18-Jun-2003
Breakdown: An Alternate Universe Weiss Kreutz Fanfic
by Nixerchan and bonnejeanne
Contact: nixerchan@aol.com and bonnejeanne@yahoo.com
Category: AU
Pairings: Various, or to put it another way, most of them ^__^;;
Warnings: Lime this section. Weird premise, weird psychic powers, probably confusing plot, um, possibly some OOC, some violence, probably gratuitous use of pointless Japanese and German, what else... oh yeah, LEMON from time to time... poor Nixers, I'm such a corrupting influence... ^__~
Rating: NC-17
SUMMARY/PREMISE: What if the Weiss boys actually possessed psychic powers similar to Schwartz, which had been suppressed or erased from their memories?
AU TIMELINE: Picks up *almost* at the end of the OAV, just after the death of Gen. Norman Powell.
/something/ - may indicate thoughts, telepathy or other psychic contact.
'something' - indicates just thoughts.
Chapter 20: Radiant
The two boys were far too caught up in the multifold experience to have any awareness of anything else, including the fact that the sheer intensity of the sensations/reactions/emotions were about to about to make use of Omi's empathic synapses in an unforeseen and unprecedented way.
In the kitchen, Crawford's head snapped up and his fork dropped from nerveless fingers onto his plate with a small clatter. Choking slightly, his eyes fastened on Schuldig and he reached out and grabbed the German's wrist, keeping a large bite of syrup-covered waffle from making it to its destination in the telepath's mouth.
Schuldig stared at Crawford for a moment, not sure if the gesture was a challenge, invitation or a warning. "Wha--?" the German only managed to get about half of the word out before his grip whitened and he completely stilled, eyes huge.
The utensil dropped, and Schuldig fought for any breath for a moment. The smirk typically fixed there went far beyond into a vicious and nearly triumphant grin. "Now that's... a way to start a day...."
Which was about all he was able to get out before he was dragged from his chair summarily and found himself being pulled to the kitchen floor, a normally cool and collected Oracle suddenly appearing to grow extra arms and hands, all with very specific destinations. His mouth was filled with a hungry and demanding tongue and clothes were rapidly being pushed or even ripped away...
Ken was fishing for a change of clothes in what they'd bought for the day, when the world blanked out in front of his eyes. Muscles clenched and pulse skyrocketing, some distant part of him still had the presence of mind to recognize what it was, even if why wasn't even beginning to click, and enough reservation to blush several shades of red.
When his legs went out from under him, he wasn't quite sure exactly whether it was because they wouldn't support him any longer or the impact of a very familiar body. Turning into and returning the voracious attack, he decided he really didn't care.
A short time later, as the now-relaxed body draped across his shifted slightly, Schuldig heard a familiar voice from the doorway of the galley.
"It's not me this time. You two have definitely gotten... worse..."
"Fuck off," Brad snarled, without bothering to look up at the Irishman smirking in the entranceway. He found his glasses somewhere on the floor and sat up, pulling his clothes together.
"News for you," Schuldig drawled, practically radiating a lazy satisfaction. He was much slower about gathering his clothes, occasionally tossing those that seemed damaged beyond repair aside. "It wasn't me either."
The disbelief on Farfarello's face was patent as he stepped over Schuldig to lift his fork, still with a bite of waffle on it, and eat the morsel.
Schuldig shrugged at the expression, not really caring. There was a bit of relief in finding that the buttons to his pants had survived. Pulling on his jacket as a substitute for a torn shirt, he picked himself up a little unsteadily, leaning against the counter for a few moments. "There's more over there," the German said pointedly, narrowing on his breakfast.
"Lucky for you," Farf said, picking up Schuldig's plate and walking back out of the galley with it.
Schuldig sneered at the Irishman's back, not inclined to move yet. "The problem with maiming him is that he'd probably thank me for it."
Crawford was brushing his clothes down. He took his own plate and set it at Schuldig's place at the table. Pushing the telepath against the counter, he kissed him, briefly but thoroughly. "Something tells me we need to speak to the 'children'," he muttered, before leaving the room.
Schuldig smirked at Crawford's back, then turned for that short place in reclaiming the offered meal. His and Crawford's idea of a talk would be thoroughly different.
Tangled around Ken, Aya took a deep breath, stroking his lover's dark hair with lethargic fingers. "That was... great... but weird..."
Ken didn't bother to open his eyes. "M'not sure if I'd recognize normal an'more."
"Point," the redhead answered, stretching. He noticed a pair of reddened, half moon-shaped marks on Ken's shoulder. "Hn. Gomen nasai... looks like I bit you." Leaning over, he licked the fading marks soothingly.
"I wasn't going to complain," Ken replied, shaking of some of the sluggishness at the warmth over the faint sting.
Ran smiled, getting to his feet gracefully and pulling the other boy up as well. Several things went through his mind and then his expression shifted to one of slight, almost delicate shock. "...Omi..."
The dark haired assassin stared for a moment, trying to wrap his mind around that concept. It made sense, rationally.. but..."Omi?!" He lifted a hand to his face, shaking his head. He continued almost weakly, "... that was..?"
Ran shrugged, pulling on clothes. He smiled slightly. "It shouldn't be too hard to find out."
Nagi had long since collapsed beside Omi by the time the knock came. He had only barely managed to summon the strength required to peel off sticky cloths and shove them to the side. A faint determination for a shower was an echo from an ingrained fastidiousness, but managed to be suspended by the simple sensation of being curled next to the blond.
Omi's eyes were closed and the faint smile on his face gave no clue whether he was awake or asleep. The connection between didn't even answer that question. He seemed to be vibrating with a gently maintained radiation of contentment so thorough it blocked out anything else.
A voice beyond the door followed the silence after the knock. "You have fifteen minutes." The odd huskiness to Crawford's voice didn't prevent the tone from being that of an order without room for argument.
There was a barely muffled outpouring of annoyance/resignation/confusion from Nagi at that. He pushed himself up, taking a moment to run a hand down Omi's flank, lingering over the smooth skin. He kissed the boy quickly, a brief flick of the tongue tasting Omi's lips. It was a quick moment in the bureau of the room to find a fresh uniform and he padded to the small bathroom for what would be a much abbreviated and closed washing up.
The slow realization that he was alone and the perception of distance in the connection first brought a slight shift in the blond's expression, and then slowly emerging awareness. When he blinked his eyes open and realized he was hearing water, his first coherent thought was, /Oh, I'm missing it.../ This was rapidly followed by memory/realization and a flood of happiness/joy/gratitude and something that amounted to a kind of worship that reached the boy in the shower and enfolded him like an enthusiastic embrace.
Nagi leaned against the shower wall, eyes closed but unresisting. One hand clutching at the fixed soap dish for balance and the other fumbling to close the faucet, he worked on simply breathing for a moment. Steadier, almost acclimating, he stepped back out, snagging a towel. /Sorry, Crawford wants us up in ... five minutes now./
He might have been slightly surprised to be enfolded in a pair of arms along with the towel. And kissed. /Okay!/ the response was beyond cheerful. Omi was high. He released Nagi and bounced through a two minute rapid toilet, pulled on clothes, appeared to be conscious, but the emotions just refused to bank.
Beyond infectious, Nagi caught himself smiling in response more than once. His own contentment, both physical and emotional through it was almost blanked in the aftermath, was completely open. There was no compulsion left to put up any sort of dampening between them, and he wasn't entirely sure he could any more.
At the door, he found that the blond had somehow beat him in dressing. With a slight dismissal of surprise, he unlocked the door, and stepped out into the hall.
Omi followed, his mind attempting to occasionally insert some reasonable thought which was allowed to go through and then followed immediately by another dose of glow.
On the logic that wherever they wandered to, Crawford would have had a good idea already where it was, Nagi simply went for the kitchen with the intent of preventing any hunger before he managed to wake up enough to feel it. He only blinked once at the extremely rumpled appearance of the telepath there, who was licking a bit of syrup from his thumb with every sign of predatory contentment.
The kinetic grabbed a bit of fruit from the basket, well familiar with Schuldig's 'freshly fucked' expression. He rolled his eyes, giving an impression he wasn't anywhere near feeling at the moment. "Again?" he asked.
If anything, Schuldig's smirk widened. He glanced at the orange that the boy was peeling and leaned back in his seat. "And here I thought you were developing a taste for cherries."
Nagi's fingers fumbled on the task, nearly dropping the fruit entirely.
Unfortunately, Omi had been in the refrigerator, having discovered a carton of orange juice, and the spray of juice and coughing fit that resulted did not quite manage to cover or explain the deeply-hued scarlet flush that seemed to run under his skin practically from head to foot.
Curiously, the sudden small explosion of embarrassment didn't quite even manage to dent the glow of happy/content/Nagi is god....
Nagi's eyes narrowed on the smug looking telepath. "Mind your own business," he said calmly, a concerned glance darted over to Omi, making sure he'd recover, and a bit of flustered embarrassment at some of what he was picking up. There was also that matter of being spied on. He returned Schuldig's smirk. "You look well, after last night..."
Omi managed to clean up the spray with a handy dishtowel, put up the carton, and appear next to Nagi, draping an arm around the dark boy. "Don't worry about him," he said cheerfully, his cheeks still becomingly shaded. "Probably just jealous." With that he blew a kiss in Schuldig's direction, reaching over to snag an apple from the basket where Nagi had gotten his fruit.
"Jealous?" Schuldig replied, seeming to enjoy the concept. He returned the air kiss with a deepening of the smirk and a wink in return. "I was thinking about offering some tips for next time..."
It hadn't really quite sunk in to Omi how the telepath had known in the first place, like Nagi, he'd assumed eaves-dropping. His only answer was a shrug and the private, but open to Nagi, conviction that tips were entirely unnecessary and he was in fact the luckiest person alive so it behooved him to be magnanimous to those poor souls unable to be so blessed.
Nagi blinked at Omi, the wide open expression causing a whole new round of mirth from the German. He shook hid head, only giving Schuldig a passing glance. "Where's Crawford?"
"He went out to find you," the redhead said, shrugging. He picked up the dish and set it aside on the counter before turning for the door, waving over his shoulder. "In his room now," he called back.
Nagi set half of the orange aside, recognizing one of Those Moods when he saw them. Sliding the peels into a wastebin, he curled his fingers around Omi's wrist, tugging him along. /We're already late./
Omi blinked, coming along easily, munching on the apple - he really was starving now that he became aware of it. /Gomen./ However there was little real regret behind it, although he was trying.
The apology was dismissed automatically, a quick touch of reassurance to it.
The privacy of his room enabled Crawford to summon the necessary control over his features. It simply would not do to grin or smile indulgently at the two operatives he was about to scold. Even with his own practiced and formidable barriers, however, he could feel them outside the door. Not a precognitive glimpse. Omi was perceptible from a distance and through physical obstacles. If he didn't tone it down before long, the boat was going to start attracting courting couples.
"Come in," he made his voice as forbidding as possible. And was able to reflect on the unexpectedness of having his willpower and skills tested in such an unusual circumstance.
Of the pair that stepped in, Nagi would have passed for businesslike without the obvious contact with the boy at his side, and the faint sporadic appearance of the traces of a smile on his features. "You wanted to talk to me?" Nagi asked, simply a formality.
It was even harder than he expected. Reaching up to adjust his glasses, and half cover his mouth with one hand, Crawford said, "Yes, I did. Since you are the responsible one." The tone was flat neutral, observing the flare of protectiveness from the blond, which even so didn't impact the rest of his continuing radiance. "I'm putting you in charge of your... of Bombay," he said, changing smoothly. The hand stayed half covering his mouth. "The first thing you have to do is figure out between the two of you, how to maintain some kind of block on... his talent." Shaking his head, he dropped his hand, the smile a counterpoint with the seriousness of his tone. "I'm happy for you, but you broadcast all over the boat. In fact I'm not really sure how far it reached. I'd be worried about moving immediately except there is no way anyone looking for us would even think of associating *that*...."
All the color drained from Omi's face as he figured out what Crawford was talking about.
Nagi had been ready to simply ask what task Crawford needed to be done, figuring it from the timing and tone it was a discussion of reparations for last night. Somewhere in the talk, his eyes widened again. "Broadcast..." he repeated.
The contrition that flooded over the link between the two boys was flabbergasted. /I didn't... I wasn't *trying to*... I mean... I didn't know I was..../
Outloud, Omi simply looked up at Crawford guiltily and said, "Oh shit."
/.../ Nagi's thoughts were going a little to fast to find any coherency. Outwardly his expression smoothed over even as he tried to push across some confounded reassurances. /I don't think.. this could have been.. I didn't either./ "I'll.. we'll work on it immediately."
Crawford managed to look stern for a few more seconds. "Do that." The smile that slipped back on his face after that was an odd one, with more than a hint of ironic pride. "I shouldn't say this, but I have to admit, Prodigy, you've far exceed any of my expectations of you. I've decided this," a gesture at the space between the two of them, "Is going to be worth the considerable trouble." Then he turned his back on the two in a clear dismissal.
Nagi stared at Crawford's back a long moment, futilely trying to figure out exactly which meaning was intended, and if he should be flattered or offended. Settling back on neutrality out of sheer default, he said, "Sir." And turned to take the dismissal offered.
The slightly taller blond at his side very nearly scuttled through the door ahead of him, the color-drained complexion of his face again replaced by a hard blush. /Oh shit oh shit oh shit.../
The door closed behind him, Nagi leaned against the wall, palms covering his face. There wasn't any regret from him, still some satisfaction in what had been done, but quite a bit of embarrassment allowed to run through him right now. /... This could.../ The thought cut itself off, then hesitantly restarted. /We'll figure out something./
The contrition in Omi's thoughts was wordless. He was finally starting to come down and was peripherally aware that it might be a hard crash. /It's my fault.../ Then strong and desperate, /It's my fault and I'll figure out how to fix it or something but I don't care.../ Impatient with himself, he scrubbed the back of a hand almost painfully hard over his face, smearing the betraying liquid from his eyes. Leaning close to Nagi, he whispered, "Ai shiteru," and then pulled back to begin trying to put his wildly shaken mind into some kind of order.
Prodigy's hands dropped pausing halfway to his sides. He'd almost managed to collect a semblance of his normal calm before the quiet declaration threw it back into disorder. /You're apologizing for something I did to you./ It wasn't quite a question.
/NEVER!/ Omi's attention focused completely. /Never for that!/ He leaned against the wall, hands fooling with the hem of his shirt. /For not being able to... to handle it better, that's all. But it was just.../ Helplessly, the surge of adoration crested again. /I'll figure it out, I promise. I won't embarrass you again.../
Nagi hadn't recoiled at the sudden an unexpected volume, he was busy dealing with the urge to physically shake the other boy. He sighed. "I've got the beginning of the problem. I told you to take everything down," he said. /There's no point in fault./ He smirked. /I'd do it again even knowing./ There was the same possessiveness, but it was tempered by a pride and distinct affection. /Think of it as an unusual way to brag./
The downward crash turned into an upward bounce. Once again, Nagi was god. Pure love/admiration/gratitude/joy spread from Omi's direction. /You're.../ it wasn't possible to condense into anything verbal. After a moment, Nagi felt the other boy somehow remember some portion of who he was. With it, he reached for the strengths of his discipline and the diamond-point intellect which had taken such a complete vacation. The ability to do this was somehow associated with something granted by Nagi. In his last thoughts he'd given something back to Omi that seemed to settle him in a way that felt... unprecedented.
Taking a deep breath, he reached out and almost casually snagged Nagi's hand. "Let's get out of the hall. I want to grab my laptop, then, let's go up on deck, what do you think?"
"Should work," Nagi said, feeling the other somehow click over. /Give things time to settle./ he added, almost as an afterthought, following in the blond assassin's path.
He got a blue-eyed look over his shoulder. /I'm fine./ And he was. The flow of love was focused, no longer omni-directional, specifically for Nagi. The original barriers in other directions were starting to reconstruct with remarkable ease as if self-directed. Ducking into their room, Omi gave the dark-haired boy a wink, grabbed his laptop and led the way to the ladder going up.
Aya made his way to the galley, pleasantly surprised to find a pot of coffee still warm on the coffee maker hotplate. There were dishes in the sink and the remains of breakfast only half put away. Opening cabinets, he found a mug for the coffee and picked a few morsels from the serving dishes sitting on the counter.
"A little late this morning?" Schuldig's voice came from the doorway, a layer of fabricated innocence veiling the words. Any sign of this morning had been covered by a quick trip back to his own room to change or straighten his clothes among other things.
Glancing up, the darker redhead looked Schuldig over for a minute. Then he deadpanned, "No shop to open," in his version of the innocent act. In a softer tone, he said, "You... all right this morning?"
The smirk on the German's face lost ground to an intense regard and a little surprised curiosity. It was waved off as he left his post in the threshold. "Didn't know you cared," Schuldig replied casually, finally flipping a chair around backwards and straddling it.
Aya shrugged. "My read of the situation is that we're all in reasonably deep shit right now. Casualties affect everyone."
"Ah, practicality," Schuldig said, grinning. He shrugged. "No need for concern, I'm disgustingly difficult to get rid of. Or so I've overheard."
Lifting the mug, Aya glanced at the German and commented offhandedly, "Good." After a moment devoted to eating, he took the plate he'd half emptied and sat down at the table. "Want to ask you something. You've been around lots of other.. talents, right?"
The assent came as another shrug, the casual gesture in complete contrast with the sudden sharpening of the telepath's attention on Aya.
"There seem to be certain... abilities that are known, categories. Ken, me, Youji... you've known others with similar abilities?" Aya finished eating neatly, lingering over the last of the coffee.
"Sort of," Schuldig replied. He rested an elbow on the back of the chair and propped his chin up on his fist. "None of you ... work, like the norm." He smirked at that word. "Or at least what passes for it."
That was accepted and considered. "Tell me how... how are we different?"
There was a guarded moment, both in trying to figure the motivations of the question and in putting together what he'd observed or picked up from the others. Finally, he shrugged, seeing no point in withholding. "Bombay's wired backwards entirely... empaths usually just feel emotions, no ability to project. Quite a range by the way." Schuldig's expression was smug. "Balinese... telekinetics usually only have the ability to do one big thing at a time, not a hundred or so small things." He made a show of ticking off on his fingers. "Siberian shouldn't be able to do that at all... most pyros are actually harmless. What he did should have rightfully killed anyone trying to filter that much temperature."
Aya's eyebrows lifted almost unwillingly, but he nodded once. "So why.... why do you think this is?"
"Like I would know? None of you have the usual psychosis involved with your power levels either," Schuldig reconsidered that quickly. "Well, not strongly. Still deciding if that might be a reason or a side effect though."
"What do you mean psychosis?" The tone was carefully neutral.
"Just what I said." Schuldig gave Aya a flat look, then raised an eyebrow with a resumed smirk. "Anyone here strike you are particularly sane? No? That's pretty typical after a certain point."
Aya looked back directly, his expression devoid of judgment. "So it's not that we're not crazy, we're just supposed to be crazier... am I getting this right?"
"You were pretty fucked up from the beginning," the agreement had a tone of satisfaction to it. "No help needed there."
A short, audible exhale of breath sufficed for a comment to that, with, remarkably, no disagreement. "The blocks were just... removed. There's plenty of time for us to catch up."
"Just be a little considerate about cracking up," Schuldig replied, a dismissive tone. "Like you said, casualties effect everyone."
"I'll keep it in mind." There was a pause and then another cool question. "What are the probabilities of... this... running in a family?"
The question was considered, and the opportunity to press at a wound was tempting, but somehow less than it would have been after last night. "Might not be anything more than appearance and youth."
"What might?"
Schuldig gave Aya a lidded look, irritated. "The bloody empress of China. Your sister, baka." /You think we'd have given the first damn about her otherwise? She wasn't the only comatose chick in Japan./
The flash in lavender eyes was icy-hot, knuckles whitening on the handle of the mug. The lack of any kind of response on a sub-verbal level was an indication of how quickly Abyssinian had mastered the technique of blocking casual perception. There was just a chill, blank. Several beats.
"Explain, then," the tone was rigidly level. "Why Aya?"
Schuldig sighed, resigned to laying it all out. "Two years, in the time of quite of bit of change in that age, and still was a perfect match for her admission photos. Didn't age. Probably never will."
The chill and rigid control faded under sheer incomprehension.
"What?"
"She achieved perfect stasis. For Estet, it meant a DNA match they needed, a body type that wouldn't regenerate. The non-habitation of her body was a major plus, an empty vessel just meant it would be easier for the small fry they were summoning." Schuldig shrugged. "Could just be a quirk of genetics or a talent. Probably both."
Aya's hand unclenched from the mug and reached up to rub his forehead.
After a somewhat long empty pause, Aya looked away. "I see what you mean about psychosis in higher level talents."
"Mm?" the telepath prompted, half interest, half challenging.
"Those sick old fucks."
Schuldig snickered, finding absolutely no reason to remind Abyssinian of any of the later details. "They had their uses. And honestly, they had more politics than skill."
No answer to that. Getting up, Aya carried his plate to the sink, washing it, along with the mug and washing the rest of the dishes there almost absently.
Schuldig watched the other redhead's activities, only marginally paying attention to what he was actually doing in a focus as to why. The chair scraped the floor loudly as Schuldig abandoned it. "We took the deep blue sea over the devil that time," he said, setting a lazy pace for the door. "I'm sure you've discovered that reasoning for yourselves."
Rinsing his hands, Aya turned, his expression far from settled. "Thanks. For answering."
"I'm in a good mood," was the only response, a brief pause at the doorway to glance back at Aya.
The look was met, without nod or other acknowledgement. Most of the reaction to the German's "empress" remark was gone. /You have any family?/ It was a deliberate and consciously projected, though not "loud" thought.
/Probably./ Schuldig shrugged. /Wouldn't know 'em if I passed em./
For some reason, that did get a silent assent. Then Aya crossed the small galley and slid around Schuldig to exit the room, an odd look slanted at the telepath as he did so. Then he headed for the ladder to above decks.
The telepath pushed aside a brief flash of curiosity at that, brushing it off as some weird judgment made, and not worth the risks involved in prying for what he just didn't feel like asking for.
The sun made Aya pause and shade his eyes with a hand. Talking a survey, it was fairly easy to spot the two teens on the deck, one sprawled over a small laptop. He made his way over, his shadow falling across the two.
Omi looked up quickly, smiling cheerfully at the redhead. There was a little hint of trepidation, wondering if the swordsman was going to say something to him about any number of transgressions, but easily sensing nothing like it in the redhead's demeanor or aura.
"We were unsuccessful last night. Birman was there but she was with Sakura-san. She told me Momoe had gone away on vacation and taken Aya-chan with her. I want to call the country house and I need you to fix the call."
Omi took it all in and nodded, his eyes widening slightly. "Of course, Aya-kun," he said quietly. "Let me think about it for a little while. The best way."
Aya nodded. "Let me know when you can do it. Soon."
The blond assented and Aya wandered around the deck to another side of the boat, unconsciously looking for space to do some sword practice.
Nagi stretched out beside Omi, eyes only open to slits to watch the information flying past on the screen. It had become a familiar practice, and one that might afford him more free time. Even at his best, he couldn't match this way of working, a fact that would be utilized soon as it was actually well known, he was sure. /Delaying?/ A flash of a memory as to the quick work he'd done over Youji's cell.
Omi blinked. "No! That was different. This is... " he shook his head. "It's not this end I'm worried about. Just in case she's there." /And I was only worried about Kritiker before. I don't know anything about the... your 'old school'./ "I don't want to ... screw up on this."
"Your guess is as good as anyone's," Nagi replied. "It's been a while since we've had to deal with them really." /It's not like them to take hostages, but then, there usually aren't many ties to begin with. May be dealing just with Kritiker./
/It won't hurt to be careful. And I can always use more practice./ Then a thought and /Ah! Got it!/ And his mind went off on a rapid maze of something that resembled code more than thought.
Nagi nodded once, not disturbing the string of binary commands. He pushed himself up to go looking for the swordsman instead to pass along the information. "I'll be back. Going to get Abyssinian."
A brief but perceptible pulse of warmth was diverted to the dark haired boy, proving that this morning was far from faded from Omi's mind, if ruthlessly compartmentalized for the moment.
The reaction was just as quick, a momentary relaxation and something of a return before Nagi sought out the redhead, making easy progress across the deck, circling around the mast to take in most of the upper decks from the vantage point, hoping he was still in close quarters.
His quarry was sitting on the aft end of the boat, contemplating the water or something equally obscure.
Nagi made no move to cover his approach at all, but still stopped at a respectful distance, noticeably out of easy range of the assassin before speaking. "He's just about ready."
Looking up, Aya nodded and rose gracefully, circling around to where the blond was. Or wasn't. He'd disappeared momentarily but returned with a cellphone in hand and the cable he'd used before. Connecting the two devices, he didn't program the cell this time, opting instead to simply us it as a headset and make the actual call via the laptop and internet telephony, since he could spoof his address that way to the power of the near infinite.
Omi handed the cell to Aya. Putting it to his ear, the redhead heard the line ringing and waited.
The phone rang several times before it clicked over. "Moshi-moshi?" a young female voice spoke over the connection.
Ran's eyes widened. Clearing his throat, he said, "Momoe-san is there?"
"Oh no, she's out in the garden at the moment." The voice had a faint distracted quality to it, and the murmur of a television and the faint clatter of dishes being moved could be picked up in the background. "Could I take a message...?"
"It's urgent," Ran said carefully. "Could you tell her it's about an Abyssinian I adopted from her? I'll wait..."
The movement in the background stopped and the line was silent for more than a moment. "Unhuh," she said, not sounding very convinced at all. "One moment." And a faint rattle of the phone being set down.
'There?' Omi mouthed, reading the answer in the redhead's face.
"..n't know," the other half of a conversation just barely became audible through the receiver. A murmur that was familiar as Momoe's voice, but not carried as clearly, was answered with, "No, he didn't say."
"May I help you?" Momoe's soft voice came clearly over the line.
"Momoe-san," Aya said carefully. "Do you know who this is?"
"Of course. How are the other cats doing? Getting along well with the Abyssinian?" The woman's voice was nothing if not concerned. "Just one moment.... Aya-dear, could you see to the watering system for me, I can't get down there like I used to. That's a good girl."
"The Abyssinian is getting along with the other three... but there have been problems with a Birman and a Manx. I don't think they will ever get along at this point, especially with the Birman."
"That was a little expected. All three are quite aggressive breeds you know. It was nice of you to let me know how they are doing but..."
"The Abyssinian has a sister," he said, "I'm concerned about her... the brother's problems could be contagious."
"Aa, not to worry, my boy. I have quite an eye for cats. She's quite a handful, but I think I can keep her out of trouble."
"I trust your experience but I need to be sure," his voice fell to a lower tone. "I want to come get her."
There was silence on the line for a moment, and the old woman clucked her tongue. "No, I don't think that would be a good idea... Those sort of ills tend to catch when you put them together."
Taking a breath to keep his voice low and calm, he answered, "I'll think about your advice. How long do you plan to stay on vacation?"
"Oh, we'll be here and there until the latest fit of weather clears up. The humidity with all this rain is bad for my arthritis." Momoe's voice took on a fond cast to it. "I do miss those cats though, they livened up the place quite nicely. Be sure to take care of them."
"I will," he said, and cut the connection before he could change his mind.
Nagi had found his seat next to Omi at some point in the conversation, watching both of them quietly. At the end, he glanced back up at Aya. "Going to get her?"
Aya handed the phone down to Omi, without answering right away. The strain on his face made it apparent that he wanted to say yes but something was blocking that answer. "I don't know yet."
He was watched a little bit longer by the telekinetic, the impassiveness not quite perfect. The boy shrugged. "We might switch cities soon," he warned.
A nod answered but the redheaded assassin's mind was not entirely on the conversation.
/Together? Good. Saves me time./ Schuldig's voice was directly to Aya this time, preferring to avoid Omi, and in direct relation Nagi if he could help it for a little while. /Let them know Brad's got a conference of sorts to set up... like now. Main cabin./
"Oracle's calling for a conference," Aya said shortly, without batting an eye at the communication or even ruffling at being used as a mouthpiece. It was convenient. He wanted to talk to several of the group himself. Interesting, working with a precog.
TBC