that he was under the illusion that Farf didn't know he was being watched, but it was always prudent to stay on his toes around the man.

Farfarello had been acting so...normal of late, if anything, disturbingly cheerful. Crawford had to wonder if there was a body he didn't know about somewhere.

Shelving that thought for later, Crawford turned instead to his own breakfast, namely the morning paper that went with his coffee.

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Crawford's watchfulness amused Farf. Not that the man had no need to be watchful, he just seemed...warier, of late. Whether he had cause to be wasn't a question that interested Farfarello.

He hurried to finish buttering the still-frozen waffles--they were no good if the ice melted too much. They just got soggy and unpleasant. Satisfied, he picked one up and crunched into it.

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There were many options when it came to answering Crawford’s jibe. Unfortunately most of them would end in either pain or aggravation for Schuldich. And it really was too damn early to have to deal with that shit. Maybe he could try the least offensive of them all.

Waiting until Crawford had retrieved his coffee, and was safely at the table, Schuldich plastered his best fawning simper onto his face. “What? Didn’t you already know I would be awake early today, oh Fearless Leader? I didn’t think anything slipped past your omniscience.”

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Crawford hid a frown behind his cup. Trust Schuldig to notice and bring up the fact that he wasn't foreseeing as much these days. Crawford was secretly terrified that the final showdown had damaged his talent somehow. Add the fact that he had noticed a few white, *white* not gray, hairs and Crawford was worried.

To cover his unease, Crawford smiled back at Schuldig.

"On occasion, I ignore snippets of your future. What's that saying Nagi picked up from his online buddies? Ah yes, TMI."

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There were some things never meant to come out of the mouth of Bradley Crawford. Cutting out anything with an eighteen and over rating, early teen chat slang made the top of the list.

As much as Schuldich hated admitting when he was beaten, he really had to concede the win for this bit of early morning sniping went to Crawford.

Not that Schuldich intended to admit defeat with any sort of grace. Baring his teeth in the feral cousin of a proper smile, Schuldich turned his back to the table and started to rifle through the fridge in search of leftover takeout to eat for breakfast.

He would concede the win, but damn if he would let Crawford have the last word.

“TMI would be letting you know what the widow across the hall thinks of your ass.”

Ah ha! Someone’s left over noodles that had, most likely, not been in there long enough to grow sentient. Schuldich pulled the slightly battered bit of Styrofoam from the back of the fridge, snagged a fork and ambled back to the living room. Eventually someone would come up with something to do. he wasn’t there to make the decisions. At least not in any obvious way.

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Crawford nearly choked on his last sip of coffee. The widow across the street and his own ass, two things he never, ever wanted to hear in the same sentence. Although it was a damned fine ass, even if he had to say so himself. No one else would ever dare tell him so, unless it was Schu, and the day he, or anyone else for that matter, took Schu seriously was the day they left themselves open for a serious mind-fucking.

Leaving Farfarello to finish crunching his waffle...popscicles, Crawford went to the living room. He found Schuldig savaging the scavenged noodles. It reminded him why they didn't go out to eat much in the fine places he liked to dine.

"I want to know what is going on with Weiss. We know they survived, but are they in any condition to cause us trouble? You, and Farfarello, too, if you think he will behave, will go on a little reconnaissance mission. Just watch. Do not play. Do not let yourself be discovered."

The last was said with chilly command and a warning glare not to make a flippant comment.

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Farfarello hear Crawford giving Schu a mission order in the living room. He stuffed the last of his breakfast into his mouth, annoyed. He'd been sitting right at the table with the man, yet he'd taken it upon himself to get up, go into the living room and give Schuldig the mission order. Not that he didn't always do that, and it had never bothered Farf before, but lately--since he wasn't constantly consumed with rage and vengeance--he'd taken a lot more notice of his everyday environment.

He sighed, and got to his feet, brushing crumbs off his fingers and depositing his plate in the half-empty dishwasher. He stood a moment in thought, and decided he didn't want to just go along with this plan, even though it was only a cheesy little mission.

Slipping silently out of the kitchen and into the foyer, he stuck his feet in his boots and buckled them up. Then he grabbed a jacket and noiselessly opened the front door, exiting just as quietly. Then, he took off running. Hopefully he'd be able to get hopelessly lost before they noticed he'd gone. He wasn't as fast as Schuldig could be, but he was faster than most humans. Rosenkreuz' scientists had seen to that.

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A niggling feeling, but nothing specific, sent Crawford back to the kitchen to check on Farfarello. He wanted to try and gauge the man's mental stability for the recon mission.

The kitchen was empty. Crawford went swiftly through every room. Farfarello was nowhere to be found, and although he strained his gift to the point of near blacking out, Crawford couldn't "see" a damned thing.

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Slurping a few remaining noodles in a way sure to disgust their fastidious leader, Schuldich finished lunch with an overly dramatic licking of the lips and set his Styrofoam on the floor. Everyone knew little gnomes came through and cleaned up after lazy telepaths. Well, either gnomes or telekinetics.

“Farf? Behave? Me? Not play? C’mon. you don’t need precognition to realize those stipulations would survive about a block.”

Schuldich stood, stretched, and shed languid amusement and his cavalier couch side manner for a viciously intensity. “So where are they? No one expect an assassin to go spying in broad daylight. And on a Sunday, no less.”

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Crawford retraced his steps to the living room. Each step carefully controlled to conceal his growing uneasiness.

"Farfarello has gone. See if you can find him, Schuldig. Telepathically or by searching in broad daylight, as you put it," Crawford snapped crisply.
"As for Weiss' location, I'll see what Nagi can uncover."

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“Find Farf? Sure. I’ll just look for a static-y bit of weird in the middle of an entire city and tell him to come home.” Sarcasm was a wonderful way to express the fact he expected something nice later. At least in Schuldich’s worldview it was. casting his telepathy, and hoping the bastard handt gotten far enough to make him strain his way into a headache, Schuldich looked for the singular bit of irritatingly hard to read that was Farfarello…

And caught some kittens nearby his errant team mate, like some sort of cosmic bonus for being a good boy and doing what he was told.

“Have dinner ready. I’m gonna want dinner when I get back. Good luck with Nags.” No point in taking away the kids computer fun by saying he had found a kitten or two.

Schuldich grabbed his jacket and walked off, looking almost distressingly pleased with himself.

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Crawford paused outside Nagi's door to shoot a glinty glasses glare at Schuldig. It was pointless as the telepath was already out the door.

Dinner?

Crawford pinched the bridge of his nose hard. He could feel the threads of control slipping through his fingers. It seemed the tighter he squeezed, the more they slipped.

Crawford was *pissed*. Along with the control, he felt a lessening of respect, at least they way it used to be. That thought was enough to give him pause. Did he really want things the way they used to be? Did he want to garner respect through fear? Hadn't they fought to free the entire team from just that very thing? He had some thinking to do.

Dinner. Schuldig would get his dinner along with the rest of them. Perhaps it was time to change tactics.

An idea blossomed and along with it a truly snarky smirk to rival his usual. Dinner should be interesting. Dessert would be the deciding factor.

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darkanger13.livejournal.com

Nagi sat in his room at his computer like he was most times just trying to block out the commotion that he knew the others were making. If there wasn't any bloodshed yet it was just a matter of time. He didn't need Crawford's talent to know that. He kept staring at the monitor in front of him with the hopes that he could pretend that no one was beyond the door of his bedroom; particularly no one with red hair or an affinity for sharp objects that always ultimately end in a mess that Nagi would have to be a part of in some way. This was all just too messed up.

A few more moments pass and with a sense of inevitability, Nagi gets to a stopping point in the current program he is working on and turns away from his computer. Its late enough now that he expects Crawford to beckon like the much competent leader that he is of such a well honed team of experts.

Nagi goes to the closet for a change of clothes as he realizes that sarcasm is really lost when you're the only one hearing it inside your own head. But maybe Schu was listening in this time and he could get a chuckle out of that.

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