It had rained. Farfarello rested his forearms on the slick, cold metal of the balcony railing after a flick of his hand swept the heavy droplets away. They splattered like music on the asphalt two stories below. The moon was full and round, almost pregnant in its bulk, and it seemed close enough to reach up and touch despite the lights dimming the stars around it. It wasn't entirely silent - no city ever was, but it was quiet enough. He let his mind wander, only half-paying attention to the low murmur of voices in the kitchen. Tsukiono disgusted him, and the air in that kitchen, which he normally found welcoming and familiar, had become stifling very quickly.
It proved awkward, at the very least, and it wasn't long at all before Yohji had excused himself from the kitchen, allowing Nagi and Omi to continue visiting as they would, pausing only to catch sight of the Irishman out on the balcony. He appeared to be weighing something inwardly, before turning and continuing to his room, making a stop at his dresser. The box was still there, unhidden but yet not obvious to the average sweep of the eye. No one had noticed or asked or bothered him about it, and he was glad for it, though he really hadn't expected them to. They allowed each other their privacy, even in the close quarters they shared. This was a decision he had technically already made, and yet reaching for the box and slipping it into his pocket seemed to add some measure of extra weight to his shoulders. But he wasn't backing out of it, no, not this time. A moment or so later and he was making his way towards the balcony as well, casually leaning in from the frame. "Hey...mind if I ask a favor?" he asked quietly.
Farfarello did not react to Yohji's presence, did not turn to look at him, or even raise his head. His tone was distant, but mild. "Ask." In the moonlight, his black clothes disappeared in the shadow of the building, and he was visible as human only because of his extremely pallid skin, which shone moon-white against the darkness.
Black and white. Shadow and light. The references never ended, if one cared to look. It was a moment, again, before he phrased it the way he wanted to. "I have something I need to let go of...and I don't want it so close that it can come back to me. Any possible way we can get out for a while?" The casual tone never changed. No sense attaching any great sense of emotion to this, needlessly. No need to make a scene of it. Just once, it wouldn't kill not to have to deal with the angst right off hand.
"Yes," was the simply response, and Farfarello straightened, brushing the dampness from his hands and turning to face Yohji. He looked unusually serene, as if the psychopath that had characterized Yohji's perceptions of Farfarello for so long was on the other side of the world. He stepped gracefully past Yohji and slipped back inside, silent as a whisper. The feel of the air outside, once Yohji was alone with it, was strikingly familiar - a dull sort of reminiscent sadness that haunted his sleep when he dreamed of Asuka.
Naturally he was immediately curious...it nagged at the back of his mind, nibbled and pinched and prodded, trying to get him to pay notice to the fact that this was, indeed, the first time Yohji had picked up on such an air from Farfarello. His perception of him had changed -greatly- from his first, especially considering the amount of time thus far they'd spent talking. It was like being given a few pieces of a puzzle to start with, then slowly being allowed more, until you almost had a good look at what it was you were trying to figure out. Putting the feeling aside for the moment, he turned as well, away from the balcony and that haunting feeling.
Farfarello didn't say anything as he went to the couch and pulled on his jacket, which likely held a majority of his weapons. He fastened two of the buttons and shook his hair free of the collar. "Where do you want to go?" he inquired finally, once he stood by the front door, utterly, eerily still, like someone's impressionist statue of a man.
"Not exactly sure of that...someplace I don't want to have to run across again, that's all I know." He shook his head, glancing back towards the kitchen, chewing on his lip momentarily in thought. "...nearest large body of water would work." Which, he privately thought, was just the cheesy sort of touch she would have loved. All the better to leave things there, then.
Farfarello nodded and opened the door, descending the stairs and climbing into the driver's seat of the jeep. He knew just the place. He turned the keys in the ignition and waited for Yohji to climb in with him, then set off for the Kanto Bridge. It would be abandoned at this time of night, only the occasional car, and no one on the lower walkway. The river below it, though artificial, was deep and fast-moving. It would serve.
The entirety of the trip there was stone-silent, Yohji watching the passing scenery and trying to keep his mind off of what was burning against the inside of his pocket. He didn't want to let go, and he did, and as long as he wasn't thinking of it, he couldn't convince himself NOT to. He'd become good at that without even trying.
Farfarello pulled down onto the gravel path used mostly by maintenance trucks and stopped the car in the shadow of the bridge, where it blended nicely. He climbed out, as silent as Yohji, hands in his pockets as he walked slowly, steadily, up the path and to the steps that led to the bridge walkway. The metal rang softly under the treads of his boots as he climbed and went silent as he reached the top. It was narrow, room for perhaps three people to walk abreast if they were decently skinny, and swayed slightly just as the bridge did when one got nearer to the middle.
The metallic noise repeated as Yohji climbed those stairs himself, though perhaps betraying some of his hesitance. It was strange how the body reacted to emotions, the actual pull and strain that observers often times didn't notice. His eyes drifted down to the flowing water as he reached the top, pausing a moment before starting to move out onto the bridge, hands securely in his pockets. 'This is best', he told himself firmly. 'It's best all around...for everyone involved. Gotta let go sometime...' He could feel the slight unsteady of the bridge as he got farther towards the middle, and then stopped. Slowly, his fingers curled around the box and drew it out, staring at it for a moment quietly.
When Yohji looked up again, Farfarello was watching him, just standing utterly still in the middle of the walkway about twenty feet ahead and staring at him contemplatively. His hands were in his pockets, and this far over the river, the wind whipped his hair around his face cruelly. He didn't seem to mind it, of course, and there was no emotion in that single golden eye, just calm patience.
When he did look up again...it was with a faint smile. Bitter, barely there, but still a smile. "It hurts...almost like you're carving out a part of yourself. Maybe an unnecessary part, a hindering part, but still..." He sighed, shaking his head, bowing it slightly against the fresh gust of wind. "And it's not like I need her...I just didn't want her to fade. I didn't want her to go. I didn't then, I don't now. That's the great flaw in letting yourself care, I guess." He chewed briefly on his lower lip again, before taking a step closer to the edge of the bridge, almost leaning over it, box still in hand. "But there's no room for the alternative, is there?"
"The legend goes," Farfarello said musically, "that the dead would cross the river Styx in order to enter the underworld. The crossing must be voluntary, or Charon will not bear them to the underworld and whatever fate awaits them - Elysium for some, Tartarus for others. However, there is another river in the Underworld - the River Lethe. Its waters are sweet forgetfulness, and utter cleansing. A soul would drink from the River Lethe and shed its memories, to be reborn in a new life. Her Styx, your Lethe," he said ponderously.
Then it couldn't have been more appropriate, could it? Count on Farfarello to answer his question with something seemingly entirely unrelated. Of course, that was the gift of madness. "Reborn, huh?" His gaze grew solemn again, moving to the box in his hand. Well, might as well be reborn. This was the promise made in a life that had its path ended long ago. It seemed a lifetime ago, anyway. Well, here's to what would never be, and both of them moving on. His hand only shook a little as it extended over the railing, his eyes sliding shut as his fingers uncurled....and the weight vanished.
"Rivers are heavily symbolic to the spiritual consciousness of mankind," Farfarello said quietly, watching the small box tumble into the water and disappear with a tiny splash. "It is a good place to give things up, or let them go. Perhaps the relief of that sort of burden is the reason rivers are associated with healing properties," he said idly, leaning on the walkway railing and eyeing the black, rushing water. "A river of blood to wash away our sins, or a river of magic to cleanse our souls.... so much of it is borrowed. So much is the same."
"You'd almost think the same root belief was in everyone, regardless...and just interpreted differently," he murmured, choosing not to open his eyes just yet. His arms folded as he leaned against the railing. Asuka would have liked that train of thought. "Y'know, sometimes I wonder where you get all this from...you seem to have a well-based answer for just about everything." His lips twitched slightly in amusement.
"When you are locked in a small cell and bound in a straightjacket, there is little to do but sleep and ponder whatever crosses your mind," Farfarello told him evenly. "I have spent quite a lot of my life in cells and straightjackets. Initially, Crawford thought that was the best way to control me, but they soon discovered, thanks to Schuldig, that it was much easier to simply give me something to read. So, since coming to Japan from England, I have also spent quite a lot of my life reading. That is where I get some of it," he explained, still watching the water. "Some of it is the stuff of dreams and memories."
"See, that seems backwards to me. Keeping a person in a environment that would drive a sane man crazy doesn't seem like the most brilliant idea to me." He snorted softly. "Of course, look how I bitched and complained, just being stuck at the safe house. With other people around. I do know some girls who are into the whole straightjacket thing, though," he added as a half-joke. Half, because he DID know some girls like that. But that was a mental trip for ANOTHER day.
"It was never their intent to cure me," Farfarello told him flatly. "They knew me to be a murderer, so they locked me away where I would not be able to kill any more. When I managed to kill despite them, they sent me to another, more secure place. Still, I killed there, and they sent me to another place, a place where those who enter never leave unless it is in a coffin. Hypocrites, men of science playing God, made toys of those too broken to know how to resist. They lusted for power over life and death, power over the soul, and in that way, they were not so very different from those they preyed upon."
"Is that where they found you, then?" His eyes slid open to turn and fix on the Irishman, curiosity rising again. "To join up with Schwarz, I mean..."
"They were fascinated with my inability to process pain signals," Farf affirmed. "One, or perhaps more, of them had Eszet connections. Word traveled up the grapevine, but Eszet considered me a security risk. Crawford ignored that risk and came, with Schuldig, to collect me from England. He and I came to an agreement on the way back to Japan."
He nodded, shifting slightly as the wind took a particularly strong gust in their direction, fingers reaching up to brush his hair out of his face. "So was Schwarz always working separate from the other Eszet groups? I mean, you guys never had anyone to work with other than the four of you?" That, of course, was the way it had been in Weiss, sometimes even isolated from Kritiker itself.
"No one from Eszet," Farfarello told him. "Crawford was very highly thought-of by the elders, and given almost free reign to do as he liked. He didn't want to mix with any other teams, and so we did not - Schuldig's hatred of Eszet would have been hard to hide in the face of scrutiny by those loyal, and I would have slain any of them at the slightest provocation. It would have provoked scrutiny we did not need."
"And besides Eszet?" He'd noted the specifics of that statement and lifted an eyebrow slightly. "Not counting us, of course..."
Farfarello smirked slightly, but it didn't reach his eye. "If I told you that we did, once, work with Kritiker..."
Now -both- eyebrows flew up. "You're kidding..."
He shook his head. "A brief sojourn to the United States, and a two-agent team called Schwert. They were, by far, the most dangerous elements Kritiker ever tried to wield against us, but they were not, strictly speaking, very interested in killing us. It was coincidence, but we ended up fighting shoulder to shoulder against a common foe."
"Only two?" He chuckled lightly. "Man...but that's the luck, isn't it? The ones with the real potential for damage just aren't interested. Saving grace if there ever was one...they take to the idea of alliance any quicker than we did?" He almost sounded amused at the prospect.
"They did not realize they were getting into the middle of a psionic war until they were, quite literally, caught between both sides. They were chasing us and we led them into the lion's den," Farfarello told him with slight amusement. "However, they were pragmatic men, and adaptable, and once Crawford had explained the situation, they sided with us, as the lesser of two evils. They were talentless, but their assistance was invaluable."
"See, and that doesn't sound familiar at all." He chuckled again, straightening up and stepping back from the railing with a slight stretch. "Eh...don't know about you, but I'd rather not hang on this bridge all night." He glanced to his watch. "Figure we have time for a drink before heading back?" Of course. Alcohol. His own personal water of the river Lethe.
Farfarello hiked an eyebrow, then shrugged. "If you like, but choose a bar you do not often frequent. It would not do to encounter Eszet's agents unprepared." As if Farfarello was ever unprepared... he was a walking tank, as Nagi had so often observed. But, then, he did have a point.
"No, I guess not..." he agreed, casting his gaze over the river one last time. "Well...there's a gaijin bar I haven't been to in ages, The Last Round. Heard of it?" It was the sort of place he figured Schuldig would probably visit, if he knew of it.
"I have not," Farfarello told him, turning and waiting for Yohji to move. "But the place does not matter much to me. I don't often drink."
Point, again. "Ah well." He shrugged lightly, before turning and heading back towards the car. With that taken care of, he definitely wanted at least -a- drink before heading back.
Farfarello didn't have an issue with being the designated driver, and besides, he was an Irish Biopath. There was no creature in the world that could hold liquor better than he could. He followed Yohji's directions in thoughtful silence, his mind obviously elsewhere... reminiscing. Something Yohji was familiar with.
Very familiar with. Enough to recognize the signs, at least. But he didn't inquire, not just yet, anyway, merely pointing out the way to said bar. There weren't a great number present tonight, a few cars out in the parking lot, and the faint throb of music wafting through the door. The Genitorturers, from the sound of it. "Modest little place, nothing like the Cit, but there you are," he remarked as they pulled in.
Farfarello's lips quirked into a knowing smile. "No place else is like the Cit," he told Yohji, parking and climbing out of the car to shove the keys in his pockets and eye the establishment. Apparently he found it suitable, because he followed at Yohji's heels in silence.
The door was pushed open, and eyes adjusted to the dim gold light that washed over the 'modest little place'. Stairs against the far wall lead upstairs, presumably to places to crash if you were too drunk to stagger off to your car, booths to actually eat at pushed off to the side on an elevated area. There was only one other at the bar, on the far stool, and the tattooed bartender glanced up as they entered, as though assessing if they would be trouble, his eyes lingering for a moment on Farfarello. This place bore the scars of said trouble, unrulier customers, but had been fixed up rather nicely, considering.
Farfarello glanced at the tender and dismissed him as unimportant - his favorite would always be Xan and he doubted they had Black ANYTHING here. Instead, he looked the inside of the club over, pinpointing the locations of the exits, entrances, and stairwells, and taking a quick headcount of the people in the room. He assessed the possibilities of cover and improvised weapons ponderously. But what it looked like to Yohji was that Farfarello wandered to a stop just a few feet into the club, staring in almost childlike curiosity at everything around him, head twisting on his neck like a cat's as he stared.
But Yohji had more or less given up trying to assume anything about Farfarello. What you saw wasn't always what was so. So he said nothing, merely slipping onto one of the stools, and promptly ordered up a Dragon's Breath. Hell, he wasn't driving.
He eventually wandered after Yohji, moving slowly, as if in a trance, and found the seat next to him. He leaned against the bar, facing the dance floor and the people on it, one foot propped on the rungs of the stool, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched. He looked wary, but then again, it was an unfamiliar place, and like a cat kept its tail tucked down until it was confident of its surroundings, so he was compact.
The music continued to blare out of the speakers, though Yohji had already reduced it to a dull buzz in his mind, ignoring it for the most part. The drink in his hand helped matters, just a little. One glance at Farfarello, and he was chuckling softly. Eh, but he couldn't say that stance surprised him. Ever cautious, ever prepared, that was the advantage of paranoia, wasn't it?
"It was a bar like this one," Farfarello said quietly, abruptly, literally out of nowhere. "We were in America because Takatori wished to audit several off-shoots of his company. Something about productivity... I did not pay attention. Schuldig wanted to explore New York. He had never been to America before, and neither had I. He disobeyed Crawford's orders to restrain me. We went shopping, saw a movie, and ended up in a place like this. He wanted to dance and I did not. We were about to leave. Then we heard a telepath scream."
The drink paused halfway to his lips, his head turning again to frown at the sudden launch into narration. Where had -this- come from? "A telepath?"
"It was a purely mental scream," Farfarello explained. "It leveled everyone in the bar. It's what a telepath does when they're in extreme danger, or dying... they broadcast their fright and rage to every receptive mind in the vicinity. We knew of no Eszet teams stationed in New York at that time, so we investigated and stumbled onto something very.... big."
He winced faintly at the sound of it, knowing that he was still unused to mere talking in his head, much less a scream, before nodding. "Sounds like...what did you guys find?"
"A telepath on the edge of something worse than death," Farfarello said simply, "a dead man's collective of bodies devoid of souls, and a Witch."
"Witch?" He finally got around to taking that drink before shifting on the seat, his body shifting more to face him.
Farfarello smirked slightly. "Yes. A Witch, enemy of God, daughter of Kali Ma, the Goddess of destruction. Her name was Sabbath Williams. We took her and the telepath to Crawford. She had a strange story to tell us. She was one of the Inconnu, you see - psions who are unaffiliated with any organization, who prize freedom above all else and live dangerous, hunted lives in small groups known as Cells. Her compatriots had been suffering from the aggressions of this dead-man's collective. They were called The One because they shared a single mind, a single thought process. They collected new bodies to fill their ranks by draining the soul from a living psion and attaching them to their neural network, which was upheld by empaths and telepaths. They had been picking off the Inconnu for months before we encountered Sabbath. She convinced Crawford to request permission from Eszet to help destroy The One, and it was granted on the basis that this collective, if it grew, would eventually have enough power to threaten Eszet itself. The telepath was irretrievable, so Sabbath killed him. She and Nagi took his body to the river and let it sink."
Of course. The weird shit always happened because of the effing -psions-. Sure as Hell didn't see THAT one coming. "What happened then? You destroyed The One, presumably," he prompted after a moment, fingertips tapping lightly against his glass.
"Sabbath struck a deal with Eszet through Crawford," Farfarello told him, speaking her name with easy and almost fond familiarity. "Her life for her compatriots' lives. You see, Magick is real enough, and fully capable of awe-inspiring effects. I saw it myself when we hunted down the Core of The One, miles under New York City, and watched her unleash enough pure destructive power on the Core, and the Collective's Creator, that it shook the ground. We defeated them, and the Psychic Vampire who created them, and despite Eszet's efforts to double-cross the Inconnu, the few who survived the sewers got free and went their own ways."
"...and what happened to her?" Yeah, there was little chance of a 'happily ever after' following this. There never was. He knew that much.
"She was turned over to Eszet," Farfarello said. "Along with the Vampire, who survived - he was a Pathogen, and despite the danger, Crawford felt it was too fine a gift to pass up. I had suspected such a thing would happen, but I did not know the terms of the deal until it was done. Fighting our way through a trapped maze of catacombs exhausted me, as did battling the vampire, and when I came to, it was on the plane back to Japan."
"...you'd have tried to stop it, wouldn't you?" There was an odd sort of expression on Yohji's face now as he looked at the other. And here was another piece of the puzzle, if he could figure where it belonged.
"I tried to strangle Crawford, to make him tell me what the deal WAS. I knew it would be bad - Eszet specializes in Faustian bargains. But I, obviously, did not succeed and she persuaded me to drop it at the time." He watched the almost empty dance floor for a few beats, then answered, "Yes, I would have tried to stop it."
Click. There went the piece, into place. He was sure of it, now. Turning back to his drink momentarily, he nodded. "You two must have been pretty close, then...if she could convince you. Hell, for you to care what happened to her in the first place."
"We were lovers for a time," Farfarello said easily, as if there was no emotion in his heart to associate with that. "She was an... intriguing person. She shared my hatred of God with a passion I seldom see, and that, along with her blasphemous belief system, drew me. The night she turned eighteen we slaughtered three people in a small downtown catholic church, and speaking later, she understood..... more about me than anyone has ever really understood."
By this point, he was so immune to the detail of destruction and death that...Hell, that was almost cute. Almost. He did smile, all the same. "Or tried to understand, I can imagine." Women and their ways. It was a familiar story.
"Schuldig has tried to understand," Farfarello told him, "but he and Sabbath were different animals, animals who could not help spending most of their time at each others throats." he smirked at the memory. "She did not have any psychic power, but she had force of personality and, to hear Schuldig tell it, a mental scream that was the telepathic equivalent to a wrecking ball to the head. They did not like each other," he said with a chuckle.
"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me," he snickered in turn, entertaining the ever-amusing image now granted to him. He didn't know WHY it amused him so much, Schuldig finding his match in a woman, but it did. Greatly. "When a woman is strong, she is completely unpredictable. I wouldn't have envied him."
"He envied her, I think," Farfarello told Yohji. "But we were not lovers at that time, so I ignored his envy. You would have liked her," he said suddenly, thoughtfully. "She was very much like your Asuka... brazen, intelligent, and with a certain wicked sense of humor."
"And violent, from the sound of it. Asuka all over." He shook his head slowly, finishing off his drink and setting the glass aside. "Somehow, I always end up with the violent, dangerous ones. I would say its just my luck, but as -you- don't believe in luck..." And that was left to trail off, quite nicely.
"She was only violent when threatened," Farfarello clarified, "like the Goddess she served, she could be roused to terrible anger, but was rather motherly the rest of the time. Nagi was quite fond of her... he was very disappointed that Crawford shipped her off to Rosenkreuz." He thought a moment, then said with amusement, "In love and in war....."
"She sounds like quite the woman." Again that faint, reminiscent smile, that faded away within a few moments.
Farfarello merely nodded. "I loved her as much as I am capable of love. That is more now than it was then, but it was something." Then he shrugged and gave his head a shake, brushing fallen strands of frost-white hair from his face.
"Well, something's better than nothing. What is it they say? Better to have loved and lost..." He paused, and then snorted softly. "Hell if I believe it, but it's what they say."
"All things remain in balance," Farfarello told him. "Light and dark, good and evil, love and hate. They say it is better to have loved and lost because they believe that the experience of having been in love outweighs the pain of loss, but the fact is, the deeper the love you are capable of, the more it hurts to lose. So, in the end, it is better to not have loved at all, because when you are awake in the late hours of the night letting emotion clench its fingers around your heart, it is not the happiness you will feel - it is the grief. Pain, grief, and suffering are remembered when all the warmth has faded."
"Well, when it's a choice between that and trying your damndest not to feel anything at all..." His fingers lifting to rake his hair out of his eyes, chewing lightly on his lip as he did when he was thinking about something. "Tried it. Didn't work out so well."
"No," Farfarello agreed. "Even grief is better than feeling nothing at all."
"Says he who reportedly feels no pain," he couldn't help but point out.
"That," Farfarello told him, "Is precisely how I know."
That was a pretty good point, so he left that where it landed, fingernails scratching at a spot on the counter absently. "Don't you ever feel anything else?"
"If you're asking whether I'm capable of processing other sensations," Farfarello told him, "the answer is 'yes'. Normal touch, pleasure, even tickling, I feel quite normally."
Both eyebrows raised. "Tickling," he repeated flatly.
Farfarello nodded once. "Yes."
He then glanced sidelong at Yohji, turning his head because the blonde was on his blind side. "That was not an offer."
"Y'know, the notion touched down briefly, but I didn't figure it was," he replied, shaking his head. -Tickling.- Great, just watch. He was going to wake up some time in the night and crack up laughing over that. Well, better that then other things, he supposed.
Farfarello smirked slightly. "That is probably healthier for you... tickling makes me aggressive,"
"See, that's the wrong tack to take. When has anything being healthier for me ever influenced me before?" He shifted. "Though those few self-preservational iotas left within are raising a ruckus as we speak..."
"That's not the kind of aggressive I meant," Farfarello told him with a certain dark amusement that was, at once, both threatening and sensual. His gaze fixed itself on the dance floor as he smirked to himself.
He still felt his reasoning applied, even though you could have seen his eyes widen just a little, darting in Farfarello's direction before fixing on the bar counter. "...of course it's not."
Farfarello chuckled, but let it lie, shrugging off the coat and draping it over the bar behind him. He didn't quite look innocuous in a black t-shirt and cargos, but he did manage to imitate a semblance of normalcy, and that was more disturbing than anything. Well, that and the knife he produced out of thin air to nibble between his teeth.
That, Yohji was very pointedly (haha, pun) ignoring, ordering up another drink. Yes, one of the same. No, he wasn't driving. Tch. Just give him the damn drink. That accomplished, he turned to look out onto the dance floor, himself. Not too terribly many people out tonight, for one reason, or another.
Kudou was infatuated with Fujimiya. This, Farfarello knew to be a fact. Whether they were actually together or not, or as Schu would put it, had GOTTEN anywhere or not, he did not know, and did not wonder. The harsh, guttural, melodyless metal was not to his taste, but he did order a drink when the bartender came around for Yohji - vodka and cranberry juice. He WAS driving, but the alcohol didn't matter. It hardly impaired him and if it did, well, he could always metabolize it away.
Hell, Yohji didn't know if things with Aya were going anywhere or not. At this point, it was just as likely that they might, or might not. It was a confusing state of things, really, and he tried not to wonder too much on it, either. But he was, now, musing on it over his drink as he took another sip. What had happened between Farfarello and Aya, he already knew, and had not been immediately jealous, which confused him, as he knew he tended to get jealous easily. Perhaps the relief that Aya finally came home, not that much worse for wear, and safe, had totally eclipsed any jealousy there might have been.
Farfarello still didn't know what had happened between him and Aya, really. ~Not a mistake ~ He trusted the lack of accusation in those violet eyes. Ran was not the type to manipulate, or mislead, others. He shifted slightly on the stool, frowning as his thoughts started taking unwelcome turns, but the frown turned to a laugh as they made another abrupt corner, telling him merrily that this would be one hell of a giant orgy if everyone managed to get their way. THAT led to a picture of them all curled up in a pile, complete with kitten ears and tails, and THAT made him laugh out loud.
Yohji blinked, halfway through taking another sip as he turned to stare somewhat at Farfarello. "...do I want to know what that was about, or not?"
"I have Schuldig," Farfarello said simply. "I want Ran. You want Ran. Schuldig wants you. It is all too ludicrous, and too amusing."
His brow furrowed, even as he cracked a smile. "This is definitely a daytime talk-show waiting to happen."
"As The World Turns," Farfarello offered almost giddily. His moods seemed to be mercurial, changing and shifting from moment to moment. "Or perhaps Passions.. I understand it has a supernatural subplot."
"Soap operas, even better. No, no, no, I have it." He held up a hand, precariously close to laughing himself. "Reality TV. That's better than anything they could script, I guarantee it."
"It will be disturbingly close," Farfarello told him grimly, "When Crawford succeeds in moving us all in together."
"I can see it now...." He paused to reflect upon this image...and then promptly down about half of the remaining drink.
Farfarello chuckled quietly. "Perhaps padlocked doors will become the new style. Or perhaps they'll simply never close."
"Poor Ken." He tutted lightly. "He'll be the one with the padlocked and soundproofed room, for sure."
"Not if Ran gets his way and we take his sister in, too," Farfarello pointed out.
"Oh yes. She'll never see the light of day, either way it goes, I can see it now."
"I can see the conflict between Hidaka and Fujimiya," Farfarello said dryly. "And it is not aesthetically pleasing in the least."
"Well, you can't have everything. He's yet to fess up to Aya that they're actually dating." Pause. Drink. "I don't blame him. As cramped as things are now, maybe not such a good idea..."
"I like Hidaka," Farfarello said simply. "I would rather he did not end his life prematurely and in two messy pieces."
"Exactly." The rest of the drink was finished off at last and set aside, Yohji giving a little stretch.
"If you are restless," Farfarello said dryly, "There are several there who wouldn't mind dancing with you."
"Iie...don't feel like dancing with a stranger tonight," he murmured quietly. Any other night, perhaps.
That phrase could have meant a lot of things, and Farfarello pondered them for a moment. "No, it's not a night for that," he agreed eventually.
Digging through his pockets, he brought out enough to cover all three drinks, shoving it across to the tender before rising to his feet. "Think it's about time to head back, then?"
Farfarello nodded and stood, collecting his coat, but merely carrying it as he stayed at Yohji's side on the way out of the bar. He slid into the driver's seat of the jeep again, still contemplatively silent.
The ride back was much as the ride there had been...quiet. Naturally, much of this owed to the fact that at some point, Yohji had dozed off in the passenger's seat. But there really wouldn't have been much to say, anyway. Sometimes quiet was a lot nicer than idle chat.
Farfarello parked and circled around to the passenger side to gently prod Yohji awake. "Are you waiting for me to carry you in?" he wondered with amusement.
"Mm..." He opened one eye, took in what had been said, and suddenly looked much more awake, blinking and making moves to get out at last. "Ah! No, I'm good..."
"Good," the madman said mildly, stepping aside to let him out. "It would raise interesting questions."
"Oh, be quiet. I wouldn't have let you, anyway," he replied, slightly annoyed. Ah well. Time to head back in.
Farfarello offered him a grin. In the dim lights of the streetlamps, his teeth gleamed predatorily. He fell in behind Yohji, still smirking, and unlocked the door for him.
The door was opened, and he hesitated a moment, glancing back at the Irishman with a brief nod. "...thank you." And with that, he was heading inside, and to his room. He just...needed to crash for a while, that was all.
"Do itashimashite," Farfarello said quietly. He was amused as he guided Yohji, who wasn't QUITE unable to walk in a mostly-straight line, into the apartment. He was ambivalent toward drinking. Schu did quite a lot of it, and while his sexual performance suffered under the weight of too much alcohol, that didn't mean his libido went away, and Farfarello had learned to just deal with it. Drugs of any kind he hated with violent passion, but alcohol did not bother him. He was well used to guiding the drunk, in any case. Still, Kudou wasn't all that far gone... that 'thanks' had been something like a blow to the stomach. What WAS it with him and random good deeds lately? Well, no need to ask, he knew, really - it was all about the war, all about winning it, all about wrapping up loose ends so they concentrate on winning it.
But whatever help they could get, they were all grateful for, and Yohji was no different in this regard. Right now, though, the war wasn't an issue in his mind. Right now, he just wanted to crash, curl under his blanket, and sleep everything away for a while. Making his somewhat steady way back towards his room, he paused at the door. Then he snorted softly. "Damn it, Aya..." And then he was turning and making his way towards the other's room, opening the door. Yup. There he was. Asleep. With HIS blanket. This will not do. So, he promptly wandered over and gave the edge of it a light tug. Tug. TugtugTUG. Come on, come loose....
...God damnit. Aya knew he should've locked his door. A faint growl escaped him and he curled up tighter under the blanket, keeping a firm hold on the blanket. He poked his head up from over the edge of the blanket, a violet eye nearly glowering at the dirty blonde. "Either go back to your own damn room or crawl in, but quit with the god damn tugging already."
Meanwhile, Farfarello redirected himself toward the kitchen. He didn't feel cold the same way others did. 'Cold', to him, meant a purely emotional state and he was, at this precise moment, there. But he dealt with that in much the same way that other people dealt with actual cold- by drinking something hot. Was there Chamomile? There was. Delightful. He set about making himself a cup of tea. What in hell had taken hold of his tongue and caused all that.... memory... to spill out? At least it had been Kudou. If anyone would understand and sympathize with THAT particular chapter of his life, it was Balinese, with his crippling weakness for a woman with fire in her eyes and mischief in her step.
He snorted again. Should have known that Aya wouldn't be one to relinquish The Blanket. Few who enjoyed its comfort wanted to. Least of all Yohji himself. So it was the second option he decided to take up, kicking off his shoes and moving around to crawl in beside the other, tugging a good part of blanket over him. Ah....much better. It took all of ten seconds for him to drop out like a light. Good night moon.