Innocent Till Proven Guilty

Part 1- “Geburt”
Crawford scowled as he walked into the living room. The German boy was
laying on the couch, his jade-green eyes following Crawford’s every
movement.
“Was machst du?”
Crawford arched an eyebrow, then it occured to him the the boy had just
recently
been picked up by Takatori’s lackeies from the “school” in Rosenkrüs
and could only
speak german. He just stopped and stared at the young boy [Author’s
note: Schu’s
about 12 in this... making Crawford 16 or so].
“Was machst...”
“English.” Crawford interrupted, more than a little annoyance in his
voice,
“English, or Japanese.” His own pride forced the fact that a year ago,
he had been just
as bad, out of mind.
Wide, green eyes blinked in thought, “What you doing?” The words were
heavily
accented, but clear enough.
“I’m leaving. *I* have a job to do.” he critically looked at the boy’s
slim figure.
“Apparently, though, you have to come too.”
The German jumped up, a flash of excitment in his eyes, “I...go?” he couldn’t
fathom Crawford’s negative wording, “Wo sincl wir gehn?”
Crawford narrowed his eyes.
“Doko?”
Crawford shook his head. Couldn’t this kid stick to one language? He pointed at
the door “Takatori, Mr. Takatori.” He pointed to himself “We protect him,” he considered
a moment, “Well, I protect him.” He tapped on the boy’s chest, “You watch. Training.”
“Tran...in?” The word rolled ackwardly across the boy’s tounge.
Crawford sighed, and fished around a nearby pile of books for the German
Dictionary. “Ah,” he struggled with the pronunciation, “Ausbildung”
The boy scrunched his nose, trying to memorize the association. He looked at
Crawford again, a confused look in the birght eyes, “Warum?”
Crawford ignored the boy’s question, they were grating on his nerves, anyways.
He grabbed the German’s wrist and led him out to a waiting limo. The two boys slid into
the back, and sat opposite the older man already in the car.
“Ohayo, Mister Takatori.” Craword greeted the man. He jabbed the German boy
in the ribs.
“Guten Tag.”
Reji Takatori looked up, light glaring across his glasses.
Crawford cleared his throat, “I brought him so he could start his training. His
name is...” he stopped, and looked at the boy, silently demanding his name.
“Schuldige.” He answered, confidently.
“Schuldige. That must be his name.”
Takatori smirked, “Schuldige,” he said, addressing the boy, “What can you do?”
Schuldige grinned, “Gedankenübertragung.”