Farfarello held the woman by her long tangled hair, restraining her against his body, pushing a sharp knife to her chest, slicing through her dress, producing growing crimson stains on the light fabric.
"No..." she was sobbing, "...please..." begging, "...don't..." eyes open wide, shifting from the knife to the redhead in front of her to the ceiling to the floor to the gloved hand holding the knife and back to the knife, "...anything..." tears running down her cheeks, "...I won't..." arching away from that merciless knife, terrified.
The psychopath smiled. So innocent. God would certainly cry for her.
So the Irishman liked them innocent. No big surprise. And yet there was something about the way that Farfarello was holding that woman, something in that smile that made Schuldig angry. Infuriated even.
Before he could think twice about it he raised his hand, striking the woman right across the face, sending her out of Farfarello's grip and onto the floor. Innocent. He'd been through enough minds to know that they were never innocent. None of them.
"You're probably a lot more innocent than this little slut has ever been," Schuldig pronounced hatefully, giving the woman on the floor a disgusted look. For a split second he almost thought he felt a tinge of sadness in Farfarello's mind, and then rage quickly overtook the Irishman.
"It doesn't matter," Farfarello stated heatedly. "She will die and that..." he looked over at Schuldig, tilting his head, staring daggers at the redhead "will hurt God."
Schuldig made a sound that might have been laughter and directed his words at the woman who was now trying to lift her head, make-up and tears and blood running down her face. Pleading eyes. "Do you think his God will hurt?" He narrowed his eyes, resting his foot on her lower back, keeping her from getting up. "Do you think his God would cry for a little cunt like you?" His voice hitched as he glared at the pathetic creature squirming under his shoe. "Do you think his God gives a FUCK about what happens to you? Or to him? Do you think that fucked up God of his CARES?" He wasn't smiling now, not even pretending to. "He spends every waking hour thinking about that fucking God and do you think HE" Schuldig brought his foot down to emphasize his words, the woman's back making a cracking noise. He didn't care whether or not he'd just broken her spine, she would die soon anyway, and she wasn't important. "do you think He appreciates it? Every FUCKING day, he's throwing his life away, and for WHAT? What the FUCK does he get for it? GOD doesn't care. Not like I - " He stopped halfway. He took a deep breath. And another. He was losing his temper. He couldn't lose his temper. Pulling out a gun he took a step away from his pitiful little victim. She was sobbing uncontrollably, curled up and covering her face in her arms, terrified. "God doesn't care," Schuldig repeated halfheartedly, aiming his gun at her. Right now he just wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.
Farfarello stepped in between Schuldig and the woman on the floor. Baring his teeth in a distorted grin he looked the redhead straight in the eyes. "She's mine." Defying.
"Don't make me shoot you too," Schuldig smirked, seemingly in complete control of his emotions again. A part of him was silently screaming. So the psychopath still wanted this Innocent? Well, he wouldn't have her.
He was interrupted by a cracked voice from behind Farfarello.
"Please..." She was crying. Begging for her life again. How utterly useless. Effortlessly pushing the Irishman out of the way, he walked over to her, pressing the gun against her forehead and pulling the trigger. Would God cry? Hardly, but now Schuldig had blood on his hand. Impulsively he reached out and wiped it off on Farfarello's shirt, before heading outside, leaving the mess behind.