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DICLAIMER: Weiss Kreuz and its characters do not belong to me.
//telepathic thoughts//
What Do YOU Know?
Chapter 2
Using telekinesis is like exercising any other muscle in my body. With the rush of adrenaline coursing through my vein during a mission, I hardly notice how much strain I'm putting on myself. It seems limitless, this bottomless well of power that only I could tap into.
There's a certain rush from being able to effortlessly move large objects, slam enemies against the walls, or exercise finer control with something like unlocking doors, but there's also a price.
The aftereffects hit me hours later, barely noticeable at first but quickly degenerating my body and making me tired and sluggish. My mind shuts down, figuring that if I wasn't conscious, I couldn't push myself too far.
Or so I theorize; it sounds logical enough. But then, there's nothing logical about psi talents to begin with. For all I know, it could be completely random. If I was inclined toward religion, I could even argue that it was God's way of tempering our natural advantage, for Crawford and Schuldig each had unique drawbacks to their talents as well.
What I had used on Weiss wasn't nearly the extent of what I could do, but it left me feeling a bit drained nevertheless. So it wasn't surprising to find that I was the last one up and about.
Crawford was lingering over coffee while perusing the daily paper. He was halfway into the business section, already finished sections of the newspaper neatly folded on the table to his left. Schuldig was rinsing dishes. Farfarello wasn't present, which meant that he was in his cell, forcibly restrained because he was in one of his more dangerous moods, or by choice because he wanted to be alone. Personal space was something we all cherished, some more than others.
"Good morning," I greeted as I entered the kitchen.
Crawford acknowledged my presence with a crisp, "Morning," and a nod of his head, then turned back to his reading.
I got out a clean bowl and spoon, set them on the counter, and reached into the cabinet, tiptoeing slightly. When I landed back on my heels with the box of cereal, I was startled to see Schuldig had finished his chore and was standing extremely close to me.
I glanced at him questioningly, wondering what he wanted.
"Ne, Nagi-chan," he teased, slinking closer to give off an intimate air. Stray strands of orange-red hair tickled my face and I fought off the urge to sneeze.
"I had so much trouble sleeping last night because of you."
If he was disappointed by my lack of reaction, he didn't show it. Lazily, he trailed a finger along my cheekbone, following the curve down to my throat. "I know I told you to have fun," he purred, a telepathic echo in my mind making his words sound more sensual, "but did you have to be so..." he planted his palm flat on my chest "...rough?"
Schuldig concluded the sentence by giving me a shove, although not a particularly forceful one. I caught myself from stumbling back and shot him a dirty look as he threw back his head and laughed.
"You sure were banging the kitten hard," he snickered, throwing himself into his chair. "I hope he didn't leave imprints in the wall."
I ignored the double entendre, refusing to be goaded into a useless argument. Instead, I finished preparing my breakfast, pouring an inch and a half of milk, then filling it nearly to the brim with Cheerios. It was less soggy this way, and the satisfying crunch made up somewhat for the lack of taste.
I took my usual seat to the right of Crawford and across from Schuldig and dug in.
"Che, it's no fun when you don't react," he complained good-naturedly, waving a hand in the air for emphasis. His eyes flicked over to Crawford, who hadn't paid any heed to our... exchange, for lack of better term. "Either of you."
"Why don't you talk to Farfarello?" I suggested dryly, fishing out cereal from the bottom before they soaked up too much milk. I wasn't fond of dairy products, and could stand them only in small doses.
"He wants to meditate," Schuldig grumbled, raking a hand through his hair. "Think of all the wrongs God has committed against him to channel his anger or some crap. Can you believe that?" He gave a short bark of disbelief. "As if there is a God."
"People hold different beliefs," I replied calmly, although I secretly agreed with him. "There's no way to prove one is right and another not."
"Kid, we're the closest things to gods on Earth," Schuldig spread his arms out, indicating us. "We're practically invincible. Soon, not even Esset will be able to touch us."
"That's correct," Crawford cut in smoothly, apparently feeling this was a good opportunity to lecture us. "But until that time, we have to be careful to hide how powerful we truly are. And that means working together as a team."
"Aye, aye captain." Schuldig gave a mock salute, but a genuine grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. And if I had a mirror, I know I'd see the same expression on my own face. Ultimate freedom from Esset's thumb... that would be a triumphant day indeed. With them out of the way, Schwarz would be unstoppable. No one would be able to tell me what to do, or hurt me ever again.
And I had no doubt Crawford would deliver what he promised. He was never wrong.
//It's so cute whenever you think about Brad...//
"...your thoughts tastes like honey," Schuldig finished out loud. "All warm and glowy and sweet and sticky like molasses," he elaborated. "It's almost sickening, really."
"Then stay out of my mind," I said coolly, trying to keep the blush from heating my face. I erected my mental barriers and started counting prime numbers. 1. 2. 3. 5. 7. 11. 13. 17. 19. 23. 29. 31. 37.
It was a trick Crawford had taught me to hide information from telepaths. Unlike counting by ones, it required enough focus so my mind couldn't wander to other topics and give me away. It wouldn't work indefinitely, but I could hold out enough to bore Schuldig.
Sure enough, his presence in my mind disappeared.
And into another.
Crawford and I exchanged glances as Schuldig doubled over and dissolved into a fit of hysterical laughter. It wasn't that unusual to for him to smirk or make a wise comment when reading thoughts, but this? Whatever he was hearing must have been very amusing indeed.
"What is it?" I finally asked, giving in to curiosity.
"The kitten," he gasped out.
"What about him?" I asked, slightly irritated by this point. "He's locked up in my room. What's so funny about that?"
Schuldig snickered. "Yes, all chained up to Nagi's bed."
"I didn't want him to escape! If—"
"Tell me, Nagi," he interrupted. "When do you think he's last had the opportunity to use the bathroom?"
I frowned, thinking it over. "Well— Oh shit." My eyes grew wide as I realized what he was implying. "You don't mean—"
"Yes! He's about to piss his pants!" Schuldig said gleefully.
Gah, stupid Schuldig. Couldn't he warn me earlier instead of wasting the time laughing his ass off?
I hastily ran toward my room, fishing the key from the pocket even as I reached the door. Weiss was squirming uncomfortably, his legs crossed and locked. I might have found the scene funny if it wasn't my floor he was sitting on, and me that would have to clean up any messes.
His wrists were chafed, dried blood only partially masking the angry burn marks on the back of his hands. It looked as if he had peeled a couple layers of skin off before giving up. Even dislocating his thumb wouldn't have worked. The handcuffs were specially made to fit me, snugly I might add, and my wrists were thinner than his.
The left cuff opened with a click and I disentagled it from the board and stepped back to give him room.
"Bathroom's there," I pointed, in case he hadn't noticed yesterday night.
He stood up quickly, then stumbled, the lack of circulation causing his legs to fold. I caught him, cushioning the weight with telekinesis.
He tried to push me away, resentment and embarrassment burning in his eyes before he turned his face away. But he was too tired from our previous tussle, the lack of sleep and distress of being captured to fight back. He gave in, leaning against me as I tugged him into the small room.
It was pathetic. I almost felt pity for him then. Maybe even sympathy. If I were in his place, the humiliation would be worse than any other torture they could think of. To accept help from an enemy, and be dependent on their goodwill... hell, I'd prefer they just kill me.
But that's just me.
I helped him to stand in front of the toilet, holding him steady until he regained his own balance. Once I was sure he wouldn't collapse, I stepped back out and shut the door behind me, hoping he could manage the rest by himself. There was no way I was doing anything else.
He urinated, flushed, and turned on the tap, a pause between each action. He was certainly moving slowly.
I frowned. Was it a mistake to leave him there unsupervised? There were no windows or vents large enough to fit his body through, but that didn't mean he wasn't searching for a weapon to gouge my eyes out with.
"Hey are you done? Hurry it up," I called, masking unease with impatience.
If he was up something, Crawford would have seen it happening, wouldn't he? Weiss could easily be washing up and tending his injuries.
The water didn't stop.
"Alright, I'm coming in," I warned, then seized the knob.
It was locked.
"Fuck. Open up, damnit! This isn't going to help!"
I jiggled the doorknob, waiting for an answer that never came. With a disgusted sigh, I closed my eyes, trying to feel the inner workings of the lock mechanism so that I could work it open.
"What the..." I jumped back, socked feet cold and soaking wet. Water was slipping out the crack at a rapid rate. Something was definitely wrong.
"Screw this." I stood out of the way, then raised my hands in front of me. With a thought, the door blasted out of its hinges and into the bedroom, removing the obstacle in a messy but quick way.
Water was overflowing the sides of the stopped sink, pooling onto the tiled floor and running out the threshold.
And there, slumped facefirst into the flooded basin, was an unconscious Weiss.
tbc...
----------
January 7, 2003
DICLAIMER: Weiss Kreuz and its characters do not belong to me.
//telepathic thoughts//
Chapter 2
Using telekinesis is like exercising any other muscle in my body. With the rush of adrenaline coursing through my vein during a mission, I hardly notice how much strain I'm putting on myself. It seems limitless, this bottomless well of power that only I could tap into.
There's a certain rush from being able to effortlessly move large objects, slam enemies against the walls, or exercise finer control with something like unlocking doors, but there's also a price.
The aftereffects hit me hours later, barely noticeable at first but quickly degenerating my body and making me tired and sluggish. My mind shuts down, figuring that if I wasn't conscious, I couldn't push myself too far.
Or so I theorize; it sounds logical enough. But then, there's nothing logical about psi talents to begin with. For all I know, it could be completely random. If I was inclined toward religion, I could even argue that it was God's way of tempering our natural advantage, for Crawford and Schuldig each had unique drawbacks to their talents as well.
What I had used on Weiss wasn't nearly the extent of what I could do, but it left me feeling a bit drained nevertheless. So it wasn't surprising to find that I was the last one up and about.
Crawford was lingering over coffee while perusing the daily paper. He was halfway into the business section, already finished sections of the newspaper neatly folded on the table to his left. Schuldig was rinsing dishes. Farfarello wasn't present, which meant that he was in his cell, forcibly restrained because he was in one of his more dangerous moods, or by choice because he wanted to be alone. Personal space was something we all cherished, some more than others.
"Good morning," I greeted as I entered the kitchen.
Crawford acknowledged my presence with a crisp, "Morning," and a nod of his head, then turned back to his reading.
I got out a clean bowl and spoon, set them on the counter, and reached into the cabinet, tiptoeing slightly. When I landed back on my heels with the box of cereal, I was startled to see Schuldig had finished his chore and was standing extremely close to me.
I glanced at him questioningly, wondering what he wanted.
"Ne, Nagi-chan," he teased, slinking closer to give off an intimate air. Stray strands of orange-red hair tickled my face and I fought off the urge to sneeze.
"I had so much trouble sleeping last night because of you."
If he was disappointed by my lack of reaction, he didn't show it. Lazily, he trailed a finger along my cheekbone, following the curve down to my throat. "I know I told you to have fun," he purred, a telepathic echo in my mind making his words sound more sensual, "but did you have to be so..." he planted his palm flat on my chest "...rough?"
Schuldig concluded the sentence by giving me a shove, although not a particularly forceful one. I caught myself from stumbling back and shot him a dirty look as he threw back his head and laughed.
"You sure were banging the kitten hard," he snickered, throwing himself into his chair. "I hope he didn't leave imprints in the wall."
I ignored the double entendre, refusing to be goaded into a useless argument. Instead, I finished preparing my breakfast, pouring an inch and a half of milk, then filling it nearly to the brim with Cheerios. It was less soggy this way, and the satisfying crunch made up somewhat for the lack of taste.
I took my usual seat to the right of Crawford and across from Schuldig and dug in.
"Che, it's no fun when you don't react," he complained good-naturedly, waving a hand in the air for emphasis. His eyes flicked over to Crawford, who hadn't paid any heed to our... exchange, for lack of better term. "Either of you."
"Why don't you talk to Farfarello?" I suggested dryly, fishing out cereal from the bottom before they soaked up too much milk. I wasn't fond of dairy products, and could stand them only in small doses.
"He wants to meditate," Schuldig grumbled, raking a hand through his hair. "Think of all the wrongs God has committed against him to channel his anger or some crap. Can you believe that?" He gave a short bark of disbelief. "As if there is a God."
"People hold different beliefs," I replied calmly, although I secretly agreed with him. "There's no way to prove one is right and another not."
"Kid, we're the closest things to gods on Earth," Schuldig spread his arms out, indicating us. "We're practically invincible. Soon, not even Esset will be able to touch us."
"That's correct," Crawford cut in smoothly, apparently feeling this was a good opportunity to lecture us. "But until that time, we have to be careful to hide how powerful we truly are. And that means working together as a team."
"Aye, aye captain." Schuldig gave a mock salute, but a genuine grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. And if I had a mirror, I know I'd see the same expression on my own face. Ultimate freedom from Esset's thumb... that would be a triumphant day indeed. With them out of the way, Schwarz would be unstoppable. No one would be able to tell me what to do, or hurt me ever again.
And I had no doubt Crawford would deliver what he promised. He was never wrong.
//It's so cute whenever you think about Brad...//
"...your thoughts tastes like honey," Schuldig finished out loud. "All warm and glowy and sweet and sticky like molasses," he elaborated. "It's almost sickening, really."
"Then stay out of my mind," I said coolly, trying to keep the blush from heating my face. I erected my mental barriers and started counting prime numbers. 1. 2. 3. 5. 7. 11. 13. 17. 19. 23. 29. 31. 37.
It was a trick Crawford had taught me to hide information from telepaths. Unlike counting by ones, it required enough focus so my mind couldn't wander to other topics and give me away. It wouldn't work indefinitely, but I could hold out enough to bore Schuldig.
Sure enough, his presence in my mind disappeared.
And into another.
Crawford and I exchanged glances as Schuldig doubled over and dissolved into a fit of hysterical laughter. It wasn't that unusual to for him to smirk or make a wise comment when reading thoughts, but this? Whatever he was hearing must have been very amusing indeed.
"What is it?" I finally asked, giving in to curiosity.
"The kitten," he gasped out.
"What about him?" I asked, slightly irritated by this point. "He's locked up in my room. What's so funny about that?"
Schuldig snickered. "Yes, all chained up to Nagi's bed."
"I didn't want him to escape! If—"
"Tell me, Nagi," he interrupted. "When do you think he's last had the opportunity to use the bathroom?"
I frowned, thinking it over. "Well— Oh shit." My eyes grew wide as I realized what he was implying. "You don't mean—"
"Yes! He's about to piss his pants!" Schuldig said gleefully.
Gah, stupid Schuldig. Couldn't he warn me earlier instead of wasting the time laughing his ass off?
I hastily ran toward my room, fishing the key from the pocket even as I reached the door. Weiss was squirming uncomfortably, his legs crossed and locked. I might have found the scene funny if it wasn't my floor he was sitting on, and me that would have to clean up any messes.
His wrists were chafed, dried blood only partially masking the angry burn marks on the back of his hands. It looked as if he had peeled a couple layers of skin off before giving up. Even dislocating his thumb wouldn't have worked. The handcuffs were specially made to fit me, snugly I might add, and my wrists were thinner than his.
The left cuff opened with a click and I disentagled it from the board and stepped back to give him room.
"Bathroom's there," I pointed, in case he hadn't noticed yesterday night.
He stood up quickly, then stumbled, the lack of circulation causing his legs to fold. I caught him, cushioning the weight with telekinesis.
He tried to push me away, resentment and embarrassment burning in his eyes before he turned his face away. But he was too tired from our previous tussle, the lack of sleep and distress of being captured to fight back. He gave in, leaning against me as I tugged him into the small room.
It was pathetic. I almost felt pity for him then. Maybe even sympathy. If I were in his place, the humiliation would be worse than any other torture they could think of. To accept help from an enemy, and be dependent on their goodwill... hell, I'd prefer they just kill me.
But that's just me.
I helped him to stand in front of the toilet, holding him steady until he regained his own balance. Once I was sure he wouldn't collapse, I stepped back out and shut the door behind me, hoping he could manage the rest by himself. There was no way I was doing anything else.
He urinated, flushed, and turned on the tap, a pause between each action. He was certainly moving slowly.
I frowned. Was it a mistake to leave him there unsupervised? There were no windows or vents large enough to fit his body through, but that didn't mean he wasn't searching for a weapon to gouge my eyes out with.
"Hey are you done? Hurry it up," I called, masking unease with impatience.
If he was up something, Crawford would have seen it happening, wouldn't he? Weiss could easily be washing up and tending his injuries.
The water didn't stop.
"Alright, I'm coming in," I warned, then seized the knob.
It was locked.
"Fuck. Open up, damnit! This isn't going to help!"
I jiggled the doorknob, waiting for an answer that never came. With a disgusted sigh, I closed my eyes, trying to feel the inner workings of the lock mechanism so that I could work it open.
"What the..." I jumped back, socked feet cold and soaking wet. Water was slipping out the crack at a rapid rate. Something was definitely wrong.
"Screw this." I stood out of the way, then raised my hands in front of me. With a thought, the door blasted out of its hinges and into the bedroom, removing the obstacle in a messy but quick way.
Water was overflowing the sides of the stopped sink, pooling onto the tiled floor and running out the threshold.
And there, slumped facefirst into the flooded basin, was an unconscious Weiss.
tbc...
----------
January 7, 2003