Dead Weight
Title: Dead Weight
Recipient: mami_san
Author: genkischuldich
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Schwarz Gen. Nagi is having trouble adapting to life in Schwarz and showing respect for his team-mates.
Warnings: Language, casual violence.
In my first week as a member of Schwarz, I called Crawford 'dad' twice. The first time we were alone, but the second was over Schwarz's psychic link up during a mission. Farfarello and Schuldig pissed themselves laughing and continued as I smashed the target into the tarmac. I kept pushing down on him using the course surface like a cheese grater until his brains and bone fragments filled the tiny nooks and cracks of the sidewalk. Farfarello and Schuldig were still laughing, but they were laughing with me, not at me.
That was my first mission with Schwarz.
***
I don't like people seeing me eat. It's a reminder that they're paying for my food and will probably expect something in return. That was the case at the orphanage and it's the case in Schwarz right now.
It's seven thirty in the morning. Crawford and Farfarello won't be finished with their morning workout for another half hour. Schuldig is a stupid, unpredictable man who's probably still in bed.
The kitchen is part of a combined living and dining room, but this time there's ton of junk on the floor, in front of the television. Too stupid to figure out a sofa, Schuldig sits on the floor, surrounded by cocktail glasses and a bottle of green liquid. I stand there, frozen in the doorway, presuming that he felt my presence even before I saw him.
This is my direct boss; the deputy leader of Schwarz. And he's a fucking idiot.
"Drink this," he tells me, holding out a shot glass with two distinct colors layered on top of one another, one red and the other green.
His tone doesn't leave any room for refusal. I down it and wait for his reaction. Smugness or horror?
"Any good?" His smile is fixed in place, as per usual.
"Not bad," I say, my voice as even as his. If he thinks I've never tried alcohol before, he's crazy.
He rubs his hands together and his teeth glisten. "I'm gonna be rich. That was the prototype for the world's finest absinthe cocktail."
Did I mention he's a telepath? He can make more money in five minutes by forcing people to hand over their credit cards and PINs than by designing cocktails.
"Where's the fun in that?"
I instinctively take a step back. He must've heard me. "I've never heard of anyone who became rich and famous from mixing drinks."
"I'm gonna name it after me though. Schuldig's Essence, or something like that."
"Your... essence...?" I repeat. "Sounds like I'm drinking your--"
"My jizz? Good, that's what I'm going for." He rubbed his hands together. "Guess the name stays as is."
Just then Mr. Crawford arrives, topless and with a towel slung around his shoulders from his workout. I cross my fingers and hope maybe he can save me from the world's stupidest conversation with the world's stupidest man. Outside of a fight, Mr. Crawford tends not to draw attention, but this time he seems inexpressive from exhaustion rather than by choice.
"Everything okay, man?"
Apparently even Schuldig has noticed.
"Fine." Crawford dismisses our worries with a wave of his hand.
I hadn't even noticed Schuldig's grin had vanished until he resumes smiling. He gestures to the cocktail glasses and nods encouragingly at Crawford. "Any requests for absinthe cocktails?"
"Coffee. Iced."
Schuldig thinks about this. It's a pantomime of thinking. "I guess that's why you're the boss. Woulda never've thought of that in a million years."
Crawford walks over the kitchen unit and with calloused, slender fingers starts arranging a mug, a filter, a packet of pre-ground coffee... I watch the muscles on his back ripple with interest. It only takes two hours in the gym every day to get like that. I could totally make time for that. My gaze rises until I notice blood is seeping through the lower edge of the towel around his neck and starting to form tiny droplets on the strands.
"Schuldig!" I jump up in alarm, trusting that he's already seen what I have through his telepathy.
He's at the kitchen counter with Crawford before I've even finished saying his name. "What the hell happened?"
"I told the new guy to hit me as hard as he could. I think he held back."
Schuldig sighs deeply and presses his hand against the towel to stop the bleeding. I'm amazed he knows how. "What's his name again?"
Crawford accepts Schuldig guiding him toward the door and our medical bay. "Farfarello. It's from Dante's Inferno."
"Ah," Schuldig teases, "You're so much smarter than me. In some areas, anyway." He presses down harder on the towel.
I watch them go and, after some consideration, take the three-quarters full bottle of absinthe. I used to drink vodka with the others at the orphanage, so this will be a welcome change.
***
I was kind of expecting Crawford's office to be a mess. You know, 'behind closed doors' and everything. But no, it's as neat as his pressed suits. I stand awkwardly and shift from one leg to the other. He beckons me to come forward and indicates an oversized chair in front of his desk.
"Bring it round here, Naoe."
His voice is calm, but somehow I get the feeling he's pissed at me. It's not in his facial expression or his posture. It's not even in the look in his eyes, when I dare to meet them. But something is wrong. I obey him and bring the chair round so I'm sitting next to him.
He pulls out a stack of papers, all identical. I can't read them, since it's all German. Each one is headed by Eszet's crest, so it's pretty obvious what kind of documents they are.
Crawford writes the date -- March 14th 1998 -- at the top, then my full name just below it. "Personally, I prefer Valentine's Day. Do you know why?"
I shake my head.
"It's a license to send unmarked parcels to my enemies." He points to the first heading. "Can you read German yet?"
Yet? I suppose I had better learn if Crawford's job requires it. I shake my head again.
"This asks if the subordinate -- that's you -- has engaged in any activities that compromise the master race." He tries to look at me directly in the eyes, but I keep them turned down. "I'm ticking 'no' for all of these. Next up is 'general insubordination'."
Cold sweat shoots across my back. Only the other day I was talking with Farfarello and Schuldig about how we could defeat the Elders. Actually, it was mostly Schuldig talking and Farfarello and myself agreeing. I remember now that Crawford didn't say a word. He just sat there, reading.
His pen hovers over a checkbox. "Have you engaged in any anti-Eszet activities lately, Naoe?" His thin lips press together as if he's trying to hide his amusement at my discomfort.
An eternity passes and I realize he's waiting for my answer. "No, sir."
"Good to hear." He ticks the box I now know to mean 'no'.
"But Schuldig..."
"What about him?" he snaps. He leans forward in his chair and adjusts his glasses. I'm certain he's pissed.
"I saw him out with someone last week, on Friday. It was a man, I'm sure of it."
Crawford clenches the pen so tightly his knuckles are white. He grabs another sheet of paper and writes the date and Schuldig's name at the top. Then he ticks the first box, 'no'. He's not looking at the paper though, he's looking at me.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I'm readying for something to happen once he reaches the bottom of the paper. He tips the ballpen upside down and smashes it down to retract the nib.
I jump.
Anyone else and it might seem a funny attempt at intimidation. But fuck, it's Crawford, and it is intimidating.
"Schuldig earns his safety every damn day. When are you going to start?"
"I'm sorry." There's not a drop of remorse in me, but I say it anyway.
I stand, bow and walk out, knowing that I'll be able to do this job in ten years time... or less. You never know.
I feel Crawford's eyes on my back.
***
Schuldig took the stitches out of Crawford's back yesterday, after a month. He's not back to the same level of fitness yet, but he's getting closer every day. Only Schuldig ever teases him about it though.
I sit cross-legged on the sofa, pretending to watch TV. Crawford has it on the NHK News and he gets priority. I don't argue and I don't want to. It's better than a cooking show.
"Looking good," Schuldig tells Crawford. "If Schwarz were looking for new members, you'd make the shortlist at least." He looks at Farfarello and grins.
I see the look in Farfarello's eyes. He doesn't speak much, but when he does, there's trouble. "As long as the only requirements are catching darts, he'll be fine."
He's referring to an incident about a week ago. Schwarz are protecting this politician who's well-placed to assist Eszet once he becomes Prime Minister. Only one person has questioned how we can be so sure this guy's going to make it to the top and that was me. Schuldig said something about money and Crawford said something about Schwarz. I don't think that's all you need to get elected in Japan. There has to be more to it than that.
Crawford was accompanying this man, Takatori Reiji, to an event called 'human chess'. I begged to be allowed to come too, but then he told me there wasn't actually any chess involved. Anyway, some guy rushed Takatori with a katana. All this after I've been explaining to the other three for weeks that we don't have samurai and ninja in Japan anymore.
There was another enemy, a kid with a Nerf gun who fired a dart at them. Crawford caught it and got Takatori to safety. No problem, although not the way Schuldig tells it.
Crawford picks up a shuriken that's been sitting on our coffee table for a couple of days now and holds it up. Not as weird as it seems, really. Farfarello has been trying to master it for a while and the ceiling has pock marks all over it.
Crawford throws it towards Farfarello and he catches it neatly in his outstretched palm.
I wince.
There's not nearly as much blood as I expected, until Farfarello takes it out. I'm well aware that he knows weapons cause as much, if not more, damage if you just yank them out. That's why he only does this to himself.
He walks over to Crawford, a swagger in his step, which I think is something he got from Schuldig. Then he holds the bloodied shuriken between his thumb and forefinger in front of Crawford, daring him to say something.
Crawford has this bored look on his face. "If you take this further, I'm leaving you in the straitjacket for the next twenty-four hours."
I got to admit, he doesn't look like he means it. It doesn't look like anything could anger him enough to deal out a punishment as severe as a straitjacket is to Farfarello.
We all know Crawford's serious.
Farfarello smiles that strange smile of his and wipes the shuriken on the shoulder of Crawford's white dress shirt.
Crawford waits until he places it on the table, then grabs him and hustles him out of the room.
The straitjacket is a custom-made, padded design to restrict not just movement, but sensation as well. In about an hour, the crying and praying will start. I want to be out of here by then.
Without a word, I head to the door. Schuldig calls after me.
"Oi, Nagi, we have a mission tonight. Back by six, okay?"
I shrug, which he's welcome to take any way he damn well pleases. Of course I'll be back by then, now I actually know we have a mission.
***
Schuldig wraps a yellow bandana around his head. "If those guys are gonna be ninja, then I'm a pirate."
"You mean 'samurai'," I tell him. "And they're not that, either."
"None of them will be there." Crawford pinches the bridge of his nose. "Didn't anyone read the mission brief I gave you?"
"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest..." mutters Schuldig.
"Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum," finishes Farfarello.
After that, they wait beside each other in silence and I realize that, rather than ignoring each other, they're simply comfortable enough not to have to make small-talk. Are they friends already? I wouldn't swear to it, but maybe.
I took part in the first mission, but that was months ago and this is only the second mission I've taken part in, though not for lack of trying. Turns out, I'm just 'observing' this time, whatever that means. I can't believe I'm really going to follow the others around and just watch what they do. That's stupid and there's no reason whatsoever for it.
My performance first time around was well above average, even Crawford said so. The whole thing about smashing a guy into the tarmac just for the hell of it wasn't even an issue. Ultimately, I'm going to feel bad about eating at base until the next mission. I wasn't even allowed to pull down images of the mansion from US spy satellites. Crawford did all that.
Tonight's mission involves us breaking into the mansion of some high-profile CEO. His name is Saruhashi and he's finally heard that Takatori Reiji has an illegitimate daughter. She's not exactly a secret and even attends Takatori's political fundraisers, but Saruhashi is threatening to go to the newspapers and make her an issue during the elections.
I look up at the stone walls. Behind them is an old-style Japanese building that's so beautiful you could charge for entry. "Five years ago, you'd have paid 700 yen to see inside a place like this."
"Unlikely," Crawford replies. "I was busy being tortured until I was powerful enough to lead you people."
His tone of voice is such that I can't tell if he's amused or angry. Either way, I don't doubt he's telling the truth.
"There will be a guard standing next to the souzu. The sound of water and bamboo tapping against stone might camouflage his movements, so pay attention." Crawford's voice has sunk to a whisper and his eyes are half-closed. "Schuldig... Farfarello... keep low when you get to the roof. An evil eye watches from the shadows..."
"CCTV? On it."
"Yes, yes. That's what I said." Crawford's voice is clearer, more defined now. More impatient, too. "Destroy the camera and Nagi and I will follow."
It's everything I can do not to laugh out loud. "We could do ourselves. If I can see the camera, I can smash it with--"
"No, Naoe. We're observers today."
I raise my right foot and stamp down as hard as I can so he knows I'm serious. "How does this help my training?"
I feel a hand ruffle my hair from behind. I turn around and I'm face-to-chest with Schuldig.
"You're so fuckin' adorable," he purrs. "Dare I say it... you're kawaii."
I hate that word. He knows it. Now he's smiling as if he can't imagine what he could've said to offend me.
"Schuldig, you know this is at least part of the problem," Crawford says wearily, over the top of my head.
Schuldig salutes him. "Got it, 'boss'."
"Can we start yet?" Farfarello asks. I notice he hasn't said a word for the last five minutes. He's looking across at the mansion walls, licking his lips.
Crawford nods. "We'll follow in two minutes."
"Like hell they'll have got to the roof and taken down the camera in that time."
"Two minutes," Crawford repeats.
Schuldig and Farfarello have already gone. I didn't even see them start climbing.
Two minutes later, Crawford leaps at the wall. His right foot makes contact just below halfway and he uses this as leverage to grab the top and pull himself up. He crouches with perfect balance on the narrow wall, looking down at me.
I copy what he did and manage only to push myself backwards and down to the ground again. I make it on the second attempt with a burst of TK energy. It's not enough to levitate me up there yet, but it gives me a much-needed boost.
As soon as I'm lying atop the wall, legs on one side and arms on the other and ass in the air, Crawford jumps down to the other side. Perfect landing.
I make the same leap, but this time I know to cushion my landing with another TK burst. It doesn't feel like it's had any effect. My ankles are aching and bruised. Two hours in the gym every day? Is that all it takes for Crawford to do this effortlessly?
Crawford doesn't acknowledge the effort it took to get over the wall and we head into the undergrowth in silence. When we get to the mansion, he gestures to a side door that has been left open for us. Next to it, a giant wisteria climbing a trellis that spans an entire side of the mansion has obviously been disturbed.
Schuldig and Farfarello going ahead of us just to open up a path is such a waste of time.
Crawford walks through the door, although he must already know there's no one there. We climb steep wooden stairs to the top floor and have a clear view of the inner garden and the walkway surrounding it.
I can see Schuldig strolling around, like he isn't even trying to be inconspicuous. He's singing an enka song he must've heard on TV the night before; it's about being a young woman experiencing her first love. I wonder if he knows that.
At appropriate moments, which to Schuldig is after each missed high note, he fires a couple of bullets into the rooms leading out onto the walkway. Crawford snickers under his breath and I turn in surprise at the sound. He looks at me like it never happened.
On the other side of the garden, Farfarello tosses a guy in his dressing gown out of his bedroom. He lands in a hydrangea bush that looks like it's about to flower soon. Blood and stringy flesh decorate the buds.
"What do you think?" Crawford asks. "Marks out of ten?"
"They're okay. Maybe a seven."
There's no reply. I turn to see what I should've said, but Crawford is gone.
I back away, towards the way we came in, and I feel someone grab me around the waist. I don't fight back immediately because it takes a second or two for it to register that this can't be Crawford.
In the window frame, Schuldig appears in silhouette. His gun catches the light just a second before he shoots. There's a hollow explosion and the guy collapses at my feet, bleeding over my canvas sneakers. Only then does it occur to me that Crawford with his precog abilities is the one with uncanny marksmanship, not Schuldig.
Schuldig laughs and jumps backwards. I'm left alone, shaking, and I think I've got a chunk of that guy's brain on my cheek. Not that it matters. That was so cool.
They're tens, I telepathically tell Crawford via Schuldig. Definitely tens.
***
Back home, Farfarello finishes wiping the blood off my face. I'm pretty sure that it's brains, but he assures me otherwise. I surrender to the expert's opinion.
Crawford leans back in his chair, satisfied. "All the newspapers will carry similar headlines. It will turn out Saruhashi was pretty crooked himself and had been misselling service packages to clients for years. When he was discovered, he butchered his personnel who staffed his mansion and committed suicide."
Nice one, Schuldig. Just then, he walks in with a tray and three pints of beer, plus a half pint.
"You've given up your dream of bartending?" asks Crawford. I think he's teasing, but I've yet to find a way to tell conclusively.
"An expert knows what drinks are best for each occasion, Brad. And it's a beer moment." He hands me the smallest glass first. "A half pint for the half pint."
Once all the drinks are handed out, he raises his glass. "To Takatori Reiji!"
We echo him and clink glasses, all amused in our own way and for our own reasons. But Schuldig continues.
"May he reign in splendor... until he outlives his usefulness!"
More clinking of glasses.
"Oh yeah... and welcome to the new guys too."
We clink glasses for a final time and both Crawford and Schuldig break into a short round of applause. I still can't tell how genuine either of them are, but I smile for the first time since I got here.
Recipient: mami_san
Author: genkischuldich
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Schwarz Gen. Nagi is having trouble adapting to life in Schwarz and showing respect for his team-mates.
Warnings: Language, casual violence.
In my first week as a member of Schwarz, I called Crawford 'dad' twice. The first time we were alone, but the second was over Schwarz's psychic link up during a mission. Farfarello and Schuldig pissed themselves laughing and continued as I smashed the target into the tarmac. I kept pushing down on him using the course surface like a cheese grater until his brains and bone fragments filled the tiny nooks and cracks of the sidewalk. Farfarello and Schuldig were still laughing, but they were laughing with me, not at me.
That was my first mission with Schwarz.
***
I don't like people seeing me eat. It's a reminder that they're paying for my food and will probably expect something in return. That was the case at the orphanage and it's the case in Schwarz right now.
It's seven thirty in the morning. Crawford and Farfarello won't be finished with their morning workout for another half hour. Schuldig is a stupid, unpredictable man who's probably still in bed.
The kitchen is part of a combined living and dining room, but this time there's ton of junk on the floor, in front of the television. Too stupid to figure out a sofa, Schuldig sits on the floor, surrounded by cocktail glasses and a bottle of green liquid. I stand there, frozen in the doorway, presuming that he felt my presence even before I saw him.
This is my direct boss; the deputy leader of Schwarz. And he's a fucking idiot.
"Drink this," he tells me, holding out a shot glass with two distinct colors layered on top of one another, one red and the other green.
His tone doesn't leave any room for refusal. I down it and wait for his reaction. Smugness or horror?
"Any good?" His smile is fixed in place, as per usual.
"Not bad," I say, my voice as even as his. If he thinks I've never tried alcohol before, he's crazy.
He rubs his hands together and his teeth glisten. "I'm gonna be rich. That was the prototype for the world's finest absinthe cocktail."
Did I mention he's a telepath? He can make more money in five minutes by forcing people to hand over their credit cards and PINs than by designing cocktails.
"Where's the fun in that?"
I instinctively take a step back. He must've heard me. "I've never heard of anyone who became rich and famous from mixing drinks."
"I'm gonna name it after me though. Schuldig's Essence, or something like that."
"Your... essence...?" I repeat. "Sounds like I'm drinking your--"
"My jizz? Good, that's what I'm going for." He rubbed his hands together. "Guess the name stays as is."
Just then Mr. Crawford arrives, topless and with a towel slung around his shoulders from his workout. I cross my fingers and hope maybe he can save me from the world's stupidest conversation with the world's stupidest man. Outside of a fight, Mr. Crawford tends not to draw attention, but this time he seems inexpressive from exhaustion rather than by choice.
"Everything okay, man?"
Apparently even Schuldig has noticed.
"Fine." Crawford dismisses our worries with a wave of his hand.
I hadn't even noticed Schuldig's grin had vanished until he resumes smiling. He gestures to the cocktail glasses and nods encouragingly at Crawford. "Any requests for absinthe cocktails?"
"Coffee. Iced."
Schuldig thinks about this. It's a pantomime of thinking. "I guess that's why you're the boss. Woulda never've thought of that in a million years."
Crawford walks over the kitchen unit and with calloused, slender fingers starts arranging a mug, a filter, a packet of pre-ground coffee... I watch the muscles on his back ripple with interest. It only takes two hours in the gym every day to get like that. I could totally make time for that. My gaze rises until I notice blood is seeping through the lower edge of the towel around his neck and starting to form tiny droplets on the strands.
"Schuldig!" I jump up in alarm, trusting that he's already seen what I have through his telepathy.
He's at the kitchen counter with Crawford before I've even finished saying his name. "What the hell happened?"
"I told the new guy to hit me as hard as he could. I think he held back."
Schuldig sighs deeply and presses his hand against the towel to stop the bleeding. I'm amazed he knows how. "What's his name again?"
Crawford accepts Schuldig guiding him toward the door and our medical bay. "Farfarello. It's from Dante's Inferno."
"Ah," Schuldig teases, "You're so much smarter than me. In some areas, anyway." He presses down harder on the towel.
I watch them go and, after some consideration, take the three-quarters full bottle of absinthe. I used to drink vodka with the others at the orphanage, so this will be a welcome change.
***
I was kind of expecting Crawford's office to be a mess. You know, 'behind closed doors' and everything. But no, it's as neat as his pressed suits. I stand awkwardly and shift from one leg to the other. He beckons me to come forward and indicates an oversized chair in front of his desk.
"Bring it round here, Naoe."
His voice is calm, but somehow I get the feeling he's pissed at me. It's not in his facial expression or his posture. It's not even in the look in his eyes, when I dare to meet them. But something is wrong. I obey him and bring the chair round so I'm sitting next to him.
He pulls out a stack of papers, all identical. I can't read them, since it's all German. Each one is headed by Eszet's crest, so it's pretty obvious what kind of documents they are.
Crawford writes the date -- March 14th 1998 -- at the top, then my full name just below it. "Personally, I prefer Valentine's Day. Do you know why?"
I shake my head.
"It's a license to send unmarked parcels to my enemies." He points to the first heading. "Can you read German yet?"
Yet? I suppose I had better learn if Crawford's job requires it. I shake my head again.
"This asks if the subordinate -- that's you -- has engaged in any activities that compromise the master race." He tries to look at me directly in the eyes, but I keep them turned down. "I'm ticking 'no' for all of these. Next up is 'general insubordination'."
Cold sweat shoots across my back. Only the other day I was talking with Farfarello and Schuldig about how we could defeat the Elders. Actually, it was mostly Schuldig talking and Farfarello and myself agreeing. I remember now that Crawford didn't say a word. He just sat there, reading.
His pen hovers over a checkbox. "Have you engaged in any anti-Eszet activities lately, Naoe?" His thin lips press together as if he's trying to hide his amusement at my discomfort.
An eternity passes and I realize he's waiting for my answer. "No, sir."
"Good to hear." He ticks the box I now know to mean 'no'.
"But Schuldig..."
"What about him?" he snaps. He leans forward in his chair and adjusts his glasses. I'm certain he's pissed.
"I saw him out with someone last week, on Friday. It was a man, I'm sure of it."
Crawford clenches the pen so tightly his knuckles are white. He grabs another sheet of paper and writes the date and Schuldig's name at the top. Then he ticks the first box, 'no'. He's not looking at the paper though, he's looking at me.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I'm readying for something to happen once he reaches the bottom of the paper. He tips the ballpen upside down and smashes it down to retract the nib.
I jump.
Anyone else and it might seem a funny attempt at intimidation. But fuck, it's Crawford, and it is intimidating.
"Schuldig earns his safety every damn day. When are you going to start?"
"I'm sorry." There's not a drop of remorse in me, but I say it anyway.
I stand, bow and walk out, knowing that I'll be able to do this job in ten years time... or less. You never know.
I feel Crawford's eyes on my back.
***
Schuldig took the stitches out of Crawford's back yesterday, after a month. He's not back to the same level of fitness yet, but he's getting closer every day. Only Schuldig ever teases him about it though.
I sit cross-legged on the sofa, pretending to watch TV. Crawford has it on the NHK News and he gets priority. I don't argue and I don't want to. It's better than a cooking show.
"Looking good," Schuldig tells Crawford. "If Schwarz were looking for new members, you'd make the shortlist at least." He looks at Farfarello and grins.
I see the look in Farfarello's eyes. He doesn't speak much, but when he does, there's trouble. "As long as the only requirements are catching darts, he'll be fine."
He's referring to an incident about a week ago. Schwarz are protecting this politician who's well-placed to assist Eszet once he becomes Prime Minister. Only one person has questioned how we can be so sure this guy's going to make it to the top and that was me. Schuldig said something about money and Crawford said something about Schwarz. I don't think that's all you need to get elected in Japan. There has to be more to it than that.
Crawford was accompanying this man, Takatori Reiji, to an event called 'human chess'. I begged to be allowed to come too, but then he told me there wasn't actually any chess involved. Anyway, some guy rushed Takatori with a katana. All this after I've been explaining to the other three for weeks that we don't have samurai and ninja in Japan anymore.
There was another enemy, a kid with a Nerf gun who fired a dart at them. Crawford caught it and got Takatori to safety. No problem, although not the way Schuldig tells it.
Crawford picks up a shuriken that's been sitting on our coffee table for a couple of days now and holds it up. Not as weird as it seems, really. Farfarello has been trying to master it for a while and the ceiling has pock marks all over it.
Crawford throws it towards Farfarello and he catches it neatly in his outstretched palm.
I wince.
There's not nearly as much blood as I expected, until Farfarello takes it out. I'm well aware that he knows weapons cause as much, if not more, damage if you just yank them out. That's why he only does this to himself.
He walks over to Crawford, a swagger in his step, which I think is something he got from Schuldig. Then he holds the bloodied shuriken between his thumb and forefinger in front of Crawford, daring him to say something.
Crawford has this bored look on his face. "If you take this further, I'm leaving you in the straitjacket for the next twenty-four hours."
I got to admit, he doesn't look like he means it. It doesn't look like anything could anger him enough to deal out a punishment as severe as a straitjacket is to Farfarello.
We all know Crawford's serious.
Farfarello smiles that strange smile of his and wipes the shuriken on the shoulder of Crawford's white dress shirt.
Crawford waits until he places it on the table, then grabs him and hustles him out of the room.
The straitjacket is a custom-made, padded design to restrict not just movement, but sensation as well. In about an hour, the crying and praying will start. I want to be out of here by then.
Without a word, I head to the door. Schuldig calls after me.
"Oi, Nagi, we have a mission tonight. Back by six, okay?"
I shrug, which he's welcome to take any way he damn well pleases. Of course I'll be back by then, now I actually know we have a mission.
***
Schuldig wraps a yellow bandana around his head. "If those guys are gonna be ninja, then I'm a pirate."
"You mean 'samurai'," I tell him. "And they're not that, either."
"None of them will be there." Crawford pinches the bridge of his nose. "Didn't anyone read the mission brief I gave you?"
"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest..." mutters Schuldig.
"Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum," finishes Farfarello.
After that, they wait beside each other in silence and I realize that, rather than ignoring each other, they're simply comfortable enough not to have to make small-talk. Are they friends already? I wouldn't swear to it, but maybe.
I took part in the first mission, but that was months ago and this is only the second mission I've taken part in, though not for lack of trying. Turns out, I'm just 'observing' this time, whatever that means. I can't believe I'm really going to follow the others around and just watch what they do. That's stupid and there's no reason whatsoever for it.
My performance first time around was well above average, even Crawford said so. The whole thing about smashing a guy into the tarmac just for the hell of it wasn't even an issue. Ultimately, I'm going to feel bad about eating at base until the next mission. I wasn't even allowed to pull down images of the mansion from US spy satellites. Crawford did all that.
Tonight's mission involves us breaking into the mansion of some high-profile CEO. His name is Saruhashi and he's finally heard that Takatori Reiji has an illegitimate daughter. She's not exactly a secret and even attends Takatori's political fundraisers, but Saruhashi is threatening to go to the newspapers and make her an issue during the elections.
I look up at the stone walls. Behind them is an old-style Japanese building that's so beautiful you could charge for entry. "Five years ago, you'd have paid 700 yen to see inside a place like this."
"Unlikely," Crawford replies. "I was busy being tortured until I was powerful enough to lead you people."
His tone of voice is such that I can't tell if he's amused or angry. Either way, I don't doubt he's telling the truth.
"There will be a guard standing next to the souzu. The sound of water and bamboo tapping against stone might camouflage his movements, so pay attention." Crawford's voice has sunk to a whisper and his eyes are half-closed. "Schuldig... Farfarello... keep low when you get to the roof. An evil eye watches from the shadows..."
"CCTV? On it."
"Yes, yes. That's what I said." Crawford's voice is clearer, more defined now. More impatient, too. "Destroy the camera and Nagi and I will follow."
It's everything I can do not to laugh out loud. "We could do ourselves. If I can see the camera, I can smash it with--"
"No, Naoe. We're observers today."
I raise my right foot and stamp down as hard as I can so he knows I'm serious. "How does this help my training?"
I feel a hand ruffle my hair from behind. I turn around and I'm face-to-chest with Schuldig.
"You're so fuckin' adorable," he purrs. "Dare I say it... you're kawaii."
I hate that word. He knows it. Now he's smiling as if he can't imagine what he could've said to offend me.
"Schuldig, you know this is at least part of the problem," Crawford says wearily, over the top of my head.
Schuldig salutes him. "Got it, 'boss'."
"Can we start yet?" Farfarello asks. I notice he hasn't said a word for the last five minutes. He's looking across at the mansion walls, licking his lips.
Crawford nods. "We'll follow in two minutes."
"Like hell they'll have got to the roof and taken down the camera in that time."
"Two minutes," Crawford repeats.
Schuldig and Farfarello have already gone. I didn't even see them start climbing.
Two minutes later, Crawford leaps at the wall. His right foot makes contact just below halfway and he uses this as leverage to grab the top and pull himself up. He crouches with perfect balance on the narrow wall, looking down at me.
I copy what he did and manage only to push myself backwards and down to the ground again. I make it on the second attempt with a burst of TK energy. It's not enough to levitate me up there yet, but it gives me a much-needed boost.
As soon as I'm lying atop the wall, legs on one side and arms on the other and ass in the air, Crawford jumps down to the other side. Perfect landing.
I make the same leap, but this time I know to cushion my landing with another TK burst. It doesn't feel like it's had any effect. My ankles are aching and bruised. Two hours in the gym every day? Is that all it takes for Crawford to do this effortlessly?
Crawford doesn't acknowledge the effort it took to get over the wall and we head into the undergrowth in silence. When we get to the mansion, he gestures to a side door that has been left open for us. Next to it, a giant wisteria climbing a trellis that spans an entire side of the mansion has obviously been disturbed.
Schuldig and Farfarello going ahead of us just to open up a path is such a waste of time.
Crawford walks through the door, although he must already know there's no one there. We climb steep wooden stairs to the top floor and have a clear view of the inner garden and the walkway surrounding it.
I can see Schuldig strolling around, like he isn't even trying to be inconspicuous. He's singing an enka song he must've heard on TV the night before; it's about being a young woman experiencing her first love. I wonder if he knows that.
At appropriate moments, which to Schuldig is after each missed high note, he fires a couple of bullets into the rooms leading out onto the walkway. Crawford snickers under his breath and I turn in surprise at the sound. He looks at me like it never happened.
On the other side of the garden, Farfarello tosses a guy in his dressing gown out of his bedroom. He lands in a hydrangea bush that looks like it's about to flower soon. Blood and stringy flesh decorate the buds.
"What do you think?" Crawford asks. "Marks out of ten?"
"They're okay. Maybe a seven."
There's no reply. I turn to see what I should've said, but Crawford is gone.
I back away, towards the way we came in, and I feel someone grab me around the waist. I don't fight back immediately because it takes a second or two for it to register that this can't be Crawford.
In the window frame, Schuldig appears in silhouette. His gun catches the light just a second before he shoots. There's a hollow explosion and the guy collapses at my feet, bleeding over my canvas sneakers. Only then does it occur to me that Crawford with his precog abilities is the one with uncanny marksmanship, not Schuldig.
Schuldig laughs and jumps backwards. I'm left alone, shaking, and I think I've got a chunk of that guy's brain on my cheek. Not that it matters. That was so cool.
They're tens, I telepathically tell Crawford via Schuldig. Definitely tens.
***
Back home, Farfarello finishes wiping the blood off my face. I'm pretty sure that it's brains, but he assures me otherwise. I surrender to the expert's opinion.
Crawford leans back in his chair, satisfied. "All the newspapers will carry similar headlines. It will turn out Saruhashi was pretty crooked himself and had been misselling service packages to clients for years. When he was discovered, he butchered his personnel who staffed his mansion and committed suicide."
Nice one, Schuldig. Just then, he walks in with a tray and three pints of beer, plus a half pint.
"You've given up your dream of bartending?" asks Crawford. I think he's teasing, but I've yet to find a way to tell conclusively.
"An expert knows what drinks are best for each occasion, Brad. And it's a beer moment." He hands me the smallest glass first. "A half pint for the half pint."
Once all the drinks are handed out, he raises his glass. "To Takatori Reiji!"
We echo him and clink glasses, all amused in our own way and for our own reasons. But Schuldig continues.
"May he reign in splendor... until he outlives his usefulness!"
More clinking of glasses.
"Oh yeah... and welcome to the new guys too."
We clink glasses for a final time and both Crawford and Schuldig break into a short round of applause. I still can't tell how genuine either of them are, but I smile for the first time since I got here.