COLORANT

By: Sonya

Farfarello didn't like waiting.

He didn't hate it with a vengeance; he just decidedly didn't like it.

Waiting makes people stop and think. Contemplate. Which would be all good and wholesome if it wasn't for the fact that waiting never breeds the deeper, more meaningful thoughts, but just a mindless droning of useless ideas, vague fantasies, and groundless worries. At times like this, Farfarello actually pitied Schuldig for that 'gift' of his. Fuck, he'd rather not even have to listen to himself think right now.

It was a lobby. Two couches and an armchair. Schwarz would always choose the same way of dividing themselves, staying as far away from each other as possible, while still maintaining that illusion of closeness. Farfarello couldn't care less. Wherever there was room...

But Crawford would take the chair. Always. He'd take the chair, and he would cross his arms, and look so detachedly concentrated that his entire appearance would practically be screaming 'Get away from me!' Maybe that was a slightly amusing thought, and then again, maybe it was just boredom talking. What did Schuldig think?

Because Schuldig would pick a couch. Always. He'd pick a couch, and he'd stretch out on it with his arms dangling over the back, making him look almost inviting. Maybe that was amusing? Schuldig. Inviting.

Farfarello was definitely bored.

There's nothing entertaining about waiting, and there's nothing interesting in the least about staring at people whom one has to see every day.

Farfarello didn't like waiting. At least not when it involved sitting completely still on a couch without any kinds of even half decent distraction around. Hell, any distraction would be welcome right now. A knife, anyone?

For variety he unhurriedly uncrossed his legs, immediately catching on to the faint wary of one of the nearby guards from the Armed Defence Force. Having nothing else to play with, he decided that he might as well see what kind of reputation he had exactly, and fastened his eye on the guard, smiling inwardly at the uneasy look on the man's face. Farfarello leaned

forward, rising slightly from the couch, and before he knew it, had a gun pointed right at him. Laughing quietly to himself he resettled and crossed his legs once again. It's nice to be feared. Fear is after all a sentiment almost bordering on respect, isn't it?

And, to jump back onto the previous train of thought, then there was Nagi. He would always sit by himself. Demonstratively keeping away from the rest of them.

No, judging by his own thoughts, mindreading didn't sound the slightest bit amusing right now. One person's boredom was bad enough, and to be forced to listen in on others'...

Leaning further back on the couch, closing his eye, Farfarello left the outside world to its fate, focusing instead on conjuring up an intricate mental image of dark blood, crude ropes, soft skin and blank eyes. A slice of beauty. For the pitied mindreader. ~In case you're listening.~