Bonus Fic: Chance and Circumstance [PG] for lauand
Author: summerbutterfly
Recipient: lauand
Title: Chance and Circumstance
Characters/Pairing(s): Ken, Schuldig; guest appearances by Crawford and Yohji
Summary: Three assassins walk into a bar.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1,438
Author's Notes: Touched last by me, so apologies for any missing words as missing words seem to be my typo du jour. Merry Kreuzmas and Happy Schuyear lauand!
The man at the bar was angry. Schuldig could taste the righteous indignation as it slid across his mind and over his tongue. The edge of it was tinged with a something fruity, and as he closed his eyes, he savored the feeling of impending intoxication.
The perfect ending to an already productive evening.
"You shouldn't drink when you're upset.” Schuldig slithered onto a neighboring barstool, the picture of concern, red-orange hair falling invitingly over his cheek. "It leads you to do rash things and you might hurt yourself."
The man cast him a bleary glare. "That so," he said. "And you care why?"
"Well...because." Schuldig leaned an elbow on the bar and rested his chin in his hand. "You don't seem like you're very happy. I'd hate to see you make it worse."
"Yeah, well, thanks for your concern, but I don't take unsolicited advice from strangers. So you can fuck off now."
"Awww." Schuldig pouted. "Really?"
"Yes really."
"But I'm such a huge fan!"
The man frowned. "Fan? What the hell are you talking about?"
"You're Ken," Schuldig said. "Ken Hidaka, the soccer player. I'd know your face anywhere."
Ken's frown deepened. He didn't deny it, but his thoughts scurried about looking for a suitable comeback to such an astute assessment.
Schuldig resisted the urge to dive in deeper.
"Yeah. That's me," Ken said at last. "But I don't do that any more. Play soccer that is."
"I know. The gambling scandal, it was terrible." Schuldig shook his head. "Such a promising career..."
"Yeah, and I didn't do that either," Ken said. "So don't believe everything you read."
"I don't, I don't," Schuldig assured him. "Honest. I mean, if I did, do you think I would still call myself a fan?"
"I suppose that would depend on what you wanted from me." Ken eyed him. "People will say just about anything when they want something."
"Hm, true." Schuldig ran a gloved finger through the ring of condensation next to Ken's glass. "Well, I suppose this might sound silly, but the only thing I really want is for you to tell me why you're angry. You were my idol back in the day and I just can't stand to see you hurting."
Schuldig felt the shift as Ken's ego fluttered. The edge of the anger diminished for a moment before flaring again as Ken's fist struck the bar. "It's this guy," he began. "This...jackass that I have to work with..."
Schuldig caught the image of deep red hair. "What is it you do?"
"I'm a florist," Ken said. "And he's such a jackass but the neighborhood girls thing he's soooooo cute and they all come crowding around with their ki-ki-ki and their tee-hee-hee." Ken made a face. "It's obnoxious."
"It sounds it," Schuldig said. "You must get so annoyed."
"You have no idea," Ken said, warming to the topic. "Take yesterday for example. I'm all by myself trying to sort through this massive order of organic fertilizer and he's running around the back office yelling about some earring."
"Earring?"
"Yeah, his sister gave it to him or some shit, I don't know. It's tacky as hell, but he wears it constantly. Anyway, I'm trying to move fertilizer, and the fan club knocks over a display of roses and instead of helping me he just goes into the basement..."
"Basement..." Spiral staircase. A computer. Schuldig gently nudged the image to the forefront of Ken's mind so he could get a better look.
"Yeah, we have this downstairs area like for breaks and stuff. Anyway he goes down there. And stays. Just sulking like some 2-year-old child while I'm stuck with a broken vase, fangirls and massive amounts of animal poo." Ken shook his head. "All because of a stupid earring."
"He sounds like a terrible employee. Can't you fire him?"
"I'm not a manager," Ken said. "The best I can do is make a complaint, but the manager loves him, so I doubt it will do any good. Says he's some sort of arranging genius or something.”
"Terrible."
"It is."
Ken waved to the bartender. The bartender came back and took Ken's empty cup.
He flashed a smile at Schuldig that Schuldig didn't return.
Ken turned to face him. "So, what did you say your name was?" he asked.
"I didn't," Schuldig said. "I just said I was a fan."
"Oh. Right. All that sake must have gone to my head." Ken gave his best sheepish grin. "Sorry, man."
"No, no, it's quite all right," Schuldig said. "Only...I know there's water in that cup, not sake, Mr. Hidaka."
Ken hid his surprise well. Well enough that a non-telepath might have missed it, but not Schuldig. "Is that so?”
"Yes."
Ken's pulse jumped but he remained outwardly calm. "Impressive," he said. "You're not as dumb as you look."
"I'd say the same about you, but you seem to actually have expected me not to realize." Schuldig looked over at the bartender. "Given that we all share a profession, Mr. Hidaka, I was hoping you'd be better."
Ken got to his feet. "You’re a florist? What shop?”
“It’s not based out of Tokyo. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”
“You sure? We deal a lot with national chains.”
“I assure you, you haven’t heard of it.”
No one moved. No one spoke.
The atmosphere grew heavy, and Schuldig slid a hand under his jacket as the man behind the bar entertained the thought of reaching for his weapon.
Ken's brain toyed with the realization that his cover was close to being blown.
"You know, I just remembered. I’m supposed to be meeting someone on the other side of the city in just a few minutes. Even though it looks like I’m going to be late, I should take my leave.” Schuldig pushed back from the bar. “Although...before I go, I was wondering if you might do me a favor?”
“What kind?”
“Nothing huge, just an autograph.” Schuldig bypassed the gun at his side for the pen he always kept in his inner pocket. He pushed a cocktail napkin in Ken’s direction. “And, if you’re feeling generous, maybe address it to Brad?”
Ken, distrustful, eyed him, but Schuldig had been expecting that.
“Please?” he urged. “And then I promise to leave you alone.”
Another gentle tap sent a trickle of calm into Ken’s subconscious. And Ken complied.
“Thank you so much,” Schuldig gushed. He tucked the napkin in his pants pocket. “And please, enjoy your evening, Mr. Hidaka. Maybe we’ll meet again sometime.”
“Yeah,” Ken said. “Maybe.”
Schuldig gave a shallow bow. He felt Ken and the bartender watching him as he exited,
so he didn’t break character until he was around the corner and inside the waiting car.
“Well?” Crawford asked.
“They’re Weiss,” Schuldig said. “Meaning there are at least four of them. The bartender was armed and terrible at hiding his thoughts. He gave a lot away.”
“Four,” Crawford mused. “Convenient.”
“Isn’t it?” Schuldig said. He pulled out the napkin. “By the way, this is for you.”
“A napkin?”
“An autograph. Rife with fingerprints. There’s a mission room in the basement of the flower shop. You need to be print-scanned to access it.”
Crawford smiled slowly. “A mission room, huh?”
“He claimed it was a break room, but no break room needs tech like that. It’s a mission room. For Schuichi’s little minions.”
Crawford nodded as he started the engine. “You did well,” he said. “This is good information. They didn’t suspect?”
“Well, I’m sure Ken knows I’m not a florist, but I’m not quite sure he made the connection before I glamoured him.” Schuldig smirked. “Silly boy. If only he knew how much I found out when he dropped his defenses.”
“He’ll learn soon enough.” Crawford pulled out of the alleyway. “Are you hungry?”
“I could go for some food. What did you have in mind?”
“Hm. Something local, I think.”
They rounded the corner. Ken and the bartender were outside, the latter smoking a cigarette, still in his apron. Their minds became wary at the sight of the car and they huddled closer, watching as Crawford and Schuldig rolled by. Schuldig was tempted to roll down the tinted window and wave, but he knew Crawford would not approve.
“Barely a roadblock,” Crawford murmured. “We’ll roll right over them and keep going.”
“That’s what I figured,” Schuldig agreed. “Barely a blip.”
“Reiji will be Prime Minister.”
“And soon, too.”
He folded his hands behind his head and propped a foot up on the dashboard. Crawford pulled onto the main road.
The Weiss boys faded from sight.
Recipient: lauand
Title: Chance and Circumstance
Characters/Pairing(s): Ken, Schuldig; guest appearances by Crawford and Yohji
Summary: Three assassins walk into a bar.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1,438
Author's Notes: Touched last by me, so apologies for any missing words as missing words seem to be my typo du jour. Merry Kreuzmas and Happy Schuyear lauand!
The man at the bar was angry. Schuldig could taste the righteous indignation as it slid across his mind and over his tongue. The edge of it was tinged with a something fruity, and as he closed his eyes, he savored the feeling of impending intoxication.
The perfect ending to an already productive evening.
"You shouldn't drink when you're upset.” Schuldig slithered onto a neighboring barstool, the picture of concern, red-orange hair falling invitingly over his cheek. "It leads you to do rash things and you might hurt yourself."
The man cast him a bleary glare. "That so," he said. "And you care why?"
"Well...because." Schuldig leaned an elbow on the bar and rested his chin in his hand. "You don't seem like you're very happy. I'd hate to see you make it worse."
"Yeah, well, thanks for your concern, but I don't take unsolicited advice from strangers. So you can fuck off now."
"Awww." Schuldig pouted. "Really?"
"Yes really."
"But I'm such a huge fan!"
The man frowned. "Fan? What the hell are you talking about?"
"You're Ken," Schuldig said. "Ken Hidaka, the soccer player. I'd know your face anywhere."
Ken's frown deepened. He didn't deny it, but his thoughts scurried about looking for a suitable comeback to such an astute assessment.
Schuldig resisted the urge to dive in deeper.
"Yeah. That's me," Ken said at last. "But I don't do that any more. Play soccer that is."
"I know. The gambling scandal, it was terrible." Schuldig shook his head. "Such a promising career..."
"Yeah, and I didn't do that either," Ken said. "So don't believe everything you read."
"I don't, I don't," Schuldig assured him. "Honest. I mean, if I did, do you think I would still call myself a fan?"
"I suppose that would depend on what you wanted from me." Ken eyed him. "People will say just about anything when they want something."
"Hm, true." Schuldig ran a gloved finger through the ring of condensation next to Ken's glass. "Well, I suppose this might sound silly, but the only thing I really want is for you to tell me why you're angry. You were my idol back in the day and I just can't stand to see you hurting."
Schuldig felt the shift as Ken's ego fluttered. The edge of the anger diminished for a moment before flaring again as Ken's fist struck the bar. "It's this guy," he began. "This...jackass that I have to work with..."
Schuldig caught the image of deep red hair. "What is it you do?"
"I'm a florist," Ken said. "And he's such a jackass but the neighborhood girls thing he's soooooo cute and they all come crowding around with their ki-ki-ki and their tee-hee-hee." Ken made a face. "It's obnoxious."
"It sounds it," Schuldig said. "You must get so annoyed."
"You have no idea," Ken said, warming to the topic. "Take yesterday for example. I'm all by myself trying to sort through this massive order of organic fertilizer and he's running around the back office yelling about some earring."
"Earring?"
"Yeah, his sister gave it to him or some shit, I don't know. It's tacky as hell, but he wears it constantly. Anyway, I'm trying to move fertilizer, and the fan club knocks over a display of roses and instead of helping me he just goes into the basement..."
"Basement..." Spiral staircase. A computer. Schuldig gently nudged the image to the forefront of Ken's mind so he could get a better look.
"Yeah, we have this downstairs area like for breaks and stuff. Anyway he goes down there. And stays. Just sulking like some 2-year-old child while I'm stuck with a broken vase, fangirls and massive amounts of animal poo." Ken shook his head. "All because of a stupid earring."
"He sounds like a terrible employee. Can't you fire him?"
"I'm not a manager," Ken said. "The best I can do is make a complaint, but the manager loves him, so I doubt it will do any good. Says he's some sort of arranging genius or something.”
"Terrible."
"It is."
Ken waved to the bartender. The bartender came back and took Ken's empty cup.
He flashed a smile at Schuldig that Schuldig didn't return.
Ken turned to face him. "So, what did you say your name was?" he asked.
"I didn't," Schuldig said. "I just said I was a fan."
"Oh. Right. All that sake must have gone to my head." Ken gave his best sheepish grin. "Sorry, man."
"No, no, it's quite all right," Schuldig said. "Only...I know there's water in that cup, not sake, Mr. Hidaka."
Ken hid his surprise well. Well enough that a non-telepath might have missed it, but not Schuldig. "Is that so?”
"Yes."
Ken's pulse jumped but he remained outwardly calm. "Impressive," he said. "You're not as dumb as you look."
"I'd say the same about you, but you seem to actually have expected me not to realize." Schuldig looked over at the bartender. "Given that we all share a profession, Mr. Hidaka, I was hoping you'd be better."
Ken got to his feet. "You’re a florist? What shop?”
“It’s not based out of Tokyo. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”
“You sure? We deal a lot with national chains.”
“I assure you, you haven’t heard of it.”
No one moved. No one spoke.
The atmosphere grew heavy, and Schuldig slid a hand under his jacket as the man behind the bar entertained the thought of reaching for his weapon.
Ken's brain toyed with the realization that his cover was close to being blown.
"You know, I just remembered. I’m supposed to be meeting someone on the other side of the city in just a few minutes. Even though it looks like I’m going to be late, I should take my leave.” Schuldig pushed back from the bar. “Although...before I go, I was wondering if you might do me a favor?”
“What kind?”
“Nothing huge, just an autograph.” Schuldig bypassed the gun at his side for the pen he always kept in his inner pocket. He pushed a cocktail napkin in Ken’s direction. “And, if you’re feeling generous, maybe address it to Brad?”
Ken, distrustful, eyed him, but Schuldig had been expecting that.
“Please?” he urged. “And then I promise to leave you alone.”
Another gentle tap sent a trickle of calm into Ken’s subconscious. And Ken complied.
“Thank you so much,” Schuldig gushed. He tucked the napkin in his pants pocket. “And please, enjoy your evening, Mr. Hidaka. Maybe we’ll meet again sometime.”
“Yeah,” Ken said. “Maybe.”
Schuldig gave a shallow bow. He felt Ken and the bartender watching him as he exited,
so he didn’t break character until he was around the corner and inside the waiting car.
“Well?” Crawford asked.
“They’re Weiss,” Schuldig said. “Meaning there are at least four of them. The bartender was armed and terrible at hiding his thoughts. He gave a lot away.”
“Four,” Crawford mused. “Convenient.”
“Isn’t it?” Schuldig said. He pulled out the napkin. “By the way, this is for you.”
“A napkin?”
“An autograph. Rife with fingerprints. There’s a mission room in the basement of the flower shop. You need to be print-scanned to access it.”
Crawford smiled slowly. “A mission room, huh?”
“He claimed it was a break room, but no break room needs tech like that. It’s a mission room. For Schuichi’s little minions.”
Crawford nodded as he started the engine. “You did well,” he said. “This is good information. They didn’t suspect?”
“Well, I’m sure Ken knows I’m not a florist, but I’m not quite sure he made the connection before I glamoured him.” Schuldig smirked. “Silly boy. If only he knew how much I found out when he dropped his defenses.”
“He’ll learn soon enough.” Crawford pulled out of the alleyway. “Are you hungry?”
“I could go for some food. What did you have in mind?”
“Hm. Something local, I think.”
They rounded the corner. Ken and the bartender were outside, the latter smoking a cigarette, still in his apron. Their minds became wary at the sight of the car and they huddled closer, watching as Crawford and Schuldig rolled by. Schuldig was tempted to roll down the tinted window and wave, but he knew Crawford would not approve.
“Barely a roadblock,” Crawford murmured. “We’ll roll right over them and keep going.”
“That’s what I figured,” Schuldig agreed. “Barely a blip.”
“Reiji will be Prime Minister.”
“And soon, too.”
He folded his hands behind his head and propped a foot up on the dashboard. Crawford pulled onto the main road.
The Weiss boys faded from sight.