"Hey, Farfarello..."
"Yeah?"
Shuldig continued to look at the one-eyed man who sat on the floor
and wondered if Farf had even really cared that he was being spoke
to. "I have a question..."
"Okay." Farfarello didn't even look at the redhead. Instead, he opted
to continue on with carving his knife into the thick carpeting on the
floor.
Schu sighed, "Are you even going to listen to me, or are ya just
gonna sit there and play with that damn knife?!"
Farfarello shrugged, "Why must I drop what I'm doing just to answer
one of your meaningless questions? I'm capable of talking and doing
what I want at the same time." The pale haired man continued to drag
his knife around the floor.
"What makes you so certain what I'm going to say is meaningless, huh?
I can be serious!" Schuldig was beginning to get frustrated with the
psychotic Irishman on the floor.
"You never say anything serious."
"You know what I hate most about you?"
"No."
"It's the fact that you say just what you think the moment you think
it without giving me a chance to know what goes on in that screwed up
head of yours..." Schuldig replied as he suddenly flopped onto the
couch and stretched out.
"Okay."
Silence. Schu stared at the celing and frowned. Hey Farf... I know
you can here me... even if you don't think in words, I know you here
me...
"Yes, I do."
Then answer my question...
"Ask your question."
"Hey, I was getting there!" Schuldig retorted and he rolled his eyes
at the masachist/sadist.
Farfarello nodded.
"I was only wondering if you ever missed Ireland..."
"No."
"Not even a little bit, I'mean... you did grow up there and it was
the only home you knew before this dive..."
"Nope. Why do you ask?" Farfarello finally looked up at Schuldig for
the first time that day.
"I actually don't know why I wondered that."
Farfarello shrugged and put his knife back in it's sheath. Schu
raised an eyebrow at his action, something Farf rarely did when he
was busy "playing".
"So, do you miss Germany?"
"A little."
"Why?"
"I don't even know... Germany did nothing for me. I guess it's
because my first happy memory was there... when I got my first
chocolate milk shake."
"You like chocolate?"
"Not really, it's just that... when I got it, it was because I was
able to figure out how to force my thoughts into other's minds... I
was playing in a market street and went to a random stand and
actually made the man who worked there think that he had to give me a
free milk shake..."
"I hate milk."
"Why?"
"It's white."
"Your hair is white..."
"Is it." This wasn't a question... Farf had gone into a world where
he wasn't even realizing a single thing around him.
Schuldig sighed, "Farf... Farfarello?"
"What?"
"Why is God a liar?"
"Because."
"Okay."
Schuldig stood up and headed for the door when he was stopped by a
very unfamiliar sound.
"Schuldig?" Farfarello spoke his name. Schu had never heard Farf say
his name before. He turned to look at the pale assassine who stood up
and took a step forward. His eye didn't look dead... it was hard to
beleive that the man before him was a stark raving loonatic.
"What is it?"
"Why do you act like an idiot to the boss man in glasses and his
little dog? And yet, when you and I are in a room alone, you are...
mellow?" Farf asked without anything other than genuine curiousity
painting his face.
"You are puzzling to me... and I like you."
"I hate you. You hate me. You hate my mind."
Schuldig looked at the ground, "I don't hate you..."
"You said you did. You asked if I knew what you hated most about me.
You hate my mind."
Schuldig laughed, "You have to have a mind, before I could hate it
Farf."
"Farf. You call me Farf, but you sometimes say Farfie? Why do you
call me that when you think I don't here you?"
"A pet name." Schuldig shrugged, "Like I call Crawford 'Bradley'
or 'Bradums'. I do it because we're friends and I know he won't
really get too violent at me... and he's funny when he's mad."
"But you call him that to his face... you never call me 'Farfie' to
mine."
"No... I guess I don't..."
"I want you too..."
Schuldig's jaw dropped, "Seriously?"
"Yes."
"Okay, Farfie. Um... What are you feeling when you say you want me to
call you 'Farfie?'" Schuldig asked as he took a step foreward,
attempting once again to "see" what was on Farf's mind.
"Warmth... the kind that can't hurt God... but, at the same time...
doesn't please him either..."
"What would hurt God if I did call you 'Farfie?'" Schu continued to
pry as he stepped closer to the Irishman.
"If you loved me, God would be sad that you love a killer."
"But I'm a killer too." Schuldig stated as he finally stopped to
stand right in front of the usually knife-licking, blood-thirsty
psychotic man.
"But God forgives those who don't hate him."
"Well, I don't hate him, because I don't believe in him." Schuldig
stated. Carefully, Schu reached his hand up and traced the scars on
Farf's face. His finger's were warm against the pale man's cool skin.
"What are you doing?" Farfarello asked as he placed his own
cadaverous hand over Schu's.
"I'm hurting your god... by loving your face. And I may not be able
to see your non-existant mind, but I certainly love your face..."
"And that hurts God."
"Yes..." Schu's face inched closer to Farfarello's. His eyes slowly
slid closed.
Farfarello's single golden eye stared mezmerized at Schuldig as their
lips met, however barely touched at the same time. Schu's lips felt
hot and slightly damp on the Irishman's mouth, as his lips felt dry
and cold-- the complete contrast...
"Thanks Farfie."
Untitled 2
Written Pleasures