Weiss Kreuz Sphere | Locked to Weiss Kreuz Cast
[OOC - Not meaning to cut anyone out from further escapades later, but we'd like to just warm up with castmates please. Also, HEAVY WARNING, no sex, but...plenty of violence and religious themes that many people might find offensive.]
( Well it rains and it pours... )
( Well it rains and it pours... )
Apt, tonight. He skirted the busy streets - busy even in the rain, ah Tokyo, you and your millions, never-sleeping neon anthill churning with lives - boots squelching in the filth of his preferred alleyways.
Crawford had very nearly stopped him from leaving this fine evening, he remembered, slogging through the rain. The thick heavy drops soaked his head and back and thighs, but the cold only registered as a dim and distant sensation, like the heat felt when gazing at a painting of a fire. He'd had a vision, that much was clear, and such a vision as he'd considered raising his hand to destiny once again.
But then he'd retreated, leaving Farfarello to act as he chose. Without leadership, without guidance. Without command.
Just as he preferred.
The streets were busy, but the church was nearly empty this time of night. Christianity was an affectation for many in this country, a lip service that Farfarello trusted grated against God's heart. And an nearly empty church meant that the few in attendance were the truly faithful, those whose loss would sear the Liar's ears, whose dying curses would rend the skies until the Great Deceiver wept tears of blood on the world below.
He did so love Tuesdays.
Slipping silently through the heavy front door, Farfarello pulled the length of chain from around his waist and secured the doors. Padding down the aisle, he stopped, gazing up at the macabre image of God's beloved Son, twisted in the agonies of his torture. How could the fools worship a God who would cause such pain to His Son? It was inconceivable.
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No, that wasn't fair. He didn't like to think of himself as insane. That suggested a lack of rationality, a lack of sense, and it implied a certain imbalance to his nature, which he certainly didn't have. Sociopathic, perhaps, that name he'd carry with a bit of pride to it, but...they had always called the truly faithful mad, while those pretenders to the faith claimed to be its very heads.
Those who managed to rise in the ranks of the church had, by their very nature, lost track of the point, anyway. He was more than happy to drive it home to them in steel.
It was when he heard chain on the door that he finally finished his prayers, putting the candle in the holder so he could turn and see what was going on. The sight at the doors gave him quite a bit of pause. Were his prayers truly answered? Or was he now approaching madness finally? He flexed his hands, the wax cracking and flaking off of them as he moved. He stood and headed from the side altar towards the main aisle of the church so that he could head down to the doors and see if his mind was playing tricks on him or if he saw what he thought he saw.
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Identify yerself, he thought at the man standing before him, examining him in detail. The likeness was incredible. Not that he spent much time in the company of mirrors. He'd left his favorite collapsing foil at the apartment, but the KA-BAR at his hip would more than suffice should his doppelganger prove to be here on Esset's orders. Speak and be known.
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Without Schuldig there to link their minds, the other man's thoughts stayed secure in his head, though while Farfarello was unaware of them, he was coincidentally thinking the same. Though thinking at each other would accomplish little. When he spoke up, he spoke in Gaelic.
"Who are you, and how do you come to be here?" He let the simple statement stand on its own, the foreign language far, far out of place here in Japan. But if this man truly was his -copy-...
But how? Schuldig wouldn't do something like this, wouldn't interrupt his prayers. Another telepath in the area could have done it, but then the question was -why-. It was too difficult an illusion, from his rudimentary understanding of Schuldig's powers. That left two options. One was just as unlikely for the difficult and ...rather pointless nature of it.
That left God. Because He was ever so fond of trickery like this. He loved to throw test after test after test at him. Was this a test? But who was testing whom? Was the other to test him or was he to test the other or were they to test each other no. The test was the test, to test for hypocrisy and the testing was the test. He needed to test him and test him harshly, and if he failed then they both had....
This was going to be a headache.
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Was this why Crawford had moved to stop him? It was too big a risk to allow Farfarello to act on his own when Rosenkreuz was involved, so either the risk was minimal or the payoff was worth it. Farfarello took a step closer, moving right up into his doppelganger's personal space and staring intently into his single eye. God or Esset? God or Esset? Kill or obey? "Are ye here to stop me?"
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He recognised that gravelly accent, the not quite correct formation of the German words that Schuldig spoke so easily. This doppelgänger was too accurate to be imitation. This was God's work. "What would I be here to stop you from?" The question came naturally, though he could take a wild guess at the answer. What was it that he most needed to stop? Was he doubting his holy charge? Was he doubting this very thing that he had been forced to do, that damned his immortal soul because of God's own plan that proved he was so loved as to be chosen for damnation by God's own design?
He could fight this man. He could move to draw his knife and have him in the gut right now he was so close. But that would just leave him alone with his doubts, leave him with nothing but his own thoughts and that...that was not a good thing. He stared right back into that eye, his own narrowing as he all but dared the man to say what he was expecting him to say.
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"No survivors," he assured his twin, baring his teeth with the old familiar feral mania that had been his cloak and comfort for so many years. "No witnesses." Just a little more of the anarchy that the Elders had demanded they stir up around Tokyo. Just crazy Farfarello killing a couple civilians. See what a good dog he was?
Behind him, the crucifix sang in the back of his mind. His fingers twitched against his trouser leg, eager to begin spilling blood across the alter. The elderly couple in the front pew hadn't turned around, but the thin, intense-looking young man in his high buttoned shirt and severe buzzcut was staring openly now. They had maybe thirty seconds before he interfered. "Will ye join in or stand aside?"
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He expected that the other man would understand perfectly, though. This was a test from God, after all, and...the other man was his perfect duplicate; down to the scars on his face. More than twins, he expected that the other man would know his mind intimately. They were duplicates, after all.
But that duplication was earning them attention, and he turned to face the man that was staring so intently at them. He gave him a smile, though it was far from a pleasant one. "Something interesting~?" he asked, since he could tell from the man's posture and stance that they weren't going to have peace from him anyway.
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The man shivered, eyes widening to cartoonish proportions. His legs quivered beneath him and he sank back into the pew without a sound, blood staining the high collar of his shirt. Farfarello watched him sink without any expression.
God did not save his favorites, not even in His house. God took, but did not give. God claimed, but did not receive. That was his test, every time, in a dozen cities, and every time God failed.
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He moved quickly, moving to punch his twin in the gut and hopefully sink him to the ground. Of course, his double wouldn't feel pain any more than he did, but if he hit him in the right spot, it would knock the air out of his lungs, and that would give him a moment to unbalance him and knock him down.
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That punch was the beginning. The end would be when one of them lay still on the floor. Without hesitation Farfarello plucked the KA-BAR from his belt and spun about, aiming to slam the blade into the side of his twin's head.
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He drew his own KA-BAR, smiling wickedly at the ramifications of this little fight. So his subconscious attacked first...that was interesting to know about himself. He swayed from side to side, feinting to both sides and hanging back before rushing him head on. The only question was, would he get the knife into his twin's heart before he took a knife somewhere fatal?
Unlike so many others, his fighting style wasn't particularly based on dinking around. Fast, direct, and to the point...this would be lethal, and it would also be quick.
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Ah. Yes. There was the twitch of muscles in the shoulder, the shifting of stance for a charge. His double thrust straight for his heart - a good clean attack, very smooth, leaving few openings - and Farf couldn't help but laugh. The rasping bray echoed off the high ceiling of the church, startling the two old women kneeling at the front pew. Farf dodged to the side, easily avoiding the front attack, and the women caught his eye.
Was his double here to stop him from slaying the penitent, or was he just looking for a fight?
Driving his elbow back into the ribs his double exposed during his lunge, Farf plucked a slender throwing knife - barely more than a needle - from his wrist cuff. The slim blades caused great pain but very little damage to even the most frail of bodies - they were perfect for targets desired incapacitated but not unresponsive.
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Though the pain was erased and it was simple pressure to him, it was simple pressure that was quickly pressing the air out of his lungs. He backed off, trying to place some distance between himself and his double.
He knew what the other was doing with his hand at his wrist, though an opponent unaware might have been surprised by the movement and miss the need to get out of the way. His aim was deadly accurate with those, and a knife to a pressure point or a tendon could be disabling even without the pain.
He closed off his stance and drew his stiletto, expanding it to its full length, though he kept his feet light, ready to dodge those blades. If an opponent ever got in close to him, they were doomed, and that was now working in spades against him. But he was good with distance work, too. He survived his work as Schwarz' Berserker for a reason, after all.
This was going to be the hardest fight of his life, and he didn't like that. He took a deep breath and let it out as a hiss, his teeth closed though is lips were open and up in a manic grin. This was going to be the hardest fight of his life, and...maybe he liked that.
He joined his double in laughing, the battle frenzy finally starting to take him. Those knives would be easy to dodge, and he didn't have an unlimited supply.
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The needle blades were slender, and trembled in the wound causing unbearable agony. Without a handle (or even the barest hint of a tang) they were difficult to grip to remove, and yet the slim size meant that, unless a major organ or artery were struck, the victim suffered barely any harm at all. They were, in essence, perfect for pinning prey down, to be dealt with later.
His double drew his foil - the twin of Farfarello's own, it seemed, down to the barest hesitation as the blade extended - and Farfarello grinned, baring his teeth. Perhaps his double was here just to fight him, and without any regard for the civilians surrounding them. That was good. That was as it should be. Farfarello flicked his wrist, sending the needles flying into the bodies of the old women, and again into the old man, his gaze never leaving his double's face. Allow him to secure the sheep, his smile said, and he'd be ready to fight momentarily.
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He hated God for choosing him as it, and he felt victimised for the things he'd endured because of it, but he wasn't going to let God force his hand and break him down with it, either. He wasn't going to succumb into petty sin for the sake of sin just so that God could say He was justified in picking such a sinner for the job he held.
But neither was it his place to particularly try to stop the other man. This was either a trick from his own subconscious or an act of God. Perhaps this was his opportunity for salvation; if he could win against himself, he could be freed from what was holding him down like this. He liked those odds.
He readied his stance, waiting for his twin to come at him. This was going to be fun, and he smiled back at his double in recognition of that fact.
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