AUTHOR'S NOTES: For Lady Bast, who loves the KenKen and has had a crappy day, to Mouse, because it's her birfday and I ♥ her, and to Sephy, because I ♥ her mostest. I know jack about the Japanese prison system, I'm just dorking around. This is just a silly little cut scene from Whispers before I get to the sequel, because I can. =3 Our Father A Weiss Gluhen Fanfiction by Amet "The church is the great lost and found department." ~ Robert Short The door slammed open with the reverberating clang particular to metal against concrete, a sound most people were not quite so intimately acquainted as one Hidaka Ken, who had spent enough time luxuriating in the inner sanctum of Tokyo Prison that he was fast beginning to fantasize about the most ingenious way to muffle the fuckers so they didn't make the same goddamn repetitive noise every time a guard felt the need to open a door -- which was every three minutes. That was the problem with the joint, he'd decided, it was entirely made of metal and concrete and while he was sure that kept the crazies in just fine, he didn't see the logic in working so damn hard to drive them crazier with something so inane. Possibly he'd had a little too much time to contemplate things. A guard came stomping through without much preamble, ordering him up when he failed to divert his attention away from the comic book he'd stolen off one of the other inmates. Ken was never that good at following instructions, even when he meant to be, and he didn't react well, throwing the man a lazy look from where he'd sprawled out across one of the couches -- there was no use in sharing in the clink, he figured -- and grinned. "I've got ten more minutes rec time," he informed the burly man, "So buzz off, will ya?" "Kid," the guard hissed, in that particularly agitated tone they take only with him, their irritation at not knowing a damn thing about him -- and it was a hoot and a half watching them spaz out because Omi hadn't even given them his name -- shining through each time they're forced to call him, "Be reasonable for once. Much as I hate to disturb you, your Pastor's here to see you and we have orders to let you see whoever you damn well want to whenever they damn well toddle their asses in here. So play nice and get your skinny ass up, already." "Wait..." Ken said, kicking his legs out to right himself, throwing the guard a speculative glance over the back of the couch, "My what now? I haven't been to mass since I was ten." He wasn't sure if he was annoyed or amused when the guard managed to look sheepishly relieved he'd turned out to be Catholic at all, and really, watching a heavyweight wring his hands like that was pathetic. He edged around, trying to get a glance at the figure skulking in the doorway, shapeless black trousers and jacket over the requisite white collared shirt obscuring his figure and it wasn't until the 'priest' looked up to throw him a knowing grin that he stood, book dropping from nerveless figures. "Oh. Fuck." The man wasn't much larger than Ken himself, skinny and pale, short, spiked hair contrasting with the conservativeness of his outfit and the little hat he held in his hands neatly placed across a little leather bound bible. His eyes were pale, cold as ice and still somehow sadistically amused, the kind of glance that made the run of the mill murderers and rapists in this joint look away in a sad attempt to keep from gaining his attention. The aura of malice roiling off him was enough to make anyone want to bolt. That took talent around here. "Farferello?" he asked, tensing as Farfie-boy grinned and shuffled into the room, scattering inmates as he moved. "I go by Father Jei now," Farferello said, voice demure and silky, and the guard didn't seem to realize anything was wrong, not with Ken readying to jump if Farfie pulled something and the 'priest' eying him like so much dead meat rather than a wayward parishioner. "Right, of course," he answered, trying to edge around the guard so the poor schmuck wouldn't get the brunt of it, he had no doubt Farferello could bury a weapon far enough under his skin that it wouldn't set off metal detectors on the way in and the idiot would never have seen it coming form a priest. Ken had never liked the geek -- as in body dysmorphic, horrifyingly gross circus performer who jabbed himself in the face with needles and bit off chicken heads, not as in nerdy -- even long before he'd been forced to watch the freak of nature gut his own mother in a church storeroom. Farferello was the kind of evil that didn't understand why the suffering he caused mattered, inquisitive and childlike even while he was shoving spikes under priest's fingernails just to see if they gave up their faith in those final moments, like he'd read the Book of Job one too many times as a kid and decided to prove once and for all that it was all bullshit. He'd never been sure what Farfie was trying to prove with all that religious bullshit, but watching him toddle around in a collar was a bit much, even lapsed and unreligious as Ken usually was the entire tableau was disgusting. "I haven't come to fight," Farferello -- Father Jei, and damned if didn't Ken hear Ruth's voice over the name. Pleading, always pleading, and the asshole hadn't even paused... "What do you want, then?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and trying to look nonchalant, willing the voices away. "I have come to hear your confession," Farfarello said, tipping his head with a secretive smile, "And to bring you news of the outside world I feel you desperately need to hear." And there it was, the hidden threat that really wasn't all that subtle this time, Farfie was getting rusty in his old age. Ken nodded, allowed the guard to herd him towards the door and tried to keep himself between Farfie and most of the other inmates. These guys were unrepentant creeps, but no one deserved the kind of pain Farferello dealt on a tear. "Let's get it over with then, Padre." ------- They were stuck in a tiny visiting room, all whitewashed concrete and bare floors, sitting at little more than a card table trying to edge as far away from Farfie as humanly possible without giving the game away. He was studiously not thinking about the lack of exits with Farferello giving him that speculative look. "Alright," Ken said, crossing his arms over the table, "The getup is special, but I will give you that it affords us instant privacy. Say what you've got on your mind and get out of my sight." "Honestly, Hidaka," Farferello tisked, "One would think you would be grateful for the reappearance of a familiar face." Ken blinked. "You're shitting me, right? You can't possibly think I'd be happy to see you. And the priest routine is kinda... what's the word I'm looking for? Cliché and a half?" "Are we harboring some embitterment towards the clergy?" Farferello said, "Molested by a priest as a wee boy, were we? That's very unfortunate." "Right, because this is all about my issues," Ken muttered, "Do I even need to note the hypocrisy in that statement or do you just know? How much edge are you packing under that cute little collar, anyway?" "I assure you, I have no weapons on me whatsoever." "Just have to be careful of your bare hands, then," Ken grinned, watching that placid little surface ruffle, giving up and shoving his chair back to have enough space to prop his ankles on the table. "Whether you believe it or not, I have actually been ordained," Farferello said, "Of course, all the church knows is that my mother joined the cloister after adopting me out and that I have extensive, intimate knowledge of the inner workings of the order... but what they don't know..." "Will get them killed messily one day, I'm sure. You got a point? Or are you hoping if you bore me enough I'll pretend to care about your life in the hopes of getting you gone faster?" He was satisfied to see Farferello actually pause, annoyed. "If you insist then. I come with dire warnings of the future." "Isn't that Crawford's line?" "Hidaka," Farferello snapped, "Do you think that I was so desperate to see the inside of this hole that I just had to plan a day trip? I would not be here unless it was absolute necessity and for your information, Crawford is busy." "Damn," Ken said, shaking his head, "They sent me second string? I figured I ranked higher than that." He couldn't help but laugh as Farferello shoved away from the table with a little hiss. There was something different about the geek, that was a great big duh considering how much he was emoting, where before there was nothing but fixed sadistic curiosity. It was just -- the guy was funny. He always had been, from his make believe wah-God-killed-my-parents-but-wait!-no-it-was-me trauma, to his idiot insistence that there was some worth in the chaos he and his cohorts created when all it did was inspire Esset and Rosenkreuz to manufacture Super Friends clones who were easier to control. There was no fucking point to anything he did outside some momentary satisfaction, and the guy just took it all so damn seriously. The chump. "Aw, I'm sorry, did I hurt your feelings?" Ken soothed, putting on his best puppy-eyed moue, "I wouldn't be such a prick but I didn't think you had any." He watched Farferello harden, turning to pin him with a stony glance. "Takatori Mamoru is slated for execution in six hours." That was enough to knock his feet off the table as he nearly unbalanced himself in shock. "What?" "At 2PM this afternoon a handful of assailants will infiltrate the Kritiker building in attempt to assassinate our dear Mamoru-sama," Farferello added, looking far too smug that he'd gotten a rise out of Ken, however small. "They will likely succeed unless you help even the odds, so to speak." He didn't seem entirely pleased when Ken shrugged in response. "Execution is bad. Assassination in the same sentence with Mamoru-sama is just another way of saying some dumbass is about to get flattened. You shuffled in here to tell me that?" "I 'shuffled in here' to relay a message for Crawford," Farferello said, donning his hat with a little shove, "If you're not going to display any sense -- of course you're not, but I was asked to try anyway -- then I'll take my leave." He rapped on the door, calling for the guard and turned to throw Ken a little salute with his bible, "I'd suggest you make an attempt to visit your old friends before things get messy, but far be it from you to listen to a voice of reason." Ken's mind broke a little on the 'voice of reason' bit, given who was speaking, but the crazy man had a point... if Crawford said something was going to happen it was going to go down exactly like he said, end of story. Which mean that he was sitting in a cell pissing away a warning based less off shoddy intel and more off... well, freaky assed powers, but the powers were less likely to be flawed. He might actually have to be a good little boy and hop to if he didn't want another body to angst over. "Wait," he called, "Are you asking me to break outta prison, Padre?" Farferello's features were unreadable. "Of course not." The door creaked, clattered in that particular pattern of unlatching locks and bolts that Ken was about as fond of as the sound it made when it slammed open, the oversized guard from earlier stepping halfway into the cell, eying Ken like he couldn’t quite believe the good Father was still on his feet unharmed. Farferello ignored him, shuffling halfway out the door before he paused, turned, and added, "Or are you afraid that you can't do it?" Ken smiled. return to splash page