Trio Maxwell-Chang (trio) wrote in fictionaltrio, @ 2007-08-12 02:56:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | brad crawford, farfarello, naoe nagi, schuldig, weiß kreuz |
[Weiß Kreuz] Hot-House Flowers
Title: Hot-House Flowers
Author: Trio Maxwell-Chang
Fandom: Weiß Kreuz
Pairing or POV: Brad Crawford
Special Note: I know quite a few people whose Crawfords might actually have a sliver of real mercy in their souls. But the Crawford in my own head does not, and it was interesting to explore that, given bellmaster's request.
Schuldig may be the telepath, but it is Crawford who understands the way Schwarz thinks. He has trained them, cultivated them like hot-house flowers and knows the intricacies of them better than they understand themselves. His Gift, so important in their first days of grooming, is hardly needed now. It is there as backup only, used when he does not understand so well the new surroundings they sometimes find themselves in. But this - this one moment in time, staring down at the bruised and bloody Kritiker agent chosen to send a message to Weiß - this is a time he can predict the words before they speak them... because he is the one who put the words there.
"Mercy, please," the agent gasps, as Farfarello moves forward with his knife. Beneath the veneer of professional detachment, Crawford's lip curls in a sneer, and he waits for the dance to begin.
"Mercy?" Farfarello blinks, frowning in faint disgust even as his knife descends again. The agent, already intimate with the blade, whimpers softly. "Mercy is for the weak." And Crawford sees the predator's glint in Farfarello's eye, the glint he drew forth from madness to make Farfarello the supreme hunter. Crawford's chest swells a bit at the sight. Mercy is for the weak... and the weak are the prey of the strong.
"Mercy," Schuldig snortsand that is all he really has to say. The derision is there, an acidic cloud around the agent. This, too, has been carefully trained into Schuldig, this biting wit and rougher manner. "Why the hell do you think we'll be nice? We don't do mercy," he finally continues, informing the agent of just how little hope is left. When the agent shudders, Schuldig smiles evilly, drinking up the mental quiverings.
"Mercy." The voice to Crawford's left is monotone and thoughtful, and it is this voice that draws him to true pride, his chest swelling still more and his lips curving in a very faint smile. "Mercy isn't a gift." And there it is, spoken by Crawford's own prodigy. Crawford steps forward, arresting Nagi's disinterested explanation before it can continue.
"Mercy," he informs the quaking agent, reaching out a single hand to forestall Farfarello's next slice, "is a commodity. It is not freely given. It is, instead, purchased much as freedom is purchased." He pauses, eyes coldly reptilian as he waits for the understanding to sink in. When the agent's eyes widen, he nods and continues. "Would you care to purchase a bit of mercy?"
Word Count: 419