Art. It's never an easy thing to understand. mild Crawford/Schuldig
Schuldig cocked his head as he stared at the painting.
Finding this didn't really make a difference, he tilted it the other way with a toss of bright red hair.
Nope. Still nothing.
"Schuldig, what are you doing?" Brad asked. He was currently standing in front of a possible employer's desk, arms crossed and slightly annoyed that said employer was late for their meeting. Poor Brad. So ahead of everyone else that he forgot others had a tendency to be late.
The oracle's frown deepened and Schuldig smirked. Sometimes he thought Crawford had a bit of telepathy in him.
Schuldig turned back around to the object of his attention. "Thinking." He didn't need to read the other's mind to know what Brad was going to say.
"You can do that?"
The telepath snorted, putting his hands on his hips and peering over his shoulder. "I know this 'sense of humor' thing is new to you, but you could at least try to be original." Ouch. If glares could kill...
"You still haven't answered my question."
A dramatic sigh. "I'm trying to figure out why anyone would want a painting of fruit in their office. So far, no luck." The telepath looked truly confused. There were some things he couldn't understand about the human mind.
"It's art," was all Crawford said.
Schuldig rolled his eyes as he went to stand near Crawford. "Bad art, that, according to Mr. I'm-Richer-Than-You unbelievably dull mind, cost more than we spend on dry cleaning in a year." Which was a lot. They were assassins that lived with Farfarello. Enough said.
"If I recall, you took a liking to a certain portrait by Munch. One that authorities are still looking for," Brad pointed out dryly as he adjusted his glasses. The employer was fifteen minutes late now.
"Ha. Still can't believe I got Nagi to go along with that one," Schuldig chuckled. A couple erased minds, a couple destroyed cameras, and now he had a new dartboard. It amused him to see some guy screaming when he woke up, even if it annoyed the hell out of Brad. Hell, that was part of the appeal.
Crawford heaved a suffering sigh, as if reading his telepath's mind again. Schuldig would have to break him of that habit. He had the monopoly on mind-reading, thanks-so-much.
The red head was about to make a comment when he felt the office's owner approach. "Play time," he said instead. Crawford nodded once and uncrossed his arms, lookin even more serious than before.
Mmm...you know it makes me hard when you're all business, the telepath purred as the office door opened.
The equivalent of a mental snort. Looking at a bowl of fruit can make you hard. I'm not flattered.
Zing. Score one for Crawford. Schuldig just smirked. Then bit his tongue (both mental and physical) when he received a glare until the meeting was over. It certainly didn't hurt that their now current boss was, by Schuldig's standards, a fine piece of prey.
So he ogled instead of annoyed. And received another glare for the leader. It was sort of cute, in a possessive 'Stop or I'll kill you' way. Feeling threatened Braaaaaad? he snickered.
When the elevator door closed behind them twenty minutes later, Crawford looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Threatened?" he said, not so much asking as repeating.
Schuldig leaned back on a hand railing as he lit up a cigarette, ignoring the 'No Smoking' sign behind him. If he couldn't see it, it wasn't there. "Don't worry Brad," he drawled. "Comparing him and you is like comparing apples and oranges."
Brad's other eyebrow joined the first. Apparently Schu had a new fruit obsession. "Oh?"
"Yup. Crabapples and oranges." The telepath grinned around the cigarette, holding his fingers an inch apart to demonstrate his point. His mental voice crowed when Brad did his patented evil-smile.
Oh yeah. He was a god. Who was so getting some tonight.
Nagi looked up from his book as Schuldig walked by him, looking smug and nearly radiating lust. When the telepath had closed the door to his and Crawford's room, the Japanese boy looked over to his companion. "Do I even want to know why he was carrying a banana?"
Farfarello's single eye didn't even leave the cooking magazine he was reading. "Pervy," he muttered. Nagi couldn't not agree.