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A Lesson Learned	By : Cyndiana Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 1550 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Rammstein. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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TITLE: A Lesson Learned (Chapter 2 of 5)
AUTHOR: Cyndiana
ARCHIVE: A Feather in the Blood
(http://groups.yahoo.com/group/afeatherintheblood/)
RATING: A VERY strong NC-17 for EXTREME violence, and
description of M/M sexuality.
PAIRING: Doomy/Richard, and description of Till/Flake
SYNOPSIS: Richard learns from a knowledgeable source how to
unleash the rage inside him…and put it to DEADLY use…
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I blame society…Ok, I don’t, but I blame
fandomination.net. I read an even MORE gruesome fic on there, and
I’ve long wanted to write a Dark Fic, and that story inspired me.
This fic is not at ALL for the faint-of-heart. It is gruesome. It
is grizzly…It is Dark Fic, so if you have a weak stomach, PLEASE do
not read. If you read this, it’s because you CHOOSE to do so.
THIS FIC IS NOT FLUFF! IT IS GORY AND GRAPHIC.
You have been warned.
DISCLAIMER: A work of fiction. Not intended as a statement
of fact in any way. Not-for-profit.

**************************************************
CHAPTER 2
Richard stepped into his luxury hotel suite. The bellhop let his bags fall with a thump.

“Want me to unpack your things, Herr Kruspe?” he offered eagerly.

“No! Don’t…I can handle them…danke.” Richard replied, handing him a sizeable sum of cash.

“Danke mein Herr!” the man exclaimed, tipping his hat, and leaving the room.

Richard unpacked his things…All but one suitcase…That one found its way to his closet, unopened.

He slipped into his bed for some badly needed rest.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

*******************************************************

The next day he awoke, showered, and dressed, choosing his finest Armani suit for this occasion.

He slid on tight, leather gloves, and shuffled into a heavy overcoat.

He retrieved the unopened suitcase from his closet.

Downstairs, he called a cab.

When it arrived, he gave the driver the address.

Paul’s house.

The taxi slowed, and stopped in front of Paul’s modest residence.

Richard paid the driver with a wad of cash.

“Wait here for me. I won’t be long.”

Richard retrieved his suitcase, then bounded up to the front door, ringing the bell.

He rang it three times before hearing any life inside the house.

“One…fucking minute…Mein Gott…” he heard Paul mumble from within, between lengthy yawns.

The door slowly opened.

“Richard! What are you…? I didn’t expect to see you! Bitte, come in!”

“Danke, Paul.”

Richard entered, setting his suitcase by the stairs. “Have a seat, Richard. Can I get you a drink?”

“A beer would be nice…”

“Ok, I’ll be right back.”

Paul scurried into the kitchen, and retrieved two beers, handing one to Richard. He sat on the couch beside him.

“So, what brings you back here? I thought you were happy in the States?”

“I am, but I got a bit homesick. Besides, I have some messy business to attend to here.”

“Oh? What sort of messy business?”

“Eh…It’s boring…just, taking care of some unresolved issues.”

“Oh. Ja, that happens.”

Just then, Paul’s mobile rang from the kitchen.

“Oh shit! I gotta get that! I’ll be right back.”

“Before you go, would you mind terribly handing me my suitcase? It’s by the stairs.”

“No problem.” Paul replied, handing him his suitcase and running into the kitchen.

“Hallo? Sorry, Engel, I have company, and it took me a while to be able call you back…”

While he spoke on the phone, Richard rifled through his suitcase, picking just the right instrument of revenge.

Once he had decided on one, he slid it underneath the cushion of the couch.

He closed up his suitcase, and set it at the end of the couch.

Paul reentered the room.

“Sorry…My girlfriend…She gets pissy if I don’t call her RIGHT back.”

“I know how that is, old friend.”

Richard downed his beer in a few, great gulps.

“Wow…it’s been forever since I’ve had real, German, beer.”

“Ahhh…Drinking that American badger piss, huh?”

“Ja.”

“I can get you another beer, if you’d like?”

“Oh, would you mind?”

“No man, I’ll be right back.”

Richard saw his shot.

He stood, retrieving the item he placed under the couch cushion, and walking slowly and silently into the kitchen.

Paul was busy grabbing the beers, and popping the caps.

He never knew what hit him.

Paul fell to the floor, holding his head.

“RICHARD! Fuck! What are you doing?!”

Richard stood over him, claw hammer in hand.

“I’m fucking bleeding, Richard! God!”

Richard hit him in the face over and over, screaming like a crazed beast, his anger rising.

He only stopped when Paul’s screams did.

We wiped the blood from his face, dropped the hammer by Paul’s body, wiped his gloves with a damp paper towel, and picked up his suitcase.

He got into the taxi, still waiting for him.

He gave him the next address…

Schneider’s house…

Will Schneider meet his demise? See in CHAPTER THREE!>>>>>>>>
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A Lesson Learned