Categories > Anime/Manga > Weiss Kreuz > crash & burn
some uses for fire
The towels were luxury-hotel-soft, the water was hot, and the shampoo was so exotic that Alex had never even heard of the brand. It smelled expensive - and now he smelled expensive...and clean. He stood still, the water pouring over him, making it last another minute or two. The warehouse was a good enough place to squat, and one metal box in a maze of others made the best kind of hiding-place, but as a lifestyle it was a little lacking in some of the things Alex considered desirable - hot showers, American cigarettes, liquor, books, gas for the bike, internet access, cash...
It hadn't taken him long to figure out how to supply the lack, though; there was usually someone willing to provide an exchange of goods for services, if you knew where to look. It could even be fun, sometimes, knowing they were watching, letting them get closer until the moment the drink appeared in front of him or a hand brushed against his...and it wasn't that /risky, if he stayed away from the big, fashionable places on the Ginza. So far he'd pulled it off - Tokyo was a crowded city - and if anyone got too close - well, Yuuzai/ was good at disappearing. Use the skills you've got...his father would call it good resource management.
The grown-ups are with him in a room - everything looks so huge in his memory- he can barely see over the edge of the table- his father is pushing a big glass ashtray towards him, putting in a handful of paper from the office shredder...
He shook the water out of his hair, spattering droplets across his reflection in the long mirror, looking at himself through the stars the water made in his eyelashes. He looked smaller when he was wet, the ferocious orange of his hair darkened and dulled to rust, making the freckles stand out across his nose and along the sharp edges of his cheekbones. And where had those come from, anyway? Neither of his fathers had them...a little rogue DNA that had slipped through somehow? A joke? A flaw, like the pyrokinesis? A smile appeared in the mirror. Tough shit. They'd got it right the second time, anyway. Brett had everything...and the kid was smart enough to use it - or he would be, soon. /Smart/.
His Schuldig reaches out a hand and touches Alex's hair, the same bale-fire colour as his own, and Nagi-san holds the video camera like a third eye...
Alex squirmed into his black jeans, buckling the belt around them without bothering to run it through the loops. He'd spent too much time here already, and he wanted to get out while he could count on the lobby and the street outside being fairly quiet. He'd have to walk back to where he'd left the bike, and the fewer people who saw him, the better - maybe a taxi...he'd see how much money he had. He pulled his t-shirt on, pushed the wet hair back out of his face and went out into the bedroom, pausing until his pale eyes adjusted to the darkness. His backpack and coat were on the floor at the foot of the huge bed, half-buried in a mass of gold velvet bedcover. He shoved it out of the way with his boot and scooped them up, sighing. It was kind of too bad, really - he loved the feel of hotel sheets, and the sex had been better than usual - at least, he hadn't had to pretend to like it this time. He checked the outer pocket of pack - two neatly folded bills had been pushed into it. Twenty thousand yen. Nice to know what you're worth.
Alex knows what his father wants and looks at the bowl, imagining the edges turning black and the little curls of smoke, and then the scraps blossom into orange and yellow flowers. It makes his father smile for a moment. Obake-oji picks him up in his scarred arms and carries him to the window/. See the van down there, boy...the one that doesn't know we see it? His soft Irish croon makes the words sound like a lullaby./ Purify it. This time, the flames are bigger, and there's noise/. Lumen ad revelationem gentium... /Ghost-Uncle whispers in his ear.
The man in the bed moved and sighed but didn't wake - out of habit Alex focused his thoughts as he'd been trained and reached out, trying to get the sleeping mind to open to him - nothing. It was always nothing; always had been nothing, no sound, no pictures - like a broken receiver, or one that had never worked in the first place. All that wasted effort. A dim smell of burning crept through the artificially-cool air of the room - it was past time to leave.
/His Schuldig watches the last of the smoke fade/. Mmmm - it's pretty, but is it ART?
Meaning? His father takes off his glasses and polishes them with a white cloth.
Well....it's not quite what you ordered, is it? You wanted a telepath, another precog, and you got our little firestarter. Next time, let ME do it.
His father puts his glasses back on, turns away. All right.
What? /His Schuldig's eyebrows curve upward/. Did you just agree with me?
/The man in the pale suit stirs the ashes with one finger/. I said all right. More you, less me, next time. But we won't use Chieko again.
Nagi-san says, I tried to tell you underestimated her, that the probability of - anyway. And it's not as if it's of no use at all...
Damage limitation, Nagi-chan? says Schuldig.
He remembers going very still, and Obake-oji's arms tightening around him until he can hardly breathe. No...look out the window. Can you hear the sirens?
The elevator slid silently downward, the motion so smooth Alex could hardly feel it, only the blinking red numbers indicating movement towards some destination. The lobby was nearly deserted when he reached it; the sound his boots made on the pink marble floor caused the concierge to break off his murmured conversation with the night porter and glance up. Alex tugged the hood of his coat down over his head - without his hair showing he'd be any skinny kid with a backpack, nothing to attract anyone's attention; nothing to remember if anyone came around asking.
No one really notices the red-ponytailed kid in the school uniform standing at the bus stop across the street from the multistory carpark. No one ever notices kids. Three office workers discuss their bullying section-head, a woman repairs her lipstick, the dark-haired man sitting on the bench doesn't even look up from the English newspaper he's reading. The shining white Nissan glides down the exit ramp, turn signal flashing, and pauses before pulling into the street. There's a sound like a sigh magnified a thousand times, and the front end of the Nissan seems suddenly washed in fire. Four men scramble out of the car, shouting - one raises his face to the sky for a moment, as if he hears someone calling him, and then half his face is gone, what's left of him sprawling over the curb. More shouting. The dark-haired man folds his newspaper, rises to his feet, and walks briskly away up the street.
What the fuck was /that/? one of the office workers says, laptop case raised like a shield to his chest, staring up at the roof of the building.
.338 Remington Ultra Magnum,/ the boy murmurs automatically, and scrubs the back of one hand over his eyes. Single shot. No one answers, and a few seconds later, he's gone./
There was a taxi outside the hotel with its red "for hire" light glowing, the driver leaning against it, yawning and hiding a cigarette. Alex waited for the door to open and slid into the seat. Once the taxi was moving, he tilted his head back and let himself be tired, rubbing at the fingertip bruises that were darkening on his right wrist. Shit - he hated getting marked up; just more stupid damage to hide. Tai had never asked about the bruises, though; Alex was pretty sure he didn't want to know. Or maybe he did know, and it was another one of those things they didn't talk about, like where the money came from, or what they were doing, or what would happen when someone shut down on their little world. He remembered something from one of his cousin Cailin's books: where does the flame of a candle go when the candle's blown out?
The best place to hide something is in plain sight, so at school he's Yuuzai. To the others, it's just a name, a word - but when they say it, they sound like they're the ones confessing. And learning their secrets is easy. He makes the little blue flame swirl around his fingers, touches them to his tongue. All boys like to play with fire, but it's the Kudou boy he's waiting for - the one with the black hair falling into his face, almost hiding his green eyes. The one he'll tell his real name to. The rest are just paper and straw.
The warehouse was silent except for the low stutter of the wind in the ventilator shafts; the predawn chill seemed to be sifting in through the gaps and seams of the building along with a smoky light and the smell of the harbour. Tai was asleep on the futon they'd dragged in; he'd kicked off all the covers and was curled into a knot against the wall, arms wrapped around himself, knees drawn up. He was wearing Alex's Doraemon t-shirt. For a second Alex's chest went so tight that it hurt to breathe, then he dropped his backpack and reached for one of the quilts. He was pulling it over Tai when the other boy opened his eyes.
"Hey." He was misty with sleep and there was a pinkish mark printed across one cheek from a crease in the pillow.
Alex murmured something and turned away, getting out of his coat.
"Fuck, it's cold..." he heard Tai say through his teeth.
"Yeah. Get under the covers, idiot." Alex dropped his belt on the floor and wrestled off his boots.
"No. I want /you/."
"In a minute. I'm -" Tai's hand closed around his arm and the dark-haired boy pulled him over until Alex was stretched out on top of him, knees slipping down over his hips. Alex closed his eyes as Tai's hands slid under his shirt, and he felt the cold fingers splayed out over his shoulders and the cold lips against his neck slowly growing warmer.
Another use for fire.
The towels were luxury-hotel-soft, the water was hot, and the shampoo was so exotic that Alex had never even heard of the brand. It smelled expensive - and now he smelled expensive...and clean. He stood still, the water pouring over him, making it last another minute or two. The warehouse was a good enough place to squat, and one metal box in a maze of others made the best kind of hiding-place, but as a lifestyle it was a little lacking in some of the things Alex considered desirable - hot showers, American cigarettes, liquor, books, gas for the bike, internet access, cash...
It hadn't taken him long to figure out how to supply the lack, though; there was usually someone willing to provide an exchange of goods for services, if you knew where to look. It could even be fun, sometimes, knowing they were watching, letting them get closer until the moment the drink appeared in front of him or a hand brushed against his...and it wasn't that /risky, if he stayed away from the big, fashionable places on the Ginza. So far he'd pulled it off - Tokyo was a crowded city - and if anyone got too close - well, Yuuzai/ was good at disappearing. Use the skills you've got...his father would call it good resource management.
The grown-ups are with him in a room - everything looks so huge in his memory- he can barely see over the edge of the table- his father is pushing a big glass ashtray towards him, putting in a handful of paper from the office shredder...
He shook the water out of his hair, spattering droplets across his reflection in the long mirror, looking at himself through the stars the water made in his eyelashes. He looked smaller when he was wet, the ferocious orange of his hair darkened and dulled to rust, making the freckles stand out across his nose and along the sharp edges of his cheekbones. And where had those come from, anyway? Neither of his fathers had them...a little rogue DNA that had slipped through somehow? A joke? A flaw, like the pyrokinesis? A smile appeared in the mirror. Tough shit. They'd got it right the second time, anyway. Brett had everything...and the kid was smart enough to use it - or he would be, soon. /Smart/.
His Schuldig reaches out a hand and touches Alex's hair, the same bale-fire colour as his own, and Nagi-san holds the video camera like a third eye...
Alex squirmed into his black jeans, buckling the belt around them without bothering to run it through the loops. He'd spent too much time here already, and he wanted to get out while he could count on the lobby and the street outside being fairly quiet. He'd have to walk back to where he'd left the bike, and the fewer people who saw him, the better - maybe a taxi...he'd see how much money he had. He pulled his t-shirt on, pushed the wet hair back out of his face and went out into the bedroom, pausing until his pale eyes adjusted to the darkness. His backpack and coat were on the floor at the foot of the huge bed, half-buried in a mass of gold velvet bedcover. He shoved it out of the way with his boot and scooped them up, sighing. It was kind of too bad, really - he loved the feel of hotel sheets, and the sex had been better than usual - at least, he hadn't had to pretend to like it this time. He checked the outer pocket of pack - two neatly folded bills had been pushed into it. Twenty thousand yen. Nice to know what you're worth.
Alex knows what his father wants and looks at the bowl, imagining the edges turning black and the little curls of smoke, and then the scraps blossom into orange and yellow flowers. It makes his father smile for a moment. Obake-oji picks him up in his scarred arms and carries him to the window/. See the van down there, boy...the one that doesn't know we see it? His soft Irish croon makes the words sound like a lullaby./ Purify it. This time, the flames are bigger, and there's noise/. Lumen ad revelationem gentium... /Ghost-Uncle whispers in his ear.
The man in the bed moved and sighed but didn't wake - out of habit Alex focused his thoughts as he'd been trained and reached out, trying to get the sleeping mind to open to him - nothing. It was always nothing; always had been nothing, no sound, no pictures - like a broken receiver, or one that had never worked in the first place. All that wasted effort. A dim smell of burning crept through the artificially-cool air of the room - it was past time to leave.
/His Schuldig watches the last of the smoke fade/. Mmmm - it's pretty, but is it ART?
Meaning? His father takes off his glasses and polishes them with a white cloth.
Well....it's not quite what you ordered, is it? You wanted a telepath, another precog, and you got our little firestarter. Next time, let ME do it.
His father puts his glasses back on, turns away. All right.
What? /His Schuldig's eyebrows curve upward/. Did you just agree with me?
/The man in the pale suit stirs the ashes with one finger/. I said all right. More you, less me, next time. But we won't use Chieko again.
Nagi-san says, I tried to tell you underestimated her, that the probability of - anyway. And it's not as if it's of no use at all...
Damage limitation, Nagi-chan? says Schuldig.
He remembers going very still, and Obake-oji's arms tightening around him until he can hardly breathe. No...look out the window. Can you hear the sirens?
The elevator slid silently downward, the motion so smooth Alex could hardly feel it, only the blinking red numbers indicating movement towards some destination. The lobby was nearly deserted when he reached it; the sound his boots made on the pink marble floor caused the concierge to break off his murmured conversation with the night porter and glance up. Alex tugged the hood of his coat down over his head - without his hair showing he'd be any skinny kid with a backpack, nothing to attract anyone's attention; nothing to remember if anyone came around asking.
No one really notices the red-ponytailed kid in the school uniform standing at the bus stop across the street from the multistory carpark. No one ever notices kids. Three office workers discuss their bullying section-head, a woman repairs her lipstick, the dark-haired man sitting on the bench doesn't even look up from the English newspaper he's reading. The shining white Nissan glides down the exit ramp, turn signal flashing, and pauses before pulling into the street. There's a sound like a sigh magnified a thousand times, and the front end of the Nissan seems suddenly washed in fire. Four men scramble out of the car, shouting - one raises his face to the sky for a moment, as if he hears someone calling him, and then half his face is gone, what's left of him sprawling over the curb. More shouting. The dark-haired man folds his newspaper, rises to his feet, and walks briskly away up the street.
What the fuck was /that/? one of the office workers says, laptop case raised like a shield to his chest, staring up at the roof of the building.
.338 Remington Ultra Magnum,/ the boy murmurs automatically, and scrubs the back of one hand over his eyes. Single shot. No one answers, and a few seconds later, he's gone./
There was a taxi outside the hotel with its red "for hire" light glowing, the driver leaning against it, yawning and hiding a cigarette. Alex waited for the door to open and slid into the seat. Once the taxi was moving, he tilted his head back and let himself be tired, rubbing at the fingertip bruises that were darkening on his right wrist. Shit - he hated getting marked up; just more stupid damage to hide. Tai had never asked about the bruises, though; Alex was pretty sure he didn't want to know. Or maybe he did know, and it was another one of those things they didn't talk about, like where the money came from, or what they were doing, or what would happen when someone shut down on their little world. He remembered something from one of his cousin Cailin's books: where does the flame of a candle go when the candle's blown out?
The best place to hide something is in plain sight, so at school he's Yuuzai. To the others, it's just a name, a word - but when they say it, they sound like they're the ones confessing. And learning their secrets is easy. He makes the little blue flame swirl around his fingers, touches them to his tongue. All boys like to play with fire, but it's the Kudou boy he's waiting for - the one with the black hair falling into his face, almost hiding his green eyes. The one he'll tell his real name to. The rest are just paper and straw.
The warehouse was silent except for the low stutter of the wind in the ventilator shafts; the predawn chill seemed to be sifting in through the gaps and seams of the building along with a smoky light and the smell of the harbour. Tai was asleep on the futon they'd dragged in; he'd kicked off all the covers and was curled into a knot against the wall, arms wrapped around himself, knees drawn up. He was wearing Alex's Doraemon t-shirt. For a second Alex's chest went so tight that it hurt to breathe, then he dropped his backpack and reached for one of the quilts. He was pulling it over Tai when the other boy opened his eyes.
"Hey." He was misty with sleep and there was a pinkish mark printed across one cheek from a crease in the pillow.
Alex murmured something and turned away, getting out of his coat.
"Fuck, it's cold..." he heard Tai say through his teeth.
"Yeah. Get under the covers, idiot." Alex dropped his belt on the floor and wrestled off his boots.
"No. I want /you/."
"In a minute. I'm -" Tai's hand closed around his arm and the dark-haired boy pulled him over until Alex was stretched out on top of him, knees slipping down over his hips. Alex closed his eyes as Tai's hands slid under his shirt, and he felt the cold fingers splayed out over his shoulders and the cold lips against his neck slowly growing warmer.
Another use for fire.
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