Ashen

[Joke the fifth]

2006-10-01T07:15:34Z

Agony. Love. Helplessness. Love. Terror love agony lovehatelovepainlove…

No.

“No!”

Quatre jerked awake, his scream dying on his lips as he registered the feeling of being held. He opened his eyes and saw the relief in Trowa’s face, and he could see in those green eyes that he was forcibly restraining himself from crushing Quatre in his embrace by hugging too tightly.

“Quatre?” Trowa murmured. “Are you alright?”

“I’m –” He coughed, then cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m fine. Duo isn’t, though…”

Shuddering, Quatre remembered the exact moment when he’d seen the inevitable outcome of things and had been helpless to stop it. The exact moment when he’d felt Duo break, felt him give in to the emotions screaming to be let out. He remembered the despairing, desperate love, and the horrifying agony. Oh, the pain Duo was in… he should have known. Duo pretended everything was fine, he even comforted Quatre, but he should have known! What kind of friend was he?

“Where’s Duo?” he asked, panic rising, struggling to sit up. “Why am I in Heavyarms? Where’s Heero? I need to see Duo. Trowa –”

“Quatre, love…”

“What now?” he said warily, seeing the torn look on Trowa’s face.

“On the way back to the safe house we received orders. The two of us.”

“What?”

“It’s urgent, an immediate mission… we have to go. I already spent too much time trying to wake you up, and if we don’t go now, we won’t make it.”

Quatre bit his lip. “Alright, I’ll contact Duo via radio –”

“He’s still unconscious. Heero’s taking care of him.”

Light blue eyes narrowed. “I don’t like the idea of leaving Duo with those two –”

“Wufei’s on another mission. I asked. S said that he’d be gone for the next month or so. Ours lasts a couple of weeks.”

“So he’s in a house alone with Heero?” Quatre cried, dismayed.

“Better than with Wufei, too. We can’t do anything about it, love.”

Blue eyes narrowed. “Fine,” the Arabian said finally. He got to his feet with Trowa’s help, scowling. “But I’m going to talk to Heero on the way, if nothing else!”

Trowa’s lips quirked in a smile. “I wouldn’t dream of stopping you.”

+++

Duo listened to Heero sigh as Quatre disconnected the line after a good ten minutes of warning him not to hurt Duo and threatening him bodily harm in various creative ways if he did, with a few furious insults thrown in. Heero hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise, right up to the end of the call. It was sweet, in a detached sort of way, that Quatre cared like that, but it meant that his control wasn’t good enough, and he’d made Quatre worry. It was probably that little outburst of his just before he’d gone suicidal between Wing and that Leo.

It wouldn’t happen again.

He heard Heero come into the room – judging by the feel of the surface he was on, he’d been placed in his own bed. His stomach hurt, but it was a tight pain that told him the wound had been stitched. One knee ached dully, but seemed to be fine, the other – broken, but not yet set. His shirt was gone, but the pants weren’t. Good. Heero hadn’t seen.

“I know you’re awake, Duo.”

Damn, how did he do that? “Yeah.”

“I need to check your knee, I think it’s broken.”

A weight lowering the bed on his right, hands on his hips, no not the pants! If he finds out about the cuts he’ll feel guilty and stay with me because he feels guilty and I don’t want that, I don’t want that at all… Duo’s eyes flew open to see Heero leaning over him, and instinctively he reached up and yanked Heero down for an open-mouthed kiss, all tongue and teeth and bruising.

Heero groaned, low, deep in his throat, and in the first few stunned seconds tried to pull away but Duo wouldn’t let him, because he had the feeling that if he let Heero get over the surprise, he wouldn’t get a second chance again. He used all the tricks he knew until Heero gave in, kissing back with equal ferocity, mouth open against his and tongues clashing in each other’s mouths until they were both breathless and had to pull apart, only to dive back in again after a quick harsh breath. Heero slipped his hands behind Duo’s head, gripping, trapping, and Duo let him, submissive under the possessive attack as tongue and teeth and lips laid claim to his.

Duo’s lips felt thoroughly, wonderfully violated, his lips painfully yet deliciously swollen, his cock hard and needing more, when Heero finally pulled back. The Japanese boy lay his head on Duo’s chest as they both got their breath back; the only sound in the room that of their panting.

And when Heero raised his head to speak, Duo beat him to it. “That was nice,” he purred, using his most seductive look, knowing that lust darkened his eyes to a deep purple. His hands, too, were busy; one rubbing the bulge pressed against his side and the other teasing one of Heero’s nipples though the thin tank top. The Japanese bucked helplessly into those hands.

“I know you want me, Heero. I can feel it, could feel it before. You meant everything you said. You want to take me, pound me deep into the mattress, hear me plead, hear me scream and groan and moan your name. You want to watch me writhe and arch under you, bucking and grinding. You want to lick every inch of me and suck me dry. You want me helpless and painfully aroused under you, shamelessly begging to be your slut. You want me on my knees, ass thrusting into the air, begging you to fuck me and make me yours. You want me.”

Heero was whimpering slightly as Duo’s hand slipped inside the stretchy spandex and cupped his leaking erection, and he let out a helpless moan when one thumb began rubbing slowly over the head. With Duo’s body undulating against his, Heero was in no condition to think clearly. If he was, he might remember that Duo’s knee was broken. He might realize that Duo had just repeated almost the exact same words he’d thrown out just a day ago, in the same order, the same tone. He might realize Duo was watching him intently, his every move and his every reaction, with eyes that were lust-filled yet also shone with a clarity, a kind of a painful hopeless love.

But he saw and heard none of that, he could only feel the pleasure he was receiving under skilled hands of a kind he’d never, ever felt before and had no idea how to deal with, how to fight, how to resist. He couldn’t think. And Duo would not have it any other way. He’d been trained for the art of seduction, the good doctor making full use of his natural good looks and body, and an inexperienced partner like Heero was all too easy to manipulate and bring to the point of mindless pleasure.

“Do you feel how good it is, Heero? I bet you’ve never pleasured yourself before. I bet yesterday was the first time you’ve ever said words like fuck and slut. I bet someone else touching you is so new that you can’t control your reactions, can you? I’ve received training, you know, about sexual pleasure and how to give it. I can make you feel good, Heero, and I already am, aren’t I?”

Words were just sounds, meaningless except for the way his groin wept at the feeling of being tortured by skilled hands and the husky lust in every syllable, the seduction in every nuance. Heero moaned again and thrust down against the hand that stroked him. “More…” he managed to choke out.

And Duo obeyed, loving each helpless moan and dying each time he heard it. He didn’t want this – didn’t want his first time in some dingy safe house that they would probably never see again – but this was for Heero. Because Heero needed this, needed some way to let go yet take control, calm his hormones and vent his pent-up emotions. He’d told the truth just now – yesterday he’d seen the want in Heero’s eyes, and he’d felt Heero’s need to rival his own, even if Heero himself didn’t seem to realize it. For all Heero might think himself in control, Duo could recognize lust when he saw it, and he was the only one who could take the brunt of Heero’s uncontrolled passions; the only one Heero trusted enough, wanted enough to do it with.

No. That wasn’t it, was it?

I make it sound so noble, so good, he thought helplessly to himself as he used one hand to tug Heero into straddling his chest, the other hand still stroking that erect cock under confining spandex. But the truth is… I’m selfish. I want him. I want him to be my first; I want to be his first. And if I let him go now, I won’t ever have a chance to touch him like this again.

Because the Perfect Soldier didn’t feel emotions, didn’t form attachments. He’d made it so clear, time and again. And there was only one choice left for Duo, now. He would take this from Heero, just this once, and consequences be damned.

Mouths devouring each other, feverish skin sliding, arousing, Duo released Heero’s cock, now wet with his own leaking cum, and lay passively on the bed, letting Heero take whatever he wanted, but careful to guide those bruising fingers and that carnal mouth above his waistline, always above. And Heero never noticed through his lust, gripping and biting and scraping American-pale skin without a care, leaving bruises and angry red streaks that he ignored in favour of feeling every inch of Duo, the little voice that pointed out Duo’s face tasted slightly saltier, felt just that little bit wetter, going unheeded.

And Duo didn’t stop him, even though every time Heero ground against him, his knee felt like it was on fire and the cuts on his thighs, having been re-opened, were bleeding through the thin wrapping, and he had numerous abrasions on his skin from Heero’s rough handling. He gritted his teeth and bore the pain mutely, since Heero didn’t seem to notice that he wasn’t showing any indication of enjoying this; hadn’t been ever since Heero had stretched out full-length on top of him and taken control. As long as Heero was happy, he wouldn’t stop this; no matter how painful it was physically… and mentally, since Heero showed no signs of caring about his enjoyment. And that was what made the tears slide from under his closed eyelids and down his cheek, and he prayed that Heero would not notice.

And even if he notices, would he care? a small voice whispered in his mind.

He would, Duo thought back fiercely. He has to.

He has to.

A hand rubbed at his cock, another at his nipple, and his other nipple was being sucked and nibbled gently by a hot, wet mouth. Gasping, not expecting such tender treatment, Duo felt himself getting a little hard as he entertained the idea that perhaps Heero cared, after all. He let Heero unzip his pant and slip a hand under his boxers, and whimpered a little at the feeling of the Japanese boy’s callused fingers take hold of his cock. It was enough to make him fully hard; he’d wanted this for so long. He’d wished, and hoped, gotten close to Heero whenever possible, and perhaps, perhaps it was finally paying off.

Heero… can you possibly, really do care?

A thumb swiped roughly along the slit at the top of his cock and he whimpered, freezing with the sensation. Heero did it again; his eyes flew open as he bucked a little into the warm hand around his cock, and he stared up into cobalt shadowed with lust and need and – no trace of anything else.

Duo’s breath caught.

Then the hand was gone, and he was roughly shoved over onto his front, Heero’s hands yanking at the waistband of his pants and boxers. Even in his dazed state, Duo managed to slap those hands away and pull the cloth down just enough to bare his ass yet cover his bandages. Wasting no time, Heero pulled his cheeks apart, and Duo reflexively tried to clench them, but only succeeding in making his hole tighten. He heard a growl behind him, an animalistic sound, and then he almost screamed but caught himself in time as Heero shoved a saliva-slicked finger in. One thrust, two thrusts, and then Heero let go of him and he was about to turn to see what he was doing –

Unbearable pain screamed along his spine, originating from the large, thick cock rammed into him without care, without preparation, only Heero’s own cum and Duo’s own sudden blood for lube. He clenched his fists in the sheets, praying he wouldn’t rip them as his eyes watered, biting clear through his lip to keep from making any noise, and chanted mentally this is Heero, it’s fine, it’s Heero and Heero doesn’t know, you can’t blame him as that cock rammed into him again and again, managing to hit his sweet spot a few times but even that couldn’t override the pain. He could hear Heero moaning, grunting, gasping as he set a hard and fast and furious pace, fingers like steep traps grabbing Duo’s hips and pulling, pushing Duo to meet his own thrusts –

It doesn’t hurt it doesn’t hurt it’s Heero it doesn’t hurt Heero won’t hurt me it doesn’t hurt oh god oh god oh god it –

– and his knee was shattering into a million fiery pieces and his thighs were wet with blood spilling from his cuts and his entrance –

hurts.

– and then Heero froze, and cum was filling him, and for a second he felt saw heard tasted smelt everything around him, memorized the instant with crystalline clarity when Heero marked him, when Heero came –

Hurts…

– and it was over.

Heero slumped down on top of Duo, knocking the breath out of him, and the few seconds it took for Duo to get his breath back was apparently enough time for Heero to get his wits back after his first orgasm. Enough time for Duo’s blossoming hope to crumble and die.

“Gods…”

Disgust. Clear, pure disgust in Heero’s tenor-baritone, slightly nasal, to all appearances emotionless but actually full of tiny inflections that Duo nevertheless understood because he’d analyzed every bit of that faintly accented speech. An understanding that told him this disgust wasn’t slight and it manifested itself blatantly in one syllable, along with undiluted fury.

“Kisama!”

The weight was gone, cool air suddenly washing over his back, and he heard Heero striding into the adjoining bathroom, muttering under his breath. Duo slowly flipped over onto his back, flinching, and pulled his knees up to his chest, snagging a blanket to cover himself and all the blood as he did so. A few agonizing minutes ticked past, and then the bathroom door was flung open so hard it rebounded against the wall, and Heero came out.

Some part of Duo cried out at the utterly emotionless face.

Heero stopped at the foot of the bed. His gaze slowly travelled from the blood-stained, crumpled blankets up to Duo’s pale face. “You planned this,” he said calmly, too-calmly. “You did, didn’t you? Did you want me to feel guilty about it? You purposely made me lose my head, made use of my inexperience to make yourself into the victim so that I would be the aggressor. You can’t be a virgin, you’re too good at it – you lied to Quatre, didn’t you? He trusted you. We all did. You made yourself out to be so pure and good, but it’s all a lie. How many times have you lied to us all?”

Lying is a sin, Duo. One of the worst. You not only betray your conscience, but you betray your friends and those who brought you up to be good. If there’s one thing you learn from here, my child, let that be not lying. Let that be not betraying those who trust you and love you.

“Wufei’s right, you were a whore. L2 is infamous for that, isn’t it? It’s said no one can grow up there without resorting to whoring, and that those who do eventually grow to like it, to become experts. You’re one of them, aren’t you? You must be.”

If ya meets some’un who wants yer body, run like hell, hear me? We may be rats, but we all still have limits t’ how far we’ll go. So never, ever sell yerself. If ya live to that age, save it fer th’one ya love.

“I wondered about it at first, you know. I had the nagging feeling that something was wrong, that I shouldn’t do it, shouldn’t play such a joke on you. But it was Relena’s idea, and women are supposed to be more sensitive to such things, so I thought it would be alright. Wufei agreed. And now I see that they’re right. It’s all so clear, when I think about it now. I’m just worried that you might have transferred some sort of disease to me. I hope you’re not as selfish as that. I’ll assume whatever you have, it’s non-transmittable.”

Duo sat there numbly, watching the blank expression on Heero’s face, the calm, reasonable words that nevertheless hurt like nothing he’d felt before. His eyes saw that perfect body without registering it, the glistening skin, the strong, lean, slim build that only a Gundam pilot would have with their unique training. The body he’d ruined with his selfish wants, his tainted touches.

He realized that Heero had stopped speaking and slowly raised his eyes to blank cobalt blue. Heero’s eyes were terrifyingly emotionless. And then without another word he turned, ignoring his scattered clothes, and strode out of the room, leaving Duo sitting perfectly still on the bed, gaze still fixed on the air where the man he loved had just been standing.

His throat was tight, his eyes blurring – to his horror, he realized he was about to cry. No no, boys don’t cry, he told himself, raising a heavy hand to wipe the tears away, but then he let the arm drop as they trickled down his face silently. Damn. Sorry Solo… I can’t control it. I know I’m weak, but can’t you forgive me just this once? I royally screwed up this time. Just this once, let me be weak.

Heero, I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry. Can I ever make it up to you? Is there any way? Gods, if there’s a way… I’ll do it. I’ll do it.

He blindly felt for the knife strapped to his calf and pulled it out, then pushed his pants down to his knees. The white bandages had become red, and he peeled them off, biting his lip to keep from screaming when he had to tear the cloth off his open wounds. Tears blurred and dripped, the salt like acid on his torn flesh, as he lay the knife against his thigh again and savagely pushed. Deeper, deeper, for this was nothing compared to the magnitude of his sin…

The cuts before were to remind him never to be weak again, never to let others affect him so much. He knew now, though, that he’d been naïve before – what he felt for Heero was too deep to be forgotten. It was a weakness too ingrained in him to be defeated. He accepted it, understood that he would never be able to have Heero, and never be able to leave him. He understood that he wasn’t worthy to love Heero, to have his love.

Before, he cut as a reminder. Now, it was punishment.

The knife drove deep, over and over again.

Father. Solo. I’ve let you down, let you both down. I keep lying to myself, and I keep being so weak, so very weak. I’ve been selfish to the point of hurting others for my own sake. I hurt Heero and lied to myself about why I was doing it. So what if I hurt, too? He had the right. I took away his control, knowing that he didn’t know what to do, and I can only blame myself for what he did.

He curled up into a tight ball around the knife, staring bleakly at the metal blood-dulled blade. I can’t really do anything to make up for this, can I? I’ll just have to stay away from Heero forever, that’s all. I’ll have to love him and protect him in secret, from afar, so that I won’t be tempted and he won’t have to suffer seeing me. I’ll do whatever he wants; give him whatever he needs, without letting him know it’s me. I’ll serve him till the day I die, and when I die it’ll be for him, because I can’t imagine anything else. For him, I’ll do anything.

Anything.

He bound his thighs tightly with strips of bedsheet, knowing and ignoring the fact that the cloth would stick to the wounds and cause untold agony when removed because I deserve it, deserve the pain and then, exhausted, fell asleep to the burn of bone-deep wounds and a bleeding ache in his chest.

+++

The next time Heero saw Duo was three days later, when they met each other in the hallway as the afternoon faded into evening. They both stopped in their tracks, and then Heero’s jaw tightened in a way that told Duo he’d come to some sort of hard decision.

“You owe me.”

Duo blinked. “What?”

“I… touched myself, but it did not satisfy me. You owe me, Maxwell. I don’t know how you did it, but I cannot control my body anymore. Nothing satisfies this, this hunger. I keep seeing your face in my mind. I have come to the conclusion that my body needs yours.”

“I –”

“Societal norms dictate of people who have sex that they become couples. This I cannot allow between us. You stand out. You are unnatural. If I am with you I will become unnatural as well. I cannot risk that. I will settle down with Relena if I survive the war, and I will not need you any more. Yet I need you now, as Relena is currently a threat to our security. Do you understand?”

Duo bowed his head. He understood, all too well; he had no right to refuse, to protest, if that was what Heero wanted. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I owe you. You can take me whenever you want on one condition – you only do it from the back, and you never ask anything about my body or what you see on it.”

“Why would I ask anything? It’s not as if it’s important to me. I accept your conditions. Do we have an agreement?”

It hurt so much to hear those words, but he deserved it. He knew that. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Heero slammed Duo against the wall with his trained speed, startling a gasp from the American, and took advantage of that open mouth to plunder it. Duo closed his eyes, willing his knee not to give out. It was hard, and fast, and brutal, and when Heero was done he stepped back and waited for Duo to pull up his pants and turn, and then he nodded at Duo, went into his room, and shut and locked the door firmly behind him. Duo stood there for a second, a silent black figure in the fading amber glow of the setting sun, then slowly slid down onto the floor, where he silently jerked himself off, watching images of Heero behind closed lids.

It was the same the next time.

And the next.

And the next…

+++

“Quat! How are ya! Long time no see!”

“Duo! Oh, it’s wonderful to see you again!”

“So, how are things with you and bang-boy?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking that of you and Heero? I can’t feel your emotions, Duo. Why are you hiding –”

“Q, my dear, you worry too much! Heero and I have an – agreement. I don’t pester him, and he considers letting me be on top the next time! Ooh, you blushing, Quat-kitty?”

“Duo! Still, that doesn’t explain –”

“Do you honestly want to keep feeling lust all the time, Quat?”

“…Oh.”

“Yes, oh. So don’t worry, wipe that charming blush off your face and tell me all about you and loverboy, hmm?”

“Are you sure –”

“Come on, details, details!”

“Duo!”

“Well?”

“Well… oh, you wouldn’t believe how sweet Trowa is. You really wouldn’t expect it from him…”

Those who normally do not read my fics? DO NOT read this. It's one of the most disturbing chapters I've writen. I am very, very serious about this.

Again, this post is for organisational purposes. Decided that it was too troublesome to edit my website.

Oh yes. I've edited Joke 1 to 5, which is what was there previously, and am writing Joke 6.

[Ashen]

[Pirates...]

2006-10-01T05:00:55Z

“Land ‘hoy! Land ‘hoy!”

As the clear, jubilant voice rang out over the ship deck, eyes turned to look at the grinning figure in the crow’s nest, black hair bleached deep brown by sun to match olive skin. Deep blue eyes were alight with the excitement of finally finding land, and the young man waved wildly at the others on deck as he shouted again, “We have land, people!”

“Blaise, you do know that if you’re kidding again Cap’n will give you more’n a tongue lashing,” a younger voice called out. Blaise looked down at the twin faces beneath him, not fooled by the innocent look on freckled faces under blond hair. He made a face at them.

“If I weren’t such a nice person I’d come down there and kick you,” he informed them loftily, but his good mood made him break out into a grin again. “It’s really land, I tell you! Land!”

“There is no land near here marked on any map I have seen.”

The quietly authoritative voice cut through the growing chatter easily, and those standing near the steps leading below deck jumped in surprise. They quickly backed away to let their Captain pass. The sun sank into and softened his silver-blond hair, warming coldly sharp features and pale skin, but nothing could gentle icy blue-grey eyes that only smiled on rare occasions.

Blaise snapped to attention, completely serious now. “I know that, Captain, but this time I’m really serious. I wouldn’t dare joke again after last time,” he added, breaking into a grin.

The silver-haired man nodded. “Very well.” He raised his voice to address the crowd. “Hopefully the land Blaise has spotted will have enough food and water to replenish our supply. Which, as you all should know, is running low since we had to leave in a hurry at the last port and did not get a chance to replenish our stock.”

A grumble of discontent went around the listeners, and he held up a hand for silence. He got it immediately.

“Yes, that was unfortunate, but not as bad as it could have been. I believe we have been through this before, but I shall repeat it once more – anyone still harbouring resentful feelings that might interfere with following my orders will hold themselves in check. I will not see one setback lead to more. Now. I want to see Blaise and Zach. Dennis will take over in the crow’s nest for the time being.”

“Aye Captain!” The two men were before him in no time, Blaise shimmying down the rope nets like a demented monkey, and he gave them a quick smile of approval. “I want the both of you to take four men each. Find water enough to last us a week or more each, and if you find any food on the way bring the water back first and then go back for the food. I myself will be leading seven men to find food. Understood? Good. Go get your men now, and ready the rowboats to go ashore. I need to see the men you’ve picked after you’re done.”

He watched them bound off, yelling names and orders. He could tell his entire crew was excited, but somehow… he bad a bad feeling about this. He had learned to trust his instincts, but the food situation was dire. Millie, who’d already done her best to ration the food when she cooked, had showed him the pantry just the other day. He had no choice but to ignore his gut feeling in the off-chance that they might find food and water before trouble managed to snare them.

The thing was, he was sure he had the worst luck ever. His name might as well have been Draco Malchance, not Malfoy – bad luck instead of bad faith.

The latter works just as well, though, he thought bitterly.

“Captain? We’ve chosen our men.”

Roused from his thoughts, Draco pushed all other matters from his mind and, with his characteristic single-mindedness, began the preparations to go on shore.

+++

“And I say –”

“Hey, ay, ay, eeay-ay –”

“Hey, ay, ay. I say hey –”

“What’s going on!”

“And I say –”

Blaise groaned, sat up, and blindly grabbed a pebble from the ground, throwing it in the direction of the singing. The singers stopped, much to his relief.

“Blaise Zabini! What was the meaning of that? You could have taken someone’s eye out!”

“Better your eye than my eardrums, mate. You sing like stuck pigs. And pigstresses,” he added as an afterthought. “You know they say women are bad luck on ships? Probably the guy who started it met a Parkinson in the throes of musicality. He probably ran them into a reef to shut her up.”

“I’d like to see you try to sing,” the black-haired girl retorted, unfazed. “Besides, we’re not exactly on a ship now, so there’s no problem is, there? Come on, Pucey, once more! And I say –”

“Hey, ay, ay, eeay-ay…”

We’re not exactly on a ship now. Blaise snorted to himself and lay back down on the hard dirt floor, closing his eyes and tuning out the caterwauling in the background. Truer words have been said, probably, but nothing so wonderfully understated. A prison cell’s a far cry from a ship indeed.

How had things come to this? He damned himself for ever spotting this godforsaken little shit of an island, for not demanding Draco tell him why he looked so troubled before they had even gone ashore, for listening to his noble streak and running off without a second thought like an utter moron when he’d heard Pansy’s scream. Draco inevitably pulled out that little bit of nobility remaining in the black souls of those who followed him, but he also hammered, kicked, and glared one thing into every person’s head first thing – you could never be cautious enough. And because he’d ignored that one basic rule, he and his team were now locked in some dingy prison hut with half of Draco’s team, who’d heard them fighting and came to help, while the natives prepared a big stewpot for their dinner.

Not the captives’ dinner, but the natives’. Whose dinner would be, incidentally, the captives themselves.

I wonder if I’d make a better appetizer, main course or dessert? he wondered a little hysterically.

It was only when he realized that the hut was silent that he looked up. Everyone was staring at him; even Pansy Parkinson, bane of his life (and his eardrums), had stopped singing.

Oh, he realized. “Did I say that out loud?”

Pansy gave him a Look, but then she smiled slightly and looked out of the window, at the growing starlight. “Be glad Draco isn’t here, he’d smack you for inciting panic.”

He could help but smile. “He would, wouldn’t he,” he agreed. “It’s a good thing he isn’t here.”

And when he looked around, he could see the same thought echoed on all the faces around him: it’s a good thing Draco isn’t here, because if he’s out there, we’re as good as saved. It was a stupid thing to have that much trust in someone else – they were Slytherins, for god’s sake – but they did. Despite all that they’d learned and been taught. Draco had taken them all in, unwanted, unseen, unfit to live in some eyes, and taught them in his own haughty, careless way that they were people. They would trust in him and follow him to the end of the world, even if he could and would kill any one of them on the spot without hesitation if they displeased him.

“They’re coming.”

That served to jerk Blaise out of his thoughts, and he nodded at Vince, who returned to watching discreetly from his window lookout spot. Time for dinner, but he’d be damned if this meal would go without a fight. He knew better than to expect rescue before nightfall – Draco would have had to go back to the ship for reinforcements, and he wouldn’t have been able to return so soon. They would just have to hold out until help came.

The natives had stripped them of weapons, but they all had been trained in hand-to-hand combat, to varying levels of success. When they had been tossed in here, Blaise had immediately arranged them in a defensive position, the strongest close combat fighters nearest to the only door. He wasn’t going to ignore Draco’s lessons again. One nod from him and the captives got to their feet, readying themselves.

“How far?” he whispered to Vince.

“Twenty metres or so… wait. I think – yes, they are, they’re stopping.”

“Stopping?” That was something unforeseen, and he had no idea what was happening. “Why?”

“There’s another hut – it’s dark inside, maybe it’s their storage hut or something – no, they’re pointing their spears at the door. Two of them – the other three are opening the door, they’re holding rope in their hands…”

Blaise frowned, only one conclusion jumping to his mind. “They have another captive.” Fear ate through his bones, and leaked into his voice – Pansy, hearing it, took one look at him and understood what he was scared of. They looked fearfully at each other, and were aware of several sharply drawn breaths as the others realized the implications of that sentence.

If that was Draco in the other hut…

He had known Draco since they were children; everyone here, he included, owed him their lives. If they had to watch helplessly by while their Captain was dragged away to his death… he didn’t know what they would do. He really didn’t.

“Vince?"

“They’ve unlocked the lock, and taken off the chains – now they’re going to open the door – shit!”

They didn’t need to ask what he was cursing about as pistol shots rang out in the clearing. Blaise pushed Vince aside and stared out the bars; three of the natives were down, the other two staggering around, trying to stay upright. One of them found the strength to throw a spear into the forest, and a sharp cry sounded; Blaise hissed a curse through his teeth. Another two consecutive shots felled the remaining natives.

I know that gun! Spinning around, his furious gaze clashed with Greg’s. “That idiot! He didn’t go back to the ship, did he!”

“This seems more his style, yes,” the larger man said resignedly.

“Has he gone Gryffindor? That ass should know better than to take on a whole village of savages with only three men!”

“He must have had other concerns affecting his decision,” Vince said reasonably. “As stubborn as he is sometimes, he’s the most calculative bastard I’ve ever met.”

Blaise growled low in his throat as he turned to look back out at the window – Draco was just emerging from the forest. Alone. Promising himself to yell at the man later even if it earned him three nights in the stocks, he called over the distance, “Captain!”

Draco stopped, and turned unerringly to look right at Blaise. He blinked, looked at the hut the natives had just opened, and then took a couple of steps and opened the door all the way in a flourish. Blaise almost screamed in frustration, abandoning titles in favour of urgency. “Draco! Do you have a death wish?”

When nothing charged out of the hut and disemboweled Draco, Blaise allowed himself a small sigh of relief – which came too soon, as he watched in horror while Draco stepped forward beyond the doorway.

“Draco!”

But the blond man didn’t come out until a few seconds later, whole and unhurt. Blaise willed the daggers he was shooting at Draco with his eyes to change that fact while the Captain rummaged through the clothes of one of the dead natives, and then strode across the short distance to their hut.

“Hello, Blaise. Lovely night.”

He gaped.

Draco continued talking as he tried on the lock one key after another from the rusty keyring. “I’d punish your lack of respect, but if you can get us all back to the ship without more of us getting hurt, I’ll let you off this time.”

Something in that sentence made him stop his rant before it could begin. “What…”

“Trey was caught in the arm with that spear, so now I’m the only one among the three who can shoot. Theo’s got a wounded side and can’t handle a weapon. The rest of my team’s with you?”

“Yeah, and all of mine. Zach’s?”

“Should be safe on the ship. Ah, got it.”

It was a matter of seconds before the chain was on the ground and the door opened; Blaise motioned for them to go out. Draco was already moving off back towards the trees, talking over his shoulder. “We need to hurry – Davey and Maddie can’t hold much longer before they slide into critical condition.”

Everyone in the hut was startled. How…?

Draco knew them too well, and spoke without looking at them. “We were coming back to find the rest of my team when we saw the fight, and decided that three wounded rescuers was better than nothing. I’ve retrieved your weapons, they’re with Theo and Trey; those still healthy can use the weapons of the wounded for now. Waste not.”

“Wait, what do you mean, three wounded?” Blaise demanded – but to empty air, because Draco had vanished into the trees. Cursing, he motioned to the others, and they sped up their pace.

They found the three men without problems, and while the two on the ground gave them pained smiles of welcome, Draco was already handing out weapons; the captives took them with relief. Without their pistols and swords and knives they felt vulnerable. Blaise received his last, but when Draco held them out he glared and made no move to take them.

“I want to know what you mean… by three wounded,” he said very slowly, and very clearly.

Draco ignored him. “You don’t want your weapons, fine by me.” He made to leave them on the ground, but Theo’s voice cut through the air, making them freeze.

“We ran into a small group of about seven, which was why we hurried back to find you. We got hurt in that fight, but managed to kill them all. His left arm’s useless, and he’s got a nasty wound on his hip.”

“He’s not limping,” someone protested.

“He acts well,” Pansy reminded them, glaring at Draco.

The young Captain sighed, and straightened. He offered the weapons silently to Blaise again, and this time the dark-haired boy took it. “I can’t afford to worry about myself now when we’re still in danger, and I can still fight,” Draco said quietly. “I consider that fine and well, compared to, say, Davey.”

“Draco –”

“Later.” He turned away from Blaise, clearly cutting off the conversation, and began giving out quiet but firm orders. Blaise sighed, but followed without making fuss. Draco was right; they had to get out of there first before the bodies were found, and someone was bound to have heard the gunshots.

But when they got back to the ship, Draco was so going to get it.

+++

I did say this was going to become a ficjournal, didn't I? (: That means that I'm going to post random bits of my work - unfinished stuff, unposted-on-FFnet-stuff, random stuff, might-never-be-continued stuff. Original or fanfic. For those who actually know me in real life - people like kagen and myst and the rest - you might want to delete this journal from your f-list in case you get flooded by random things.

That cut up there leads to a Drarry AU, which I haven't decided what to do with yet. ^^;

[Ashen][...Ahoy!]

[Um...]

2006-05-16T09:29:25Z

*peers in*

Um.

*steps in tentatively*

Hi...?

I'm alive! (:

Sorry I've died here on LJ... but I have been alive on FFnet, really I have. And I've been working hard, too, to write stuff, but lately it's just been so busy... I have countless amounts of overdue homework. Not kidding. For just about every subject I take. And there's extracurricular stuff, too. To those still on my Flist who haven't deleted me off in exasperation: I'm sorry. I really am.

Anyway, the point of this post is... I'm going to make this into a fic journal! ^____^v Isn't that lovely? Though I'm not sure if anyone will read this LJ, but oh well. Random stuff that I write will be posted, I suppose, as will links to any FFnet updates...? Not really sure what a fic journal's about.

For the people who have wondered about my existence (like someone called Stephanie...? Sorry! ;_;) I can tell you this: I will finish any fic series I start. It might take a while, and the fic might undergo lots of revisions (okay, maybe not a lot, I haven't the time), but it will be finished. I hope that's comforting. (:

And yes, that includes Joke.

[Ashen][...hi?]

[Love...]

2006-01-23T11:32:46Z

Luna Sea's Loveless. There are no words.

[during self-intros in tutorial]
Anna: I'm Anna, and I'm short!
Teacher: Really? Stand up. *Anna stands* No you're not what.
Anna: Nooo, compared to Jerome, I'm short. I'm 153.
Teacher: Jerome, stand. How tall are you?
Jerome: *stands* 179.
Teacher: He's just abnormally tall.
(five minutes later)
Clara: I'm in basketball.
Teacher: I can tell, you're so tall. How tall are you?
Clara: onesevensomething.
Anna: Hey, Mr Ang, I resent that! I was in basketball too!
Teacher: *looks at her, looks at Clara* ...What happened?

Brian Lacman Ang is the one with the really dry humour who keeps telling everyone not to take econs and makes lame jokes.

[during self-intros again]
Emm: Uh... My combi's lame!
Teacher: Oh. Okaaay.
Emm: Eh, Lit Arts Math Econs.
Teacher: *understanding dawns* Ohhh.
(five minutes later)
Jerome: I'm a rugger.
Teacher: Aha! You're going to give me trouble, I just know it, your seniors were the same. Bunch of good for nothings.
Jerome: *looks hurt* No, no, see, I have these files, one for every subject, see there's even a laminated picture on each of them, very nice pictures...
Teacher: Emmeline, you have a friend.
Class: *doesn't get it for a second* Uh... *finally catches on and groans*

I didn't think Jerome was lame - he has anime pics! - but the rugger rep works against him. All teachers went 'oh great' when he intro-ed himself.

[lecture hall, lecture underway]
2 guys: *sneak in*
Teacher: *head snaps up* Gentlemen! You're late. What were you doing?
2 guys: *look trapped* uh... *mumbles something about the General Office*
Teacher: *raises eyebrow* Speak up.
2 guys: *surrender* We were... uh, just wandering around.
Teacher: Really. What class are you from?
Class: 3L!
3L: NOOO!

...okay, I admit it. My life is boring. Funnier stuff happened, but my head's too full to remember it right now.

Everyone seems to think my math teacher is sooo nice. I and this other GEP guy agree that she's horribly patronizing, not that she's doing it on purpose, she means well we both know. She speaks in this really loud voice and slowly, and keeps asking 'See ah, is this right? Yes? Yes? Let me show you! *goes through some utterly obvious steps* See? No! What... went... wrong! Are you... troubled?' And she writes in these biiiiig letters and numbers. We're teens, not toddlers.

So far I've lost the battle of forged amnesia with three of my NYPS classmates, because they came up to me and did that whole 'do you remember me?' routine. First was Shaun, then Jia Hua - who I will never forget for his merciless cruel teasing when I was younger, pimplier and fatter, but of course I didn't say that to his face, I was perfectly polite - and then Ackerly, whom I had a nice but short talk with further than '...who are you? Oh. Uh. Who?' Whee. I hope this meeting people trend doesn't continue, because these few people were the more tolerable ones. The less tolerable ones are left.

But since most of them went to the Science stream, whose times clash terribly with the Arts times, I think I'm relatively safe. *crosses fingers* I added a lucky charm to my wallet, to be sure.

Oh, and I am now the ~~horrified~~ proud ~~reluctant~~ willing owner of three... miniskirts. *shudders* And if that's not bad enough, one of those mini-jackets that end rib-cage-level. And a lacy-strapped sphagetti top.

Oh, and to Ame and veggieincoma... *loves* THANK YOU for the gorgeous, gorgeous notebook!

Edit: Read Anita Blake. Am in love with all the men (Nathaniel! Jean-Claude! Micah! Asher! Jason! Rafael!) except Richard, who is a whiny idiot.

[Ashen][...less.]

[Never age...]

2006-01-12T11:05:44Z

Never age. Never die. Live for ever in that one last white-hot moment, when the crowd screamed. When every note was a heartbeat. Burn across the sky.

You will never grow old. They will never say you died.

That's the deal. And you will be the greatest musician in the world.

Live fast.

Die young.

The quotes are from Terry Pratchett's Soul Music.

Whew. One more day to go... the past two weeks seem like a lifetime. The days seem to stretch endlessly, and my memory's already fading. I can just remember the awkwardness, the laughter, the growing comfortability with each other, the easy way we were talking come the end, taste the companiable silence... and now we hardly see each other, and hardly talk. And that also goes for those friends who, just a few weeks back, were so close. Friends from last year, and the year before.

I find that all I'm doing is waiting and sleeping. I've never felt this tired after doing nothing in school except waiting and going to the occasional lecture. Waiting for the lessons to start. Waiting for the canteen queues to shorten. Waiting in the canteen queues for food. Waiting for friends to come. And then I go home, and conk out on the bed after lunch 'til dinner. Like a pig. *_*

I miss my friends already. Surrounded by scenes of amity, of bustling activities, seeing the OGs going around together... it's lonely to not be able to find anyone to sit with, wait with. Lonely, and sad, and though I love the rain it's not helping moods any by Not Stopping For An Entire Week.

So while I wait, I read. I'm going to treasure this week since I have no illusions that next week's going to be so easy as this one. I've gone through so many brilliant books, some of which I read before but still love. Like of course, Terry Pratchett's books. I probably won't have the time to do something like this again. And writing, or reading fics, or checking my flist's LJs - all impossible to find time for.

And then there's the problem of CCAs.

I wanted him to live for me.

'You wanted him to die for you!'

What is the difference? He would would be dead anyway. But to die in music... People will always remember the songs he never had the chance to sing. And they will be the greatest songs of all.

Live your life in a moment.

And then live for ever. Don't fade away.

[Ashen][...Never die.]

[Talk Shows 2...]

2006-01-02T06:35:54Z

Firstly... Merry Belated Christmas to everyone! And a Happy New Year. May 2006 be a good year for you all. (:

Secondly... Those who know me know I like bunnies and have a corrupted mind. This Link is, therefore, Love. Taken from jing_i.

Thirdly... the second and last installment of inthefire2002's amazingly, utterly, incredibly late bday present. The plot of it is reminiscient of Joke, aaand the ending reminds me of 48 Hours, only... happier.

+++

There was something wrong with Duo.

Quatre mentally ran through the facts he’d accumulated over the past three weeks while his fingers flew over the keyboard, typing commands that he suspected would give him the last piece of information he needed to confirm his theory.

He really hoped that he would be wrong.

Duo had been quiet ever since the mission, and his silences had grown longer over the days until, now, he almost never spoke. Quatre had wondered why, but hadn’t given it much thought until he’d accidentally seen Duo in the throes of a nightmare, where he’d woken up with a silent scream, a hand to his throat, panting harshly – but not making a sound. Then he remembered Heero yelling at Duo about talking too much, and Duo had been silent after that – then Duo had started playing music, but Heero had yelled at him for that, too, and he’d stopped… which was roughly around the same time he’d become more quiet, more withdrawn, more haggard. More… haunted.

He’d talked with the rest of the pilots, and all but Heero had agreed with his views. The Japanese pilot had dismissed their concerns, saying something about how Duo had just decided to change for the better, and that they shouldn’t waste their time on worrying. Duo had brushed them off in much the same way, insisting that he was fine. Quatre hadn’t had the time to follow up on it, since Trowa and Wufei had been called away for missions and needed his help from base.

But things had gone from bad to worse, and so, five minutes ago, when Duo had come out of Heero’s room, Quatre had purposely brushed against the braided boy, and had been shocked to discover he was trembling, that his skin was cold – but even more shocked when his empathy suddenly went crazy. He felt self-loathing, hurt, depression, and a myriad of other emotions that Quatre was hard pressed to not let them affect him. Duo had then retreated into his bedroom, upon which Quatre had grabbed his laptop and set to work.

Ten minutes later he had the information he’d been looking for, and he sat back in a mute horror, staring at the small side note on a document – a side note that had been ignored when Treize, with their information, had successfully seized control and disposed of the liquids.

Some of the liquid designed to inflict torture on the voice box… had been missing.

Oh, Duo.

He knew exactly why his friend had gone to such lengths. The admiration and love Duo had for Heero was a secret only to Heero himself; everyone else had figured it out long ago. Heero continued to be oblivious, and it broke Quatre’s heart to see Duo doing everything he could to gain Heero’s attention and approval… but never succeeded, as Heero shot him down every time.

This time, though, things had gone too far.

Quatre grimly stood and stalked to Heero’s room. He threw open the door and glared at Heero, sitting in front of his laptop.

“I’m busy, Quatre,” the Japanese pilot said, not looking up from his work.

“Duo drank some of that liquid,” Quatre snapped.

“It really is none of my business what Duo drinks or eats –”

“You utter bastard.”

Heero paused, surprised – Quatre never cursed unless he was really furious. He looked up at the blond, swiveling in his chair to face the doorway. “I’m sorry?”

“You ought to be,” Quatre said furiously. “Those liquids that OZ was trying to make? Remember those? One of them causes agony when the victim speaks, and Duo willingly drank it down!”

He was yelling by the end, fists clenched, and if Heero said one thing wrong –

“What for?”

Quatre gave a frustrated scream and launched himself towards Heero, intending to hit him hard – but hands suddenly restrained him, tugging him back. He ceased struggling against them in favour of yelling at the stunned-looking pilot before him. “He did it because you wanted him to be quiet! Because you couldn’t accept him for who he is! Because you think that everyone should be like you, that everyone should fall in line with your own little world, and because you’re a cold unfeeling bastard who can’t recognize love when it hits you in the face!”

“I don’t –”

“Heero, leave it! Quatre, please –” The voice was one he hadn’t heard in a long time; it was lower in pitch than before, and much hoarser. Only then did Quatre realize who had been holding him back. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, an emotion he couldn’t identify flash across Heero’s face, as he turned to face Duo.

Duo looked so tired and pale; he’d become even slimmer than before, and so… worn. He hadn’t realized it was so bad; come to think of it, he hadn’t realized it because Duo had taken to avoiding them, so this was his first good look at the American in a while.

He felt his anger pushed aside by sadness and guilt and frustration. “Oh, Duo, you shouldn’t have –”

Duo wouldn’t meet his eyes as he cut him off. “I had to; it was the only way I could have kept myself quiet. Isn’t everyone happier now without me always prattling on? It’s not a big deal – it doesn’t hurt that much, when I don’t talk it’s just like a sore throat –”

“And when you do talk?” Quatre demanded.

Duo shrugged. “I’m getting used to it.”

Quatre forced Duo to look at him. “Tell me the truth, Duo. You don’t lie, remember? What does it feel like? If you still consider me a friend I want to you tell me the truth.” He hesitated, and then added softly, “Please.”

The braided boy looked decidedly unhappy, but he answered shortly, “Like it’s on fire and being skinned alive.”

Quatre drew in a sharp breath. “Duo!”

“What? It really was the only way –”

“Don’t talk!” Quatre clamped a hand over Duo’s mouth, and turned so that he faced Heero at the same time. He was furious to see that the Japanese boy’s expression was blank. “He’s in agony every time he talks, you realize that? And he did it all because you, in a moment of utter stupidity and callousness, told him to shut up! Again! Haven’t you realized that whatever you say affects Duo deeply? He’d rather inflict torture on himself than irritate you! And because of this he’s not getting enough sleep, enough food; he has screaming nightmares every night only he doesn’t make a sound because it’s too painful, and so is eating. His talking, his music – it’s his way of coping with the things we’ve all seen, and you’ve taken it away from him and guess what? He’s hurting, every minute, just look at him now –”

Duo managed to wrench Quatre’s hand away. “Quatre, stop!” he blurted. “Please, don’t say anything else – I’m coping with it, honest –”

Quatre glared at him. “Stop talking!”

“Not if you keep yelling at Heero,” Duo said stubbornly.

“You’re still protecting him even now?”

Duo’s eyes were pleading. “Quatre…”

The blond sighed, most of his anger dissipating. “Fine. Fine. Come on, I’ll bring you back to your room – you need rest. Maybe with someone there it’ll hold off the nightmares. And don’t think you’re off the hook either – that was a stupid thing to have done, Duo Maxwell!” He turned to give Heero one final glare, and then took Duo’s arm and steered him towards his room.

Behind him, Heero sat frozen in his chair, expression unreadable, eyes blank. Then he turned back to the glowing screen of the laptop, as it beeped to inform him of a new mission, and began typing as if nothing had happened.

+++

Two things happened the next day:

Trowa and Wufei came back.

And Heero left.

+++

Trowa opened the door quietly, back from his grocery run. He’d tried not to make noise, but his small flicker of hope was dashed as Quatre appeared from around the corner. The hope in his eyes died, too, when he saw who was at the door.

Quatre tried to hide it, though. “Back so soon?” the blond said brightly as he came forward, taking one of the paper bags from Trowa’s arms. “I hope you didn’t speed, it’s dangerous on mountain roads like these.”

“You don’t have to force yourself to pretend, Quatre,” was Trowa’s only reply. “We’re all hoping for Heero to be back, for Duo’s sake.”

“And so that we can yell at him and hit him a few times for good measure,” came Wufei’s voice. The Chinese pilot leaned against the wall next to them, arms crossed. He was scowling, but Trowa wasn’t fooled by it – Wufei had come down equally quick as Quatre when he’d opened the door. “For Yuy to be gone for a week so far, and counting, after what happened – I thought better of him.”

“We all did,” Quatre sighed.

There was a moment of silence, before Quatre gave them a sad smile. “I’ll just go and make Duo’s soup, then. I don’t trust him anywhere near the stove, and I don’t want him climbing the stairs either, not in that state. Good thing he’s in the shower now… if only he wasn’t so stubborn.”

“I bought cream of mushroom and clam chowder,” Trowa said to change the subject. “The chowder just in case he still can swallow…” he trailed off at Quatre’s expression. “We can have the chowder for ourselves, so the cream mushroom will last longer for him,” he amended.

“We’ll do that,” Quatre agreed. Suddenly he kicked the wall, a furious look on his face. “That Heero Yuy is going to wish he’d never been born when he comes back from his damned mission!”

He stalked into the kitchen, leaving Trowa and Wufei to trade resigned looks. Quatre had been having little outbursts recently, as Duo’s condition got worse and the research he’d set the Maguanac troops to, and that they’d themselves done, had yielded no results.

One week since Heero had left without a word, without a care, for his latest mission. One week of growing despair, on all four of the remaining pilots’ parts, and one week of running to see who had opened the door, every time.

Quatre and Wufei hadn’t spent as much time with Heero as Trowa had. They hadn’t been with the Japanese boy as he’d gone from one member of the Noventa family to another. Other than Duo, whose opinion on Heero was obviously biased, Trowa was the only one who knew Heero the best, and he knew that despite all evidence Heero would come back. That he hadn’t just upped and left without a thought.

Just make it fast, Heero, he thought with a mental sigh as he followed Quatre into the kitchen. I’m not sure how much longer any of us can last.

+++

At some time past two in the morning, when the house was silent, the ground floor window slid soundlessly open, and Heero climbed through. He gently lowered the window again, and then moved silently through the living room, pausing only when he noticed Wufei asleep on the living room couch, facing the front door. Heero watched the still figure for a moment, before giving him a small bow, eyes shadowed by more than just lack of light.

He expertly made it up the small flight of stairs without teasing a single sound from it, but slowed as he approached Duo’s room – Quatre was asleep, though he’d clearly not meant to, in a chair next to Duo’s door, which had been opened to leave a small gap. Heero closed his eyes briefly, and then again bowed to the small pilot.

When he straightened, he turned to face Trowa, who looked at him with unreadable eyes. The taller boy inclined his head slightly and moved back a few paces; Heero followed, because he knew that it was so that they wouldn’t disturb Quatre.

Trowa indicated the gap between the door and its frame. “So that we can hear his nightmares from out here, because he has forbidden us from sleeping in his room,” he said softly. “Lately we have not heard anything, because it has become so painful that even his subconscious keeps him from screaming in his dreams.”

Finally a reaction: Heero looked straight at him, eyes filled with pain. He didn’t try to speak, though, so Trowa added, “You have a lot to make up for, Yuy.”

Heero nodded almost imperceptibly. “I know,” he whispered. “I intend to.”

In the dim moonlight, Trowa gave him a half-smile. “For what it’s worth, though, I never thought you’d abandoned Duo for a mission,” he said.

Heero’s heart sank. “The others did?” He berated himself for giving them that impression, but he… hadn’t been thinking clearly, at the time.

Trowa was blunt. “Yes,” was his reply. “But… they never stopped hoping you’d come back.” He moved towards Quatre, pausing briefly only when he was directly beside Heero, to place a comforting hand on his shoulder and murmur, “Even Duo, who believed it was his fault.”

Heero drew in a sharp breath as Trowa continued on his way. He took a moment to get a grip on himself, before he turned around to see Trowa gently lift the smaller boy from the chair seemingly effortlessly, murmuring soothing words to keep him asleep.

With Quatre in his arms, Trowa took a step towards Heero, intending to go past him and back to Quatre’s room, but when the Japanese boy didn’t move Trowa stopped. Then Heero bowed to him, a little deeper than he’d done for the others. When he straightened, he stepped to the side, allowing Trowa to pass. When the other boy did, just as he walked past Heero, Heero breathed, “Thank you.”

Smiling to himself, Trowa made his silent way down the hallway. As Quatre stirred slightly in his arms, he whispered, “Shh, everything’s going to be all right… just sleep peacefully, Quatre. Just sleep.”

Behind him, Heero caught the first part of that sentence, and hoped that Trowa was right as he slipped into Duo’s room.

At first he thought that there was nobody inside; that the bedcovers had been haphazardly messed up in a heap. When he moved a little further into the room, though, he realized that the heap was actually Duo, curled into himself under the covers, unmoving, unnaturally still. When he was right beside the bed, with the moonlight to see by, he cringed to see that Duo’s expression was pained, with furrowed eyebrows and sweat beading on his forehead, the muscles in his jaw clenching it shut.

What hurt him the most, though, were the tear tracks on his cheeks.

“Duo,” he whispered, cursing himself a million times over. Quatre was right – he was a bastard. He’d been trying so hard not to get attached to Duo Maxwell that he’d gone too far.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice, especially since he’d realized that it was too late. It had been too late, for a very long time.

Heero reached out a hand to soothe Duo’s bangs from his face, knowing why Duo was sleeping so still despite the fact that his body would ache all over the next morning – he hadn’t wanted to worry the other pilots. Obviously they had woken him from his nightmares enough times that Duo had felt that he was disrupting their sleep, and forbade them from going into his room – but they had found a way, in staying just outside.

So Duo had found a way around them, as well.

He found himself stroking Duo’s cheek, wondering how much of the shadow in that too-thin face was a simply a trick of the moonlight. Duo frowned a little, and his eyebrows drew closer together – and suddenly his eyes snapped open, a shiver wracking his body. Heero froze.

The expression on Duo’s face changed to one of first puzzlement, as he separated dream from reality, and then dawning disbelief. “Heero?” he whispered, and then grimaced, pain flashing for a moment on his face before he hid it away.

Heero moved into action. “Don’t talk,” he ordered quietly, helping Duo sit up. As Duo watched with wide eyes, he retrieved a sealed cylinder from inside his lightweight jacket. Opening it, he held it out to Duo.

“Drink it. It’ll help.”

Duo took it, and without hesitation obediently drank it all down. Heero winced at the thought that he didn’t deserve that kind of trust, but put it aside as Duo suddenly coughed, eyes watering, and doubled over. Cursing himself again, Heero quickly moved next to Duo and steadied him, patting his back.

Finally, after a nerve-wracking minute, Duo’s hacking eased. Heero stood as he got his breath back, drawing in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, and when Duo relaxed, looking up, it was to see Heero kneeling on the floor beside the bed, head bowed.

“The first two days of the past week were spent tracking down the scientists that were working for Tsuberov,” Heero said quietly as Duo gaped. “The days after that, until now, were spent making sure that they produced the correct antidote to the liquid you swallowed. I had used… less peaceful methods to get them to cooperate in the first place, and could not leave them to their own devices. I thought it safer to stay and control them. I never meant to abandon you.”

Duo’s jaw worked, but nothing came out. He grimaced, and then tried again. “Didn’t you get a mission?” he blurted.

“Yes.”

And that was it. Duo stared some more as he tried to get his mind around the concept. “You had a mission and you… refused it?”

Heero winced slightly. “Not refused. I merely… put it off for a while longer. There were more pressing matters at hand.” He paused, and then added uncertainly, “You, to be exact.”

Duo’s heart skipped a beat. “Heero…?”

“I’m sorry,” Heero said softly, finally looking up at him. His eyes were a darker blue in the moonlight, and there was pleading in them. “I was wrong to try and change you – I noticed you becoming quieter, and I came to realize in this past week that I didn’t like it. I was wrong to take my anger out on you, that day. I was just… no. No excuses.”

“What excuses?” Duo was quick to ask.

“…I was… I was afraid of letting you get too close. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Heero…” Duo breathed. Then he realized that Heero had been kneeling on the floor, and wanted to kick himself. “Heero, get up – it’s okay, you did nothing really wrong; there’s no harm done. Forgive and forget, eh? Only there’s nothing really to forgive, since you didn’t do much anyway – I should have been more sensitive to your feelings that day. I know you don’t much like chatter in that kind of mood.”

Heero got up slowly, and perched awkwardly on the side of the bed when Duo patted the space beside him in welcome. “I still shouldn’t have…”

“No, no,” Duo interrupted. “If anything, I was the one who overdid it, I suppose.”

“Why?” Heero asked, truly puzzled. “Why go to such lengths?”

Duo shrugged. “If it’s for you, it’s not that much of a length to go to,” he said frankly. “I don’t mind. Anything, if it makes you happy.”

If it makes you happy…

That day, after Duo had left the room – the incident that had started all this – he’d thought that he’d heard Duo say something like that, but he’d written it off as imagination… and suddenly he felt anger. He didn’t get it – he’d treated Duo so badly, and Duo still stayed his friend, and helped him, and did so much for him – it made him feel guilty, and confused, and helpless, and some other feeling he couldn’t name and that made him angry because he didn’t like feeling all those things.

So he lashed out. “Why do this much for me?” he demanded, voice rising slightly above a whisper in his anger. “Why are you so nice to me? Why go to such extremes, and why do you still – why do you still believe so much in me?” He felt tears coming to his eyes, and hated it, for it went against all he’d been taught.

Follow your emotions…

Or maybe not.

Maybe it wasn’t weak, after all, to feel so many things that it made his heart ache.

Duo was silent, and then he reached out a hand to cover Heero’s, clenched in the covers. “I don’t know,” he said lightly, but there was something guarded in his tone. “Maybe it’s because I love you or something.”

Heero froze, only turning his head to stare at Duo.

The braided pilot shrugged. “Just thought you should know,” he said a little too cheerfully. “Since everyone else seems to, already, nosy little buggers that they are –”

He was cut off when Heero suddenly reached out to pull him into a hug, his arms wrapped tight around Duo, one hand seeking out his braid and holding it. “Is that… is that what this feeling is?” Heero whispered, resting his cheek on Duo’s head, breathing in the gentle scent of his shampoo.

Duo turned his head to bury his face in the crook of Heero’s neck, his own arms coming up around Heero’s waist. “I sure as hell hope so,” he said, holding back tears.

Heero stroked Duo’s back. “I’m sorry for being so oblivious,” he said quietly.

“I think it’s just that you were scared to see it,” Duo pointed out, voice muffled.

“I think you’re right.” Heero smiled a little. “It’s not right, though, that you know me so well, and I don’t know you…”

“What’s my favourite fruit? Sport? Band?”

“Apple, basketball, The Pink Bunnies,” Heero said automatically. Then he blinked.

“See?” The smile on Duo’s face could be heard in his voice. “You do know me; it’s just that you’ve never let yourself admit it before.”

Heero had to laugh at that, but he quickly sobered. “I… would like to make up for many things I seem to have done wrong in the past. Will you tolerate me as I learn?” he asked hesitantly. He was not used to asking favours of people, or admitting his mistakes. “I give you permission to correct me if I forget,” he added.

“Of course,” Duo said immediately. “I’ll tell you next time when you’re being a jerk, Yuy, and if you don’t listen I’ll go Quatre on you.” He pulled back to watch Heero laugh again, and felt the corners of his own lips curling into an answering smile. It was good to see Heero again, and to see Heero laughing, with him, in his bed… it would get better than this, if he had his way, but for now? It couldn’t be better.

He scooted over on the bed, tugging Heero down next to him. “First thing you do to make it up to me,” he told the bemused Japanese pilot sternly, “is to sleep here tonight. Got it?”

“Hai. I would be glad to.”

“Good,” said Duo, snuggling into Heero, who hesitantly put an arm around him. “Mm, this is comfy. Night, Heero. I do hope you’re not a dream…”

“I’m not. Good night, Duo,” Heero said softly. “I will be here when you wake.”

+++

Almost theatrically, a blond head of hair poked slowly out from behind the doorframe, followed by a pair of wide blue eyes. Equally comically, a second head of brown hair followed by amused green eyes popped out above the blond head. There was a small growl that sounded like “Kisama, Barton, you’re tall,” and then a black head followed by black eyes came into view under the blond head.

The three pairs of eyes, on the three heads, stared into the room.

Soft morning sunlight, not intense enough yet to wake a sleeper, lay contentedly across the two figures in the bed, like a second covering above the bedcovers. One, with long braided hair, was snuggled up to the other, his features relaxed for the first time in a long time; while the other, with a messy mop of hair, was curled protectively around the first. The watchers resisted the urge to go aww.

The heads withdrew. From behind the wall there were sounds that sounded like three people. One of them said something that might have been, “That still doesn’t let him off the hook, you realize.”

Someone else replied with something like, “Oh, don’t be such a grump, Wufei.”

The first perhaps-speaker snorted. “Who was the one going to make Yuy wish he were never born?”

A third voice joined the fray with words that resembled: “Be quiet, you’re going to wake them up. They both need rest.”

The three voices could be heard fading off into the distance, accompanied by almost silent footsteps. Inside the room, Heero and Duo slept on.

+++

Speaking of 48 Hours, I was wondering if I should write a short epilogue - one with a better ending? The ending of Talk Shows made me think... but I suppose the feeling'll pass.

[Ashen][Pyro Maniacs!]

[Talk Shows...]

2005-12-20T12:30:26Z

*bounces*

asdjkelgishdgiashsldhasghawig!

EVERYONE LOOK AT MY USERPIC. *loves* Of course, can't take credit for it, but hey - if anyone else goes to chaoticdraconis's LJ and finds their own, remember - you heard about her from me! Oh, and do take a look at the HPDM ones... *waggles eyebrows* Rawr. And there's RyuichiShuichi ones, and Ryuichi ones (I left the blond-haired guy alone, can't remember his name, don't like him), and FFAV ones, and Gackt and Miyavi! Her Gackt ones look especially drool-worthy.

And the second squealworthy incident of the day is: I bought Pratchett's latest book Thud! which is, simply put, a masterpiece. A breathtakingly inventive, beautiful masterpiece. Like agreed before with keire_ke, his writing is getting darker, and this book is no exception, and I love that about it. It goes up there with Nightwatch as one of my favourite Watch books.

Third happy item on list: I had a great afternoon out with Fernie, Bernie and, uh... Elizarie? o.O; Bought a tote bag for next year, too. Now it'll make me happy until my dad gives me this 'WTF you bought a new something how dare you?' look, but that won't be until tomorrow so I'm safe enough to be happy today. Whee!

The fourth happy moment of the day... I finished inthefire2002's present. *grovels* I'm sorry for its lateness... and since it's long, I'm posting it here in two parts. I came up with this because I was thinking, well, since she's so worried over Joke!Duo, who hasn't gotten his happy ending yet... I'd give her another Duo very similar to Joke!Duo, but with his happy ending already written. ^_^ So here it is!

The only warning would be cliché-ness, I think. Sorry!

Your foundation
Is canyoning
Fault lines should be worn with pride
I hate to say, but
You’re so much more
So much more
Endearing with the sound turned off…

- Incubus, Talk Shows On Mute

+++

“And then I broke into their communications channel and started blasting hard rock right into it, and it was the most damned amusing thing I’ve ever seen, or actually heard, because it was over a channel and I couldn’t see them, only hear them, so it’s technically the most damned amusing thing I’ve ever heard –”

Heero gritted his teeth as he tried to ignore the voice prattling on endlessly behind him – he didn’t know for how much longer he could take this…

“– were demanding to know who was, and I quote, ‘responsible for this infernal noise’, and the pilots were swearing they weren’t doing it, and there was a lot of shouting because they couldn’t hear each other over the music and all the other bits of yelling going on weren’t helping either, and it was only when I started blasting ships apart that they realized that hey, everyone was telling the truth after all –”

Dammit. “Duo!” he snapped, fingers freezing on his keyboard as he twisted his head to glare at his blinking partner. “You’ve been chattering for the past half an hour without end, don’t you ever just shut up?”

Duo’s mouth shut with a snap. “Er… no?”

“Well, do it,” he hissed and returned to his keyboard.

A few moments of blessed silence, and then – “Well, excuse me if you’re in a crotchety mood today because you failed your mission and your Perfect Soldier concentration isn’t up to par –”

A whirl of movement, and suddenly Duo found his shirt grabbed by white-knuckled fists and bodily lifted off the bed he’d been sitting on. “What part of shut up do you not understand, 02!” he snarled into Duo’s shocked face. “I don’t care how much you love to hear your own voice, just stop it or omae o korosu!”

A shadow flickered over Duo’s face. “That’s not it –”

“I don’t care what it is,” Heero snapped, dropping Duo. “I’m starting to get very tired of your voice, so just shut up.”

“Heero –”

“I said shut up!”

“What if I can’t?” Duo all but yelled back.

Heero leveled his most deadly glare at Duo. “Find a way,” he said forcefully.

“You don’t understand –”

“Find a way if it kills you, before I do.” He returned to his laptop, anger and frustration simmering, and hit the keys with a vengeance. Perhaps his mood was partly due to the failed mission, but it didn’t change the fact that Duo never stopped talking, and it was annoying him.

He heard a soft sigh behind him. “Alright,” Duo said, very quietly. “Alright. You win.” He heard and sensed the other boy going over to the door of their shared safehouse room, opening it – and pausing there. He felt violet eyes on him, but he refused to acknowledge them, back straight and body tense, fingers flying over his keyboard.

A whisper made him look up, but the door was already closing. Frowning, he turned back to his latest mission report (J was going to be disappointed, not to mention furious), dismissing it as a figment of his imagination.

“If it makes you happy…”

+++

“Okay, okay, I promise, Q, I’ll stop avoiding all of you, alright?”

Cerulean blue glared at him. “You’d better keep that promise.”

Duo sighed a little as the other three pilots entered the bare space they called a ‘living room’. He’d avoided the others because he was trying to train himself into not talking, but it was hard… he’d caught himself talking to himself a few times already. Now that he’d promised Quatre, he had to find another way. Ignoring his personal problems for the moment, he turned to watch Heero place his laptop on the only table there. With a few taps of the keys the Japanese pilot brought up a window showing some floor plans.

“Our new mission: infiltrate another OZ research facility responsible for engineering poisonous liquids, remove the few already manufactured samples that they are planning to combine into one solution, and then destroying the place. We have four prototypes: the first scrubs the retina, removing sight; the second destroys the ear hairs thereby destroying hearing; the third causes agony when the voice box is used, and the fourth numbs nerve endings when it comes into contact with skin.”

“And they’re trying to produce a liquid that combines all four functions?” Quatre whispered, his eyes wide and horrified. “That’s inhuman!”

“We have reason to believe that this is the work of Dermail or Barton, not Kushrenada.”

“This does not sound like his work,” Wufei agreed.

“The plan is to land nearby in our Gundams and walk the remaining distance on foot, infiltrate the compound and seize the samples while setting explosives, and then we retreat. The samples will be safer if we use the Gundams; there is a higher risk if we are in less secure transportation. Any objections so far?”

“Yes,” Wufei spoke up. “What if we just contacted Kushrenada?”

There was a pause, and the other pilots were vaguely surprised to not hear any loud exclamations questioning Wufei’s sanity. Quatre glanced at Duo, but Wufei had started talking again, and he turned to focus on the Chinese boy’s words.

“He is an honourable man, and would not tolerate such a despicable move,” Wufei was saying.

“If, let’s say, he is the man you say he is, even if he confronts Dermail or Barton, they would never admit to what they’re doing. And even if he visits their compound he might not find what he’s looking for; they’re bound to have their labs hidden,” Quatre countered.

“So we send him information beforehand, telling him exactly where to look,” Wufei suggested.

“But wouldn’t that require us to infiltrate, too? We might as well steal the samples and blow the place up, while we’re at it,” Quatre pointed out reasonably.

“Ah, but that is more dangerous than if we infiltrate, get the information without leaving a trace, and then let Kushrenada deal with the actual disposal of the gases, since we’ll have to find a safe way to do so if we are in possession of them.”

“He has a point,” Heero said thoughtfully. “Alright. This will not require all of us; for mere infiltration less is better. I propose –”

“I’ll go,” Duo said quickly.

Heero snorted. “And talk the guards to death?”

“Heero!” Quatre exclaimed. “You know how professional Duo is when he’s on a mission!”

The Japanese pilot had the grace to look slightly abashed. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Fine, Duo goes in to get the information. I’ll back him up from outside. Two of us should be enough.”

As the others left Heero and Duo to discuss the mission, Duo’s heart wasn’t fully in it as he answered Heero’s questions on automatic. His mind was racing as he formulated a plan.

Yes… it’ll work. It has to work.

+++

The weight of the portable hard disk in his pocket was a constant reminder that he had to hurry up, because Heero was waiting outside. It had taken him a few minutes, but once Duo had found and saved the location of the labs, he’d personally made his way there.

If Heero asks, I can just tell him I wanted to make sure I got the right coordinates.

He moved silently through the laboratory, searching for the sealed samples that just had to be there. A minute later he found the airtight compartment containing four airtight cylinders, and smiled humourlessly to himself. Gotcha.

He quickly broke into the system, typed a few commands, and then hit enter. One of the cylinders slowly rose up, and a thin tube connected it to another smaller, slim cylinder. The computer flashed as part of the liquid was transferred to the smaller cylinder – 10%... 25%... 40%... 75%...

When it was done, the main cylinder sank back into its original position, while the slim one rose up. The glass slid back and Duo carefully took the cylinder; the platform retreated and the glass pane sealed the compartment again.

This is it, Duo thought as he looked at the deceptively plain cylinder in his hand. Maybe I can finally stop talking now, like Heero wanted me to. This has to work.

Determined, he unlatched the cap of the tube. He looked at the clear liquid inside, and hesitated, but then thought, This is for Heero.

He swallowed the contents of the tube in one gulp.

There was a moment where he re-capped the tube and thought, hey, nothing’s happening. Then the tube dropped to the ground as his hands flew to his neck, where it felt like fire was burning its way along the walls of his throat. He didn’t hear the clatter of metal on cement as he dropped to his knees, doubling over, mouth open in a silent scream because even in agony, he still retained enough sense not to make sound. Not that people might hear him, but more that his headset was still on, and Heero could hear most sounds he made.

“Duo! What are you doing? I heard something drop,” came the furious whisper over his headset. He remained silent, knowing that Heero would take it as him not being able to answer at the moment, which was technically true. He couldn’t. His throat felt raw, and even swallowing was akin to a skinning.

After a while the searing pain subsided to a sensation like a sore throat. Slowly uncurling, Duo decided to test it. “Heero?” he whispered.

Agony flared with every syllable as soon as he spoke. He flinched as the pain lasted for a second, two, three, and then slowly faded, leaving the sore throat feeling. He became aware that Heero was speaking.

“…late, you’re still not done. How long more?”

“Ten,” he whispered, and even that one short word caused him so much pain.

“Hurry up then.” Heero fell silent, and Duo was grateful for that small mercy.

But if this is for Heero, if it makes him happy, then it’s worth it.

Slowly he got up again and replaced the tube, programming the computer to re-sterilise it and put it back. Setting everything back in their original states took another two minutes, and then he made his way back to Heero.

It’s worth it. I can do this.

But he’d overestimated himself.

+++

“Mommy? Mommy, where are you? It hurts, mommy, it hurts…”

“Don’t kill me! Please, I have a family – I have a child – don’t –”

“Gundam! It’s a Gundam! Everyone – fight with all you’ve got, kill the murdering bastard!”

“My baby… my child… you killed her. You killed… kill me too. Kill me! You’ve already killed everyone else!”

“Save us, kid… save us… why didn’t you save us? Why are you alive when we’re dead?”

He curled up into himself, cowering on the ground, hands over his ears. “I didn’t mean to!” he whimpered, pain tearing at his throat, tears tearing at his eyes. “I wanted to die if only you’d live, but I can’t, not yet – I didn’t mean to kill innocents, I didn’t want to kill anyone – leave me alone, stop, please, leave me alone! STOP IT!”

His scream was a silent one as he jerked awake from his nightmare, drenched in cold sweat. He sat there panting silently for a few minutes, throat hurting with phantom pain from the memory of screaming, staring blankly into the darkness. Voices still echoed in his mind; new ones came to whisper their accusations every minute, every moment.

He’d been afraid of this, when Heero had first given him the ultimatum to shut up. His voice was his solace – when he rambled on he kept himself thinking happy thoughts, kept himself occupied, so that the other voices wouldn’t be able to make themselves heard. It was only two days after his mission, and the nightmares were already back in full force, as were the memories during the day. Without his voice to distract him everything came back.

He’d tried to explain it to Heero, that time, why he couldn’t and not wouldn’t be quiet, but he’d pushed Heero too far. It was his own fault that he had made Heero deaf to his words.

“I’m just weak,” he whispered to himself, and the agony flared again but he forced himself to continue, to ingrain the no-speaking reflex into himself. “None of the other pilots have to resort to annoying others to keep their minds occupied. I’m weak, and this is the only way to change that, so don’t be a coward, Duo Maxwell. Remember Heero – this is for Heero. Be as strong as he is, and things will be fine.”

He was glad that Trowa and Wufei had been called away on missions, and Quatre had been instructed to help them from base – without those three, he had little to worry about in regards to them being concerned about him, if they noticed his lack of speech. Lying back down on the bed, a thought suddenly occurred to him.

Hey – maybe music can help.

Lying back down to sleep, even the disembodied voices couldn’t keep him awake for long, though the visions that flickered through his mind did. It was almost dawn before he slipped into sleep.

The next day Duo locked himself into his room and turned on his CD player, using the portable speakers to fill the room with music. It works! was his happy thought as the melody calmed most of the memories. He could ignore the faint murmurs still stirring in the back of his head, if it meant he’d get most of his peace of mind back.

He was lying on his bed, eyes closed, letting the music lull him to sleep – when it stopped. Duo shot upright, but the indignant exclamation died on his tongue when he saw Heero standing there glaring.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He had no answer to that but the obvious, and so he kept silent.

Heero seemed satisfied with that and settled for saying curtly, “To be alert at all times is the prerequisite of being a pilot. Our lives are in danger every second. You didn’t even hear me pick the lock, and that sort of mistake can lead to death. Having your hearing blocked isn’t acceptable.”

Duo nodded mutely. Heero was right, as usual – he’d stupidly given up safety for comfort. One word ran through his mind: weak.

He would change that.

As he watched Heero leave, he had to smile a little. See? Now Heero’s not yelling at me anymore, he thought. Be grateful, Maxwell, grateful and happy for it.

He was grateful, really. But… he paid the price for Heero’s non-aggression. From then on, without anything to distract him… every night he saw carnage and death played out in his dreams, heard the accusing voices screaming and saw the accusing eyes. It got to the point that he heard them, saw them, even during the day. His nerves were stretched taught, and he was exhausted, having little energy since eating hurt his throat too, but he hid it.

Quatre’s so busy with Fei and Tro, he doesn’t suspect anything. Heero notices, but he’s happy. And that’s good, he told himself firmly. You wouldn’t want to worry anyone.

Though some small, bitter part of him wondered… did they really not care? Didn’t they wonder, even a little? Or had he really been such an annoyance that everyone was so glad not to hear him speak, that they didn’t bother mentioning his increasing silence?

That night, he awoke with images of the other pilots standing around him, laughing at his pain, playing through his mind’s eye – his physical eyes were blurred with tears.

“They’d never do that,” he said aloud, using the pain to bring him back to reality. “Never.”

But throughout the day the voices laughed at him, and threw his denial in his face. He couldn’t eat much either – his voice box was taking more time to heal after each time he used it, and so even swallowing brought pain.

It was then that he began hating himself for the failure he’d been, and the wreck he’d become.

The only good thing was that Heero now seemed content to let him sit around when he was working, since he was quiet. That was all he wanted, really. But lately he couldn’t last five minutes in Heero’s presence before the images and voices in his mind began to overwhelm him, and he had to leave.

I’m ruining the best thing I’ve ever gotten… Duo Maxwell, you utter idiot. Can you never, ever do anything right?

+++

[Ashen][...On Mute.]

[Declarations...]

2005-12-15T12:51:32Z

Well! I have been a busy bunny-slave: I've started quite a bit of inthefire2002's very sadly belated birthday present, though it won't be posted anytime soon because I have for some reason written it all out and so have to type it all in later. >_<

Other than that, I've also been working on both my HP Music fic, my FY very dead fic, and... Roommate. XD

Warning: it's long, and it's not very funny... the only bit I really like is the last 3x4 bit. If anyone has ANY suggestions at all - please, drown me in them. Critique is absolutely welcome - why you didn't like what, what went wrong, what could have been phrased better, etc. I'm not afraid to admit that I need it. *_* Badly.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up…”

Duo groaned and flailed his arms in the general direction of the voice. “Shut up already!” he muttered. Then it hit him – only one person would be available to wake him up, and from what he knew of that person, there was no way he’d sound so… amiable.

He opened an eye.

Only to see a world of white as he was hit full in the face by a pillow.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up…” Another hit.

“I’m awake! I’m awake!” Duo shot upright just in time to meet the third downward swing of the pillow, which knocked him flat onto his back again. “Cut it out!”

The attack stopped, and Duo yelped as a strong hand grabbed his wrist and yanked him off the bed. “I’ve got the shower running already!” said a bright voice as Duo stumbled half-blind in the direction where hands on his back were pushing him. “Go right in and wake yourself up – we’ve got a long day ahead of us!”

So early in the morning, Duo’s brain could only come up with one tried-and-true line. “Who are you and what have you done with Heero?” he demanded.

“Ha ha, always the joker, Maxwell. Get in.”

He was shoved unceremoniously into the bathroom; the door slammed shut behind him. The air inside was warm and humid, and the mirror over the sink was fogged up. Still utterly confused, Duo stood there for a few seconds getting his bearings. Then he shrugged to himself.

“Go with the flow, Maxwell, go with the flow,” he said aloud. He quickly slipped out of his sweatpants and undid his braid, before hopping into the shower.

His scream promptly ripped through the entire floor.

Outside the door, Heero, with his fingers stuck in his ears, smirked and sauntered out of the room. Phase One, Step One complete.

“Cold cold cold cold –” Duo’s teeth chattered as he tumbled out of the bathtub, arms wrapped around himself as he shivered. The water had been freezing. “What the hell,” he mumbled as he stuck a hand in and cranked the hot water tap way up. “It must have been Heero – that bastard.”

After waiting for a few minutes, however, he ascertained that the hot water was not coming. “Oh, great…” Taking a deep breath, Duo told himself firmly, “You can do it, Maxwell. Don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that you lost because you couldn’t stand a little cold water.”

Another deep breath, and he jumped back into the water. I’d swear all my outer parts don’t exist anymore, if I couldn’t see them, he thought grimly as he grabbed his shampoo and swiftly washed his hair through once; his soap was next. Sod the conditioner, this time. I’m not that much of a masochist. Finished with his bath in much less than half the time he normally used, he hurried out of the cold water and dried himself, dashing into the bedroom to put on his underwear, long sweatpants and a T-shirt.

Once warmly covered, he let out a relieved sigh and flopped retrieved his towel from where he had carelessly tossed it just now in his haste. He wrapped it around his hair, and brought the entire mass over his shoulder to rub dry.

And froze, staring.

His second scream ripped through the entire building.

Outside the door, Heero, with his fingers stuck in his ears, smirked even wider and sauntered into the kitchen. Step Two was complete.

Duo whimpered as he stared at the ghastly, garish, bright neon green nightmare that used to be his precious hair. With shaking fingers he tugged on a few strands and winced when he felt the slight pain in his scalp. “No…”

He stood and dashed to the door, flinging it wide open. “Yuy!” he howled down the corridor, shaking a dramatic fist at the air. “You will pay!”

And was shocked into silence when Heero suddenly appeared.

“Maxwell?” The Japansese man looked surprised. “That’s – your hair! What did you do to it?”

Duo sputtered. “What did I do –”

“Oh dear, don’t tell me I left the green dye in your room?” Heero exclaimed.

That made Duo blink. “Wha…?”

“I apologize,” Heero said solemnly. “I was planning to use that for an experiment… I have no idea how this happened.”

“Well, I do!” Duo got his wind back, and he waved a few admonishing green strands at Heero, ignoring the way they flopped about miserably. “You! Made me bathe in freezing cold water so I’d be in such a hurry that I wouldn’t check my bottles properly!”

“Cold water? But I turned the heater on, and made sure it was warm before I woke you up,” Heero protested, looking utterly confused and hurt.

It caused Duo to pause. Oh, he looks so cute like that… wait, wait. You’re getting distracted, Maxwell! “Why the sudden niceness?” he said suspiciously.

Heero shrugged a little. “I was… less than sociable yesterday. And you cleaned the kitchen all by yourself. I thought I owed you something.” A shadow covered his face then, and he turned away. “I guess if you don’t want to –”

“No, no, I want to,” Duo said hastily. “It’s no problem, really – I mean, the water made me wake up really fast, and, uh, I suppose the dye washes out…”

“It does,” Heero assured him, turning back.

“Good, good. I’ll just go back and wash –”

“After a week.”

“– it ack.” Duo choked. “A – a week!”

“I apologise.”

“Uh… no worries,” Duo said weakly, backing into the room. “I’ll just, uh, go dry my hair then… my neon green hair… my poor mutilated hair…”

Heero watched as Duo shut the door, mumbling under his breath. The instant the door shut, the contrite look left his face, replaced by a soon-to-be-uncontrollable smirk.

Step Three was an utter success.

He squooshed the niggling voice that muttered at him, Did you have to do that to his hair? It was such nice hair, too…

+++

They ate breakfast at a small café in an area that made Duo edgy – he got the feeling that people were staring at him. When he mentioned it to Heero, the Japanese man shrugged.

“It’s the green,” he said simply.

Duo just nodded, though something told him that the way they were looking at him was not so much of ‘ooh, look at his hair’, but ‘ooh – look at him’.

He’d noticed people giving Heero those sort of looks, too, but Heero didn’t seem to have noticed anything out of the ordinary, so he ignored it as well.

Barely.

Heero finished his meal earlier than Duo, and stood. “Bathroom. Be back in a while.”

He left the table and headed to the back of the café, returning a few minutes later. Duo quickly swallowed the last bite of his food, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and stood, beaming at Heero. “Shall we go?”

They rose from the table and left the café after Heero paid for both their meals. When they had walked a few paces away from the entrance, though, Heero stopped. “Oh, great, I forgot something in the bathroom… I’ll be right back. You wait here,” he ordered, and jogged off.

Duo rolled his eyes at his retreating back and stuck his tongue out. “Bleh. What am I, a dog?”

“If you are, you’re a very pretty one,” a voice purred in his ear.

“And some people might take that tongue as an invitation,” another voice murmured in his other ear.

“Hey, nice hair,” said a third voice. “Have you tried using it as rope?”

Duo’s third scream of the day ripped through the entire street.

Inside the café door, Heero, with his fingers stuck in his ears, smirked even wider and slipped into the bathroom at the back. Step Four? No problem.

He waited.

Five minutes later, Duo, his hair coming out of his braid and clothes in a mess, hurtled into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. He leaned against the door and simply panted, eyes wild.

Heero raised an eyebrow.

Duo jabbed a shaking, accusing finger at him. “You!” he exclaimed.

Heero tilted his head to the side, looking puzzled.

Aw, isn’t he adorable?

Shut up, bunny-boy, now is not the time.

His mental voice grumbled. When is it ever the time?

I’ll let you know. Now shut up.

He jabbed once more in Heero’s direction for good measure. “You let me get mobbed by gay bondage freaks! What the hell were you doing all this time in a bathroom, anyway!”

Heero stared, and then pointed at one of the stalls.

“Oh. Yeah.” Duo was temporarily derailed. “Well, be faster next time!”

“What happened?”

“What happened? I’ll tell you what happened! There were all these men grabbing me and giving me lewd proposals… did you know, one wanted to play bondage with my hair! And then they suggested something about dildos and my hair!”

Heero was having a really hard time concealing his smirk. Somehow he managed it. “Oh dear.”

“I’ll give you ‘oh dear’,” Duo muttered.

“You have something against homosexuals?”

No, mainly because I’m one myself…but I can’t let you know that now, can I? Duo just shook his head. “I don’t, but getting mobbed by them? No thank you.”

Heero wondered at the slight relief that he felt at Duo’s words. Why would I care about his opinions of me? He pushed that feeling and that thought out of his mind as he watched Duo cross over to the mirror and wince at his reflection.

“Great, my braid’s a mess.” Duo pulled off the tie and slid it around his wrist, then finger-combed his hair out, still ranting, but his words faded into the background as Heero caught the first traces of Duo’s shampoo. It smelt… nice. Soft and not at all invading like some perfumes; a trace of vanilla, some wildflowers…

He didn’t realize he’d moved from his position near the wall to stand right behind Duo, who trailed off when he realized Heero not only wasn’t listening, he was standing behind him. Duo didn’t speak, though, only watched with wide eyes as Heero lifted a hand to run his fingers through the strands.

It’s still so soft, even with the dye… Guilt ran through Heero, then, for the dye trick. What if I’d ruined his hair? He moved his hand higher, running his fingers through the hair down the length of Duo’s back.

Duo almost purred with the feeling. So gentle… is that what Heero’s like when he lets his guard down? Suddenly he wanted so badly to touch Heero as well, to feel the strength underneath the gentleness.

Then Heero realized what he was doing, and dropped his hand like Duo’s hair was poison. With a curse under his breath, he backed away, not meeting Duo’s gaze in the mirror as he said aloud, “I’ll wait for you outside.”

He left.

Duo stared at the closed door, the memory of Heero’s hands stroking his hair still lingering. “Ah, damn,” he sighed. “I’m losing it, aren’t I?”

You’re not supposed to get involved with him, his mental bunny reminded him. Remember Quatre the split personality blond? He’d kill you. And you’d lose not only a place to stay, but part of your income.

“I know,” Duo grumbled as he began braiding his hair. “But… he might be worth it…”

Or you might let yourself get hurt, all over again.

He let out a slow breath, staring at the green hair in his hands. “Yeah,” he said softly. “And I swore never to be so stupid, didn’t I?”

Done with his hair, he took a deep breath and winked at himself in the mirror. “No getting attached, Duo old boy,” he reminded himself. “Especially to someone so cold as Heero Yuy.”

Bringing his smile back up, Duo bounded out of the bathroom in search of his roommate.

+++

“Tadaima!” Duo called cheerfully as he opened the door to their apartment.

“There’s no one in the house, Maxwell.”

“I know, but it gives me that nice warm feeling…” Duo turned to grin at Heero, but his grin faltered as the Japanese man moved to his study without a word. He watched as Heero opened the door, and retrieved a box from inside.

“Catch,” was the only warning Duo got before the box was tossed at him.

“Oof, what’s in this?” Duo held up the box and rattled it, hearing metallic sounds from inside. “Ooh, a present for me? You’re too kind, Heero!”

He opened the box.

Inside it… was his amplifier. In pieces.

Oh, shit.

Duo looked up at Heero, feigning puzzled innocence. “What’s this?”

Heero’s glare made Duo cringe. Ooh, that’s scary.

“You know what it is,” Heero snapped. “Don’t pretend otherwise.” Then his glare changed to a small smirk as he added, “Take it as my last gift to you, today.” Phase One, final step: complete.

“Last… gift? Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no…” A horrified look slowly spread across Duo’s face, along with realization. “Your behaviour today – the dye, the gay masochists…”

“You wake me up with ice cold water – I wake you up with ice cold water. You ruin my kitchen – I ruin your hair. You cause me to be harassed by firemen – I cause you to be harassed by, as you put it, gay masochists. I found that amplifier last night, and since you used it to irritate me – I give it back to you in pieces.” Heero shrugged. “Never let it be said that I am unfair. An eye for an eye, Maxwell.”

Duo was shaking his head slowly in unwilling admiration, a half-grin on his lips. “That’s… almost poetic, really. Man, you had me fooled, Yuy! I thought your behaviour this morning was entirely out of character for you, but I wrote it off as my not knowing you well… seems like my first impression is still spot-on.”

Heero raised an eyebrow. “You’re right. I am who I am, and you cannot change that. Quatre couldn’t, all these years he knew me – I’m surprised he thought you can.”

Duo gaped at him.

“Yes, Maxwell. I know about your deal with him. I heard your phone call in the kitchen yesterday.”

“So… all this…” Duo gestured at the amplifier, then pulled his hair over his shoulder to stare mournfully at it. “I see. But did you have to involve my hair? It’s an innocent bystander!”

“So was my kitchen,” Heero countered.

Duo grabbed his braid in his fist and flopped it at Heero. “But my hair! What did she ever do to you?”

“You murdered my kitchen, Maxwell,” Heero said, eyes narrowed. “Be glad I didn’t chop your hair off.”

Duo gasped in horror and cradled his braid protectively. “You wouldn’t!”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Heero agreed, to Duo’s surprise. “Since we’re even now.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Then –

“Open war?”

“Open war.”

They shook hands. Heero then retreated to his study, while Duo went to his bedroom and flipped open his phone. He had to call Quatre; the blond had some wicked ideas.

Open war had been declared – no mercy would be given.

“Hello?”

“It’s me, Quat.”

“Duo! How’s your day been? Any progress?”

“Well – it depends on your point of view…”

+++

“Barton speaking.”

“Trowa. Were you in on it?”

“…I’m sorry, Heero. I tried to stop him.”

“And?”

“He made me sleep on the couch for a week.”

“Ouch. Alright. Now?”

“Back in bed. I still can’t –”

“We’ve declared open war.”

“…Ah. That changes things. I’ll call Wufei.”

“The old place, in an hour.”

“Done. See you there.”

“Likewise.”

+++

“Trowa, love?”

The tall, green-eyed Latino turned to face his blond lover. “Yes, Quatre?”

The smaller man gave him the hurt-puppy look, blue eyes wide. “Well, I was thinking, we don’t spend much time with each other nowadays…”

Trowa’s lips twitched.

Quatre huffed. “Oh, alright, we don’t spend as much time together as I’d like.”

“Kitten, to spend any more time together we’d have to be glued to each other.”

“Even so…” Quatre leaned against the doorframe, angling his body to show it off. “Being glued together sounds… fun.”

Trowa had to smile at that. “I’d love to, normally, but I have to say… you’re too late, Quatre.” He held up his phone and smirked.

The blond immediately lost his seductive air and threw up his hands. “Well, it was worth a try,” he said grumpily to his amused lover, and then fished his phone out of his pocket and put it to his ear. “Hello, Duo – stop laughing, I was doing it to help you – Duo! …Better. Okay, so he’s officially on Heero’s side, now – hmm, maybe…”

“Wufei, too,” Trowa put in helpfully.

Quatre made a face at him. “Drat, they move fast – they’ve already gotten Wufei, he’s Heero’s other friend. Well, I’m out of options for now – let’s get together and discuss it. There’s this restaurant… hmm? Oh, okay, I’ll look for it. Meet you there in, say, an hour? Perfect. Okay, see you later!”

Trowa moved to wrap his arms around his lover, resting his chin on Quatre’s head, as the blond kept his phone. “Since it’s open war, and all’s fair… I still have half an hour before I have to leave.”

Quatre turned in his arms to smile at him. “I should punish you, you know,” he informed Trowa with mock severity.

Trowa smirked. “Then by all means, punish me… if you can.”

“What do you mean, if I – mmph. Mmm…”

+++

On a random note, I just realized that the reviews I've been getting are less of the !!11!!!UPDAET SOON! OMG I LUV U!! kind of reviews, and also less of the generic 'That's so funny/nice/great!' kind of reviews, but more of the longer, more thoughtful kind of reviews that ask questions or point out stuff in the story, so that I know they actually read and really appreciated. It makes me all gooey inside. ^_^ And also, thanks to all my friends here who cheered me up before. (:

*hugs all the lovely people*

Whee.

[Ashen][...of Open War.]

[The Five Days...]

2005-12-12T09:50:29Z

I'm back!

The thing about KL is that I felt like I was in China. Half the people looked Chinese, most of them spoke Chinese or Cantonese, and the prices were low and pirated stuff was everywhere.

The First Day of KL:

I made friends from Malaysia knowing that I would lose touch with them, and that I would hurt on the day I had to leave.

The Second Day of KL:

I won a game that lasted four hours with my group, and found that Malaysian boys were really much nicer than Singapore ones.

I heard confessions of improbable dreams like mine, and for a moment believed they were possible.

The Third Day of KL:

I saw grown boys cry, and I almost cried with them for I understood why and wished that I could experience their memories for myself.

I orchestrated a dance performance to Livin’ Da Vida Loca, and almost dropped of exhaustion in trying to ready it in four hours.

I hurt, because it was the day I had to leave my newly made friends.

The Fourth Day of KL:

I found long-searched-for anime – FMA, Peacemaker Kurogane, Tactics – and decided that Singapore not only had a very limited selection, but that the prices were also utter, total rip-offs.

I saw a crippled man, a deformed man, begging on the streets, and something inside me ached when he smiled a twisted smile at me for dropping a few coins into his basket.

I smiled because my friends contacted me on their bus trip back to their Malaysian homes and invited met to a gathering, albeit one in the depths of Malaysia.

I found GW anime, and hopped around screaming because of the fact that it was entirely dubbed in Cantonese.

The Fifth Day of KL:

I bought Chinese books I’ll probably never read, and a couple of them are romance novels at that though I didn’t realize it at the time.

I found GW anime in Japanese, and squealed like a deflated balloon when I did.

I saw a man on crutches with one leg gone and the other bent, standing in the middle of cars in a traffic jam, silently holding out tissues to sell and I hurt for him.

I recalled the warmth of the first three days surrounded by friends, and didn’t feel so much of the exhaustion that the last two days with my parents had wrought.

I bought new sports shoes, and hated myself for a moment for it because I remembered what I’d just seen.

And my headache is better, which is why I could finally get onto the com without getting dizzy. Must have been the nosebleed. Funny, though, because throughout the three day course they kept blasting really loud music through really big speakers and I went half deaf and half dizzy.

kizha, veggieincoma, kagen and assorted others - seems like I missed lots of stuff when I was in KL. ;_; Can we get together again to watch trashy stuff? Yes Hana Dori something is trashy. And we can rewatch PoT - last few epis! And after the mindwashing of kagen and veggieincoma - let's go watch GoF again, too. The whole gay bunch. XD

[Ashen][...of KL.]

[Ed bean...]

2005-11-12T05:36:17Z

This is too cute! ^_^ Ed bean and Al bean - taken from fujis. Try giving Ed milk three times in a row.

[Ashen][...meet Al bean!]

[As the Chinese say...]

2005-11-08T06:31:05Z

Now my computer refuses to let me on Inet even with the correct link, for some reason believing that I am RESTRICTED from accessing it. *prods*

Oh, and my Zen Micro is Not Working. Which wouldn't be too bad if my CDs weren't playing sporadically on my ever-trusty CD player which has until now been the most reliable CD-playing device in the entire house.

Then my mum goes and forces me on a diet - which is not the bad part. The bad part is the way everyone keeps eating chocolate and cakes and sugar around me! Blatantly! Purposefully! Blisfully! And on Thursday when the movie people come over they're going to have pasta. With cream sauce. *_* I die. I had better look like a skeleton by the end of this diet thing, or I'd have been CHEATED.

And I have no money to buy Reload 5, Loki 2-4, or the FMA anime.

And I still haven't found a single thing for FAM, including the damned ~~costume~~ dress.

“Ugh…”

Heero threw his arm over his eyes against the autumn sunlight and refused to remove it, even when he heard a low chuckle coming from somewhere in the vicinity of the window. The window took up three-fourths of the wall from the ceiling down, leaving a thigh-high bit of wall at the bottom – he liked the view it afforded. However, as it faced east, the late morning sun now shone in his eyes mercilessly, or would have if he hadn’t covered them.

“I didn’t think you the type to like to sleep in.”

He lifted his arm to mock-glare at the figure shadowed by the light. “Usually I don’t, but you see, this devil took over my bed last night and sapped all the energy from my battered and bruised body,” he said mildly.

“Oh? All the energy, you say…?” The blinds were re-shuttered and Heero blinked a few times to get rid of the light spots dancing in his eyes, and then stared appreciatively as Duo ran his hands over his entirely butt-naked body, stretching and arching his back to show it off. The fall of unbound hair was the perfect frame for his body, and when he turned, bending over, the hair fell to his sides and presented a lovely eyeful of his… assets.

Heero groaned a little, sitting up in the bed. “Come here,” he ordered, trying and failing to restrain the amused and (he had to admit) slightly depraved grin surfacing on his face.

Duo straightened and turned back to face him, hands on his hips and a similar grin on his face. “I thought your battered and bruised body was drained of energy?” he said innocently.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing – Duo!” Heero yelped as the blinds were withdrawn from the window, letting in the light again to attack his eyes. When his sight had adjusted, he shook his head in helpless amusement as Duo struck a pose and crooked a finger at him. “Come here, Heero,” the American coaxed. “You know you want to.”

“Duo… the entire world can see you.”

“I know.” Duo gave him a smug grin and turned to face the glass. “That’s the whole point. And if you come here and we’re within an arm’s reach of each other, they’ll see us both, and wither away knowing that all they can do is watch us two gorgeous men shagging each other silly.”

Heero had to laugh. “Exhibitionist,” he said, and he found that he didn’t even mind all that much the fond note that had crept into his tone.

“You know you love it.”

And he had to admit, too, that he did. Duo was right – if they were within reach of each other… he still remembered all of last night. They’d stumbled into his apartment, unable to let go of each other, and had left clothes all over the floor in their haste – the first time had been fast and rough, with Heero on top. Duo had reversed their positions, and their speed, the second time: their lovemaking had been slow and torturously drawn out, with Duo wringing all sorts of noises and reactions from his body. The third time Heero had tied Duo up with a tie he’d grabbed from the cupboard, and that time had been slow but turned rough as Duo made full use of his acting skills to play the role of the debauched maiden; the fourth time Duo had taken advantage of Heero’s temporary rest to flip him onto his back, and on his knees... The fifth time, the sixth, the seventh and the eighth times had all been different, but one thing remained constant – they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

All these thoughts ran through his mind in a frozen instant, because in the next second, Heero saw something that made his blood run cold.

There was a red laser dot on Duo’s chest, steadily centering on his heart.

“Get down!” he yelled, launching himself out of bed. He impacted with Duo in mid-crouch, sending them both sideways and out of the window as the glass shattered all over where Duo had been standing previously, and bullets ripped holes in the wood floor. Heero yanked on the cord, and the shutters dropped to block the light and the view of the sniper; the bullets stopped as he scrambled to his feet and pulled Duo to his in the same movement.

“Why is someone trying to kill you?” he demanded as he avoided the glass on his way to the cupboard, opening it and yanking out two pairs of worn jeans, two plain body-hugging long sleeved shirts, and two pairs of briefs; he tossed one of each item to Duo, who had retreated to the corner of the room. There was a pounding on the door; he shoved the clothes aside, pressured a panel in the wood, hit another spot with his other hand. There was the sound of machinery, faint, but he knew the metal plate had accordingly slid into place over the door since the sounds had been muffled.

“I don’t know!” Duo snapped back as Heero dressed. The Japanese man whirled around at the reply to glare at Duo.

“Think again.”

Heero knew how his expression must have looked like at that instant because of Duo’s own face, shock and hurt overriding the fear, but he ignored it in favour of vaulting across the bed to the window – if he let himself think about it, they’d never get out alive. He knelt carefully amongst the glass and parted two slats of the shutters slightly, peering through. Black mask, black outfit, no bullet-proof padding. Sniper gun, Springfield from the shape, an older make from the bulk – either Ingrid’s or a Red. Ingrid would have more men, climbers – dammit, let it be the Reds.

He looked closer, willing his eyes to focus – there! A flash of red on the ear, tiny but there. Yes! Reds – that explains the sloppy work by the sniper, they prefer face-to-face – also the ignorance of a possible witness, since they’re known for being fast and ruthless, so they won’t have researched me. Good. Reds, Reds… no, their firepower’s only enough to get through the steel with time.

A plan of action formed in his head in a second. He moved back from the window and pinned Duo with a piercing stare. “Do exactly as I say.”

Duo nodded, his expression one of only calm determination. Heero spared a moment for a quick, approving smile; then he was all business again. He’d found, in the days before they’d realized that his skill with a partner was nothing compared to when he was unhampered by one, that a partner when unfamiliar with the operation would keep asking questions, and he was glad that Duo wasn’t being so stupid.

It’s because he trusts you, the voice in his head whispered. I know, he wanted to reply. He would do anything not to betray that trust.

He only hoped Duo would do the same with the trust that he was risking.

The apartment was furnished with nothing incriminating, just things that a struggling artist would stock; the background to that particular alter-ego was watertight. Only the steel door would betray that their struggling artist was either particularly paranoid or they’d been really dumb in such a rash plan of action, but he was confident that they wouldn’t find out about his involvement.

He triggered the trick door in the ceiling; a system of pulleys had a section of floor rising up. Once he blew the rigging there wouldn’t even be a hollow section of floor to show that there had been a trapdoor; the wood floor would be just that – one solid section of panel-covered concrete; the seams of the section and blown rigging were undetectable except with special X-ray equipment. It was extremely overkill for an organisation like the Reds, and other mainstream groups would have a hard time discovering it, too, but he’d always been careful.

He turned to Duo, indicated the trapdoor. “It’s a one-level drop, you have to –”

“Roll with the movement, I know,” Duo interrupted, using the bedpost to vault nimbly over the glass shards and land next to the hole. He lowered himself quickly as far as his arms allowed, then dropped. Heero saw him land cat-like, roll with the movement, get up just before he vanished from sight.

No one moves like that without training.

Later; he had to set it aside for later. He followed Duo, landing not so gracefully but still unhurt, and used the control wired to the wall to blow the rigging. The section of floor fell back. He cut the wires with the knife placed there for that purpose and shoved the remaining wires back into the plugging so that it looked undisturbed, and only then he allowed himself to relax fractionally, looking around the bare apartment except for the cupboard in the corner and the table and chair next to it, strewn with make-up materials with a semi-large mirror propped up in the middle. The cupboard was open, and from the closed bathroom door he surmised Duo was in there.

“Duo?” he called, going over to the door.

“How long do we have?” was the muffled reply.

“They won’t find this apartment, but to be safe –” He thought back to the Reds’ equipment, then to the steel plating. “I’d rather we get out of here in seven.”

“More than enough.” The door opened, and Heero blinked at Duo in a shapeless granny dress, his body shape altered beyond recognition.

“Duo?” he said again, this time in disbelief.

The American grinned at him. “I used the padding in your bathroom – hope you don’t mind. I assume this apartment’s under the lease of an old couple? All the clothes are grandparent-ish. My face is more feminine, so I chose the dress –”

“How the hell do you know this stuff?” Heero interrupted, mind racing with suspicions.

Duo gave him a level look. “We get out of this shit first, then you ask me about how I know and I ask you about why you have reinforced doors and rigged boltholes and a faked apartment with disguises in it. Deal?”

He had a point. “Deal.”

Duo pointed to the cupboard. “Pick something and change. I’ll do the tune-ups after.”

Heero did as he was told, not bothering to use the bathroom – Duo had only done so because the padding was all inside, behind the door. He put on slacks, a worn cotton shirt, a gnarled pullover. Socks, flat shoes; he found another pair and brought them over to Duo, who was expertly using the make-up to transform himself into an old, rosy-cheeked grandmother. Heero watched in awe.

Finally Duo was done, and even Heero would have a hard time recognising him. He told Duo as much as the American got up from the table. Duo grinned at him, and there was a touch of shy pride in it. “Thanks. Sit down and I’ll do you. Nice combination of clothes, by the way – perfect for what I had in mind.”

Heero almost felt like holding his breath as he watched himself change in the mirror – Duo’s touch was gentle, professional, and under it he became a worn but dignified elderly man, with wrinkles tempered with laugh lines and shadows that made him look thinner, frailer.

“Done,” Duo said finally. Heero checked his internal clock; not six minutes had passed since they’d first dropped into the apartment. Adrenaline was racing in his veins; the past few minutes, sitting down to let Duo do his work, had done little to diminish it. Now he made an effort to calm down, to think grandfather. Emotions and mindset affected a body more than people realized, and from the meditative exercises Duo was doing, he knew it too.

A minute later they were at the door to the apartment, arm-in-arm; a hunched but proud, frail but loving elderly couple. Duo’s hair was entirely white, braided and pinned in a way that made it look shorter than it was; Heero’s was streaked and straightened to look longer. Both wore blue-coloured contacts. Just as Duo was about to open the door, though, Heero stopped him.

“My words back upstairs,” he began, then hesitated, not knowing how to apologize for the harshness of his manner.

Duo smiled at him. “Don’t worry about it, love,” he said gently.

Heero nodded, and gave him a quick kiss. Then they opened the door, and went outside.

+++

Agent Smith – new to the field, on his first field operation – watched the lift doors intently, gun at the ready. No one really thought that the targets would be so careless as to take the lifts down – besides, the floor that the assassins had been on was full of his colleagues, so they wouldn’t even be able to get to the lifts – but better safe than sorry. They had guards posted in the stairway, too, every other level. The targets were supposed to be trickier and more dangerous than the already-subdued earring-wearing bunch.

He brought his gun up as the panel above the lift lit up, and the numbers flashed… even the other lift opening, and shocked little yelp that the woman in the lift let out upon seeing the lobby filled with black-suited operatives, didn’t distract him. Finally the lift dinged, and the doors opened.

The elderly couple inside the lift jumped upon seeing him, eyes wide, and the old lady pressed a liver-spotted, shaking hand to her chest, breath coming in shocked gasps. Smith quickly lowered his gun, subtly putting it out of sight of the couple. “I’m sorry, madam, sir. We’re CIA. Just a spot of trouble, nothing to worry about,” he apologized, pressing the button to hold the doors open for them.

The couple exchanged a glance, speaking without words, and he felt guilty at scaring them. “What… what’s the problem?” the old man quavered as he helped his wife out of the lift, movements hesitant. “Young man, will anything… happen? To our apartment?”

He was quick to reassure them. “No, no, nothing will happen. You and all the other residents can leave and enter with freedom. We apologize for the trouble.”

The old lady smiled tremulously at him. “Not at all. We are proud to have such young men like you, serving our country.”

As the moved towards the lobby doors that led to the main road, Smith caught the eye of Nott, one of the two agents guarding the front doors, and they exchanged an amused smile as they both heard the grandmother confide to her husband, “Such a nice young man. Children these days, they aren’t as polite as they used to be, just think of our Sam and those rude people he mixes with…”

Nott turned his focus back onto the glass doors, though, when his partner Carson nudged him in the side, having seen their commanding officer heading their way. The lean, brown-haired youth had earned their respect despite his age, and had proved that he was not one to tolerate the slightest bit of slack. The captain, wearing plain clothes, held the door open for the elderly couple as they exited, nodding to them when they thanked him.

Nott and Carson saluted him as he stepped into the lobby. But surprisingly, their leader paused with his hand on the door, watching the couple move slowly down the sidewalk. There was a slight furrow to his eyebrows as he watched them, his gaze intense.

“Sir…?” Nott ventured.

“That couple… what floor did they come from?” The gaze did not waver from the retreating silhouettes of the two grandparents.

Nott and Carson automatically looked at Smith, who looked trapped. “Uh… eleven?”

“Is that a guess, agent?” His voice was soft, but in the sudden silence of the lobby it cut through the air easily.

Smith gulped. “No sir!”

“Eleven.” The captain nodded once, and turned to Nott and Carson. “Get some shadows on them now. And I want information on the occupants on the eleventh floor, particularly the unit underneath the targets’ apartment.”

“Yes sir!”

“Good.” He slid his mobile phone from his pocket and quick-dialled a number, watching as two agents in plain clothes hurried out onto the street.

There was a click at the other end of the line. “Kushrenada here.”

“Sir, this is Barton. I need some X-ray equipment here immediately…”

+++

[Edit! Added much later, for organisational purposes. Gosh I love that phrase.]

“The bartender,” Heero muttered to Duo agitatedly in an undertone.

Duo gave him weird look. “The bartender? The CIA!”

Heero glared at him, frustrated. “The captain! The bartender!”

“The bartender?” Duo finally got it. “The CIA?”

“The captain,” Heero confirmed.

“The hell?”

Heero restrained himself from rolling his eyes – lover or not, Duo was slow. His mind raced, trying to piece together what he’d heard. How had the CIA, of all unlikely organisations, because involved in this disaster? Were their targets the Reds, or the two of them? Was the captain being the bartender at the club last night merely a coincidence?

No. Nothing was coincidental.

So Duo was their target. But no – that couldn’t be confirmed. Their target could be the Reds, and so they could have used Duo as unknowing bait. But once they checked his apartment – and the CIA had the necessary equipment – they’d find the hidden rigging. Then they’d find the apartment below. Then they’d suspect him and Duo of something, because normal people didn’t have escape routes in their houses. So those apartments had to be abandoned permanently, but he was still confident that he wouldn’t be implicated.

He’d felt the captain’s eyes on his back, all the way down the pavement. That alone told him something was wrong – no matter who the target was, the green-eyed man suspected something about the two of them. They had to play the part all the way, and from Duo not making any moves, he knew Duo had felt it too.

“We have shadows,” Duo murmured, and it took a second for Heero to understand. Damn. So the captain was confirmedly suspicious of them – he was good. He was smart enough to call in the special equipment necessary to identify the rigging. Heero could see that Duo was put out that they’d been recognized, and he squeezed Duo’s hand and smiled warmly at him. Duo managed to smile back, and Heero felt a pang of sadness – the longing in Duo’s eyes whenever they used the word ‘us’ made his heart hurt, and he knew that deep down Duo was still an innocent. He wasn’t used to the cloak-and-dagger-in-the-back world of assassins and spies.

Or was he? His ease with disguises… Focus, Yuy. Time enough for that later.

“They’re just suspicious, or they’d have pulled us in without wasting time trailing us,” Heero murmured to Duo. “We have time, but we need to shake them off.”

Duo thought for a moment, and then a smirk surfaced. “I have a plan.”

“I’m listening.”

[Ashen][...祸不单行]

[My dad says...]

2005-10-28T09:20:04Z

Quiz! - I found this, did it, thought the image was pretty (I got Demon) and wanted to see the others. And the rest *are* pretty! Especially the first one, the guardian angel - looked sort of like Ed from FMA, only with pretty wings. I liked the faerie pic, too, and the Mother Nature one. Her cloak/bird thing was done very well.

Suat, don't click on the LJ-cut link below. Don't read. It will scar you. And before you go all mommy on me, I'm studying Chinese now. Honest.

For the rest of those already battle-scarred and happy about it, it's sort of R rated, to be safe. Probably only a PG-13, but one can never tell these days. Oh, and it's rather long.

Heero was five minutes early, but when he walked into the café he wasn’t all that surprised to see that Winner was already waiting for him in a corner booth, sipping from a glass of light-coloured coffee. He slid in silently on the other side of the table as the waiter approached.

“The latte is good.” His employer gestured vaguely with the glass in his hand; toasted him a little and sipped another mouthful. “But since I know you… he’ll have a cappuccino,” he said to the waiter, who bowed slightly and retreated wordlessly. The blond turned back to smile at him. “The cappuccino isn’t bad, either, if you like cappuccinos. Or would you prefer something else?”

He ignored the question. Winner knew that perfectly well that he didn’t mind cappuccinos. His employer was the closest thing he had to a friend; the use of his surname served to remind him that despite that fact, theirs was still largely a business relationship. “I am the only one who can do this?” he said instead.

“I’m afraid so,” was the reply. “They specifically demanded you to take the case.”

“You told them I was on leave?”

Winner’s expression was apologetic. “They upped the price, and I have to say it’s a very good offer. I don’t like them all that much – their arrogance was one of the reasons I pushed the price higher – but the profit we can make from this would mean we wouldn’t have to take any more clients for at least the next four months, if we wanted to.”

He hated people like that, but the pay did sound attractive. Their company was newly-started, and though under Winner it was fast gaining a name for itself they still needed more money to finance their operations. “What class?” he said finally. Despite the money he wouldn’t take anything less than A-3, to give up his precious relaxation time.

“A-1.”

Of course. He should have known that Winner would know he’d only willingly let his leave be cut short for an A-3 and above. The blond in some aspects knew him better than he knew himself, and could almost read his mind at times.

“You can take your leave after this is over, and the pay is very good,” Winner said mildly.

He did it again, muttered the voice in his head. “When would I have to start?” was what he actually said.

“As soon as possible, hopefully. You have a lot to do.”

When Winner said ‘as soon as possible’, he meant ‘immediately’. There was a problem, right there. “I was planning to satisfy my body’s demands tonight,” he said calmly. “I cannot guarantee absolute impartiality, physically or emotionally.”

His employer looked thoughtful. “Yes, that might pose some difficulty.” He frowned slightly, and then smiled brightly. “No matter. One day will not make a difference. I allow you to start tomorrow,” he said magnanimously

Heero shook his head, amused. “I am humbled by your generosity, O generous one.”

“But of course.” Winner winked at him.

He smiled a little, and sat back as the cappuccino arrived. When the waiter left he said, “Alright, tell me.”

“The target is Dee Maxwell.”

“Real name?”

“I know it doesn’t sound like it, but it should be. Who knows, though? Anyway, he’s twenty-four this year, and believed to be American, though no one has any idea what he really looks like; he’s a master of disguises and used to go to work using ten different personas.”

“And his company let him?”

“He was their most brilliant scientist; what are a few eccentricities in the face of science? I think they’d have done more than that – he commanded a very high pay, by the way – to get him to work for them.”

“Which company?”

Winner smirked. “BioT.”

Heero let out a low whistle. “The multinational bioengineering company worth billions? He must be good.”

“The best. He was given everything he wanted, and revered as the board of directors’ pet. Yet… one day he simply packed up and left. He took all his research with him, wiped out all traces of what he was doing and of himself from the database and the actual lab itself, and disappeared. At that time he was tasked with some top-level secret project, so it’s highly probable that this was what made him take off.”

Heero grimaced. He hated that sort of person – pampered, spoilt, exploiting his intelligence and finally turning out to be a traitor that bit the hand that fed him. Probably he felt that the latest project was too much work that didn’t pay him enough. “So what exactly am I supposed to do with him?” he asked.

“Our client, his former employers, wants that research back, and Maxwell dead.”

Ah, this changed things slightly. Dead – they didn’t bother about keeping him alive and making him further his research. That meant they wanted secrecy above all, and didn’t mind that his death would mean a large possibility of slowing down their progress. It meant that their research was so important to them that they would rather operate on the basis ‘guilty until proven innocent’, and not give any chances to fulfil the latter half of that phrase. Desperate almost always meant illegal. It was suspicious, and from the look in Winner’s eyes, the blond knew it, too.

“Alright. Continue.”

“Ah… this is one of the reasons why the mission is an A-1 class, and why I demanded such a high pay…” Winner trailed off, offering his friend a sheepish smile.

“You don’t have any more information?” he demanded incredulously.

“Uh… we know that he’s good at computers? Since he managed to wipe the system clean of any trace of himself.”

“…”

“I did mention he’s a master of disguises, right?”

“…”

“Oh, come on, Heero. Please? We both know you’re one of the few in the business good enough to be able to track down and capture a target with so little information. I’ve gotten a clause in the contract that says they aren’t allowed to hire anyone else while we’re on the case, either, so you have more time and leeway to do things.”

“…”

“Please?”

He couldn’t resist the utterly hurt, begging expression Winner gave him. The man had the face of an angel, and like the devil he was he was never above ruthlessly exploiting that fact.

“…Fine.”

Immediately a huge smile graced the blond’s face. “Really? Thank you!”

“Hn. I start tomorrow, and only then,” he warned.

“Of course, of course, by all means go jump someone tonight. Don’t worry, I bet you’ll find Maxwell in no time at all!”

Sometime in the near future, he would recall that sentence, and remind himself never to bet with Winner again, because Winner was a prophet.

+++

There was a long line outside the club, but Heero strolled right up to the entrance, giving the bouncers ample time to take a long look at him. He knew he looked good – tight, black leather pants riding low on his hips over black boots and a form-fitting dark blue sleeveless turtleneck, a simple combination that he knew nevertheless made him look taller, and his legs longer. Black leather cord was loosely wound around one wrist, a fine silver chain around the other. He’d spiked his dark brown hair and put on black kohl that drew attention to his unique Asian eyes, something that he’d found drew a lot of American men especially with his dark blue gaze tending towards the intense side.

He was let in without anything more than a few wolf-whistles; the bouncers knew him, and even if they hadn’t beautiful people were let in on principle. Heero hadn’t liked flaunting his body like this, but once every couple of weeks the craving would grow in him and he had to visit the nightclubs and pick up a one-night stand, and so he’d gotten used to it and now saw these club nights as nothing more than a way to maintain his body’s perfect condition.

This club had been a factory once; now its entire ground floor had been cleared for dancing. A second floor, installed all around the perimeter of the inside wall, was where the food and drink was sold and overlooked the dance floor like a balcony. It was about eight paces across – just enough for the bar, and a two-person wide path. A waist-height railing with glass panels marked where the floor ended and the air began. Metal and glass, silver and black were the main themes; the lights were varying dark shades of blue, red and purple. Subtle, and not flashy like most. He liked that.

Heero took the winding spiral stairs up to the second floor and found a place at the bar; seeing the bartenders all busy, he turned in the chair to face the dance floor, leaning on his elbows against the counter. He watched the thrashing crowd below him go through convulsions centering mainly around the hips. He’d seen this form of ‘dancing’ before, and sadly, it hadn’t improved any since then.

Movement on his right: the man who’d been ordering came away from the counter with four mugs of beer clutched in his hands. Finally. He turned slightly on his stool and nodded to the bartender, who paused behind him.

“Something light.”

“Sweet?”

“Yes.”

The bartender brushed a thick bang out of his face and scrutinised him with sharp green eyes. “Ausbruch?”

“Austria?” A nod. “Hmm… no. something less alcoholic.”

“A Muscat. Brown liqueur, Australia.”

He considered that; it was a good wine, one he’d tried before and liked… no. he was in the mood for something… “Lighter. Frontignan?”

“Lower Rhone?”

A good wine. He nodded.

“A moment.”

Another thing he liked about this place – its bar offered higher-class wines from the best locations for those patrons who wanted something better than the crass beer so many drank, and its bartenders were carefully chosen and trained. The one he’d talked to was new, but no less professional than his older counterparts.

Something on the dance floor caught his eye.

There were two women near the edge of the crowd, dancing together. He watched the one with the long auburn hair, beautiful hip-length hair that fell softly in waves down her back, the strands from the sides pulled back to make a braid that gave some order to the rest of the mass. She was slightly shorter than hew as, from what he could see, with a lithe build that lent itself well to dancing – her movements were graceful and fluid, nothing like the spasms going on around her. Her friend, though good, paled in comparison. He wished he could see more than her back.

If only she were male, he mused. I’d take her to bed in a second.

Then the dancer turned, and he got a good look at the body and face that was definitely not female. He was beautiful enough to be one, though. A long-sleeved, v-neck wire mesh shirt showed off his lean torso; he wore dark red leather pants and black boots similar to Heero’s own. The man tilted his head back, and his expression was of one lost in the music, in the dance: sultry, hungry. His kohl-lined eyes were heavy-lidded, and his lips blood red.

Heero wanted him with a sudden, fierce need that surprised himself. It wasn’t only the gorgeous features that attracted him – it was the way he abandoned himself to the music, and the liquid grace with which he moved. The way Heero himself moved, when he deigned to dance. He was a little appalled at the way he’d lost control of his want so easily, but couldn’t bring himself to look away.

Then those eyes opened, and locked onto his; Heero saw them widen, and then lower again – and that gaze was as hungry as his expression. His world narrowed to that one figure on the dance floor as the dancer licked his lips and gave him a slow smile that said keep watching. He raised his arms over his head, stretching in a way that offered Heero his entire body, then lowered his arms, slowly running his hands down over his upper body, his hips… Heero licked his own lips, aware of those eyes watching him as intently as he was watching the other man, and raised his gaze to meet them. I want you, said both pairs of eyes.

“Your Frontignan, sir.”

That jerked Heero out of his trance – suddenly the music was too loud, the lights too flashy. What was he doing? He’d never lost control of himself like that before. Turning on his stool, he picked up the glass by its slim stem and delicately swirled it, savouring the smell to clear his mind, then sipped it. The wine was good, and cool as it flavoured his mouth and trickled slowly down his throat. He nodded at the bartender and offered him a small smile. “It’s good. Thank you.”

The bartender nodded, and the one visible green eye was pleased. He moved off, and Heero hesitated, staring down at the liquid in his glass.

I’m not supposed to… ah, screw it. It’s the one night I can let myself go, and I’m not going to give up someone like that.

But when he turned back to face the railing, and looked down at the crowd, the dancer was gone, and only his friend remained to tell him that the man hadn’t been his imagination. A deep sense of disappointment welled in him, but he ruthlessly pushed it back down. There were other men around that would do.

He knew, though, that after seeing the dancer, ‘other men’ would never be enough.

I’ve gone insane, he thought to himself, sighing. All this fuss over one man. He turned back to the counter, suddenly not wanting to look at the crowd, and lifted his glass to drink from it.

A warm body pressed against his back, an arm wrapping around his waist while a hand slid down his right arm to curl slim fingers around Heero’s own, holding the glass stem. “May I have a taste?” purred a low voice in his ear. His body, which had tensed at first contact, relaxed and Heero repressed the delicious shiver that wanted to run through it at that voice, but he couldn’t stop the heat that spread through him and coiled low in his belly. He instinctively knew who this newcomer was. “Be my guest,” he replied, his own voice soft and almost a purr.

The man behind him shifted to stand beside him, though the arm remained around his waist. To his surprise and increasing arousal, the auburn-haired man gently took the glass from Heero, put it on the counter, and brought Heero’s hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to the back of it. Heero nearly groaned out loud as glittering purple eyes looked up at him, and the man smiled, cat-like. He did let out a small moan as the man turned his hand over to kiss the base of his palm, then licked his way up to the wrist, where his tongue darted out and licked the pulse point.

“Very nice,” was the murmured pronouncement, and lust coloured every syllable. Then he gently released Heero’s hand and picked up the wine glass. Heero watched as he smelled, and then sipped the wine delicately. Then that beautiful face turned to him, and purple eyes trapped his own deep blue ones. “Not as good, but for a mere wine, it’ll do. A Frontignan… you have good taste.”

Heero allowed a smirk to surface as he openly ran his eyes over that lean body before meeting those eyes again. “Yes. I do.”

Heat filled the purple gaze, and he gently put the glass down before tugging Heero to face him, side to the bar. The stool was high enough that it put Heero slightly below eye level with the other man, and fixed to the ground so that even as he parted his knees slightly, allowing the long-haired man to fit himself comfortably between Heero’s legs, both arms wrapping around him, he was still balanced and in no danger of falling.

Once the man was within his reach, he reached up with a small growl and yanked his head down, claiming his mouth in a searing kiss. The other man leaned into the kiss, parting his lips and their tongues tasted each other, demanding and pleading, hungry and intimate. Arms tightened around Heero’s waist as the man let out a quiet whimper, and Heero, who hadn’t thought he could get so aroused from a kiss, wanted to take him right there. He pulled back for air, but the other man let out a growl and dragged him back into a second equally demanding kiss.

With difficulty they finally pulled apart, and stared at each other, lust shining in both pairs of eyes. Finally the purple-eyed man licked slightly swollen lips and said hoarsely. “What’s your name?”

“Heero,” he replied. Somehow lying to this man, even about something so small like his name, which he had done to all his previous partners – somehow lying to him felt wrong.

A slow, delighted smile. “Heero,” the other man repeated, getting it right on the first try, which surprised and gratified him. “I like it. When others hear that, do they usually make some pun or crack a joke?”

He grimaced slightly. “Yes.”

This time, the smile was sweetly amused. “Then I shan’t. I don’t want you to remember me as merely one more face amongst the many people you must have met.”

He couldn’t help it, and smiled. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I’m glad. My name’s Duo.”

“Duo.” He tried it out, and liked the way it flowed off his tongue. There was nothing he didn’t like about Duo, actually, so far. He found that he wanted to know more about him, to hold him and protect him and make love to him for reasons so much more than satisfying his body so that he could work without distractions.

Excuse me, do you know – do you have any idea – what you sound like? the voice in his head demanded.

He knew, and realized too late that it was… well, too late. He knew, and he didn’t care.

+++

Duo had come to the club to dance off his frustrations for the past few nights, and he hadn’t had any plans to talk to anyone, let alone find a partner. But then he’d felt eyes on him, more intense than the other merely lecherous gazes he’d been unhappily bestowed with, and had searched out that gaze to tell the other person to fuck off.

He hadn’t expected the absolutely gorgeous man that the gaze belonged to, sitting up by the bar like some god overseeing his mortals. He hadn’t expected the overwhelming rush of attraction that made him tease the other man, wanting him to react. And react he had; when he’d licked his lips Duo had almost groaned out loud.

When the bartender caused the man to look away, the sudden loss that Duo felt had him moving towards the stairs as fast as he could, knowing that he would never be satisfied until he saw the other man up close, until he touched him and held up. And up close, the man – Heero – was so much more alluring. That smirk made him look hot, and those eyes, and that kiss, and the one after that… but it was when he’d smiled that Duo knew he was lost. He knew he should have lied about his name, he’d always been careful – but he couldn’t lie to those dark eyes. He wanted Heero, badly, and not only for his body, either.

So now, slipping his hand underneath Heero’s figure-hugging turtleneck and running his fingers over the smooth, hot skin, he offered Heero a hopeful smile. “Do you want to go to the Corner and make use of one of their armchairs?” The room, an extension of the club, was reserved for couples who wanted to simply chat and get to know each other better. Since it was public, anything above kissing and petting wasn’t allowed.

Heero nodded. Duo stood back to let him stand, which he did in one smooth movement and Duo marvelled at the grace he had. He picked up his glass of wine and gave Duo a small smile. “Shall we?”

Duo grinned, and pressed himself to Heero’s side, slipping an arm around the other man’s waist. He was surprised, but glad when Heero transferred the glass to his other hand and put his own arm around Duo’s waist, and the two, talking in low voices, made their way to the large, comfy armchairs scattered around the small room behind the glass door in the corner.

“I’m American, but travelled around as a kid – still do, now.”

“I’m Japanese, born in Japan but raised since three in America…”

They found a chair, and Heero set the wine down on the small table next to it before settling into the soft seat, tugging Duo down sideways on his lap. They arranged themselves so that Duo’s weight was not all on Heero’s legs, yet they were as close as it was possible to be. Duo snuggled against Heero, resting his head on a shoulder; Heero wrapped possessive arms around Duo.

By unspoken agreement they didn’t mention anything to do with their current lives, but they did talk about everything else. What they loved, liked, disliked, and absolutely loathed; where they had gone and what they wanted to do; things that they had never thought of revealing to anyone else before came tumbling out, and it felt all too natural. Heero ran his fingers through Duo’s hair and confided how much he liked the silky strands; Duo kept his hands warm against the skin of Heero’s stomach and promised never to cut it short. They kissed and caressed each other, not going too far but wanting to, so badly, and yet not: they liked the peace of it, the quiet powerful intimacy that they shared in this darkened room, filled with murmurs and whispers.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Duo invited Heero to dance. They rose to their feet, a little regretful, but anticipating the heat of dancing against each other, music pounding with their hearts. Hand in hand they left the room and descended to the dance floor, feeling as if they had known each other all their lives.

They were at the edge of the crowd when a voice yelled, “Hey, Dodo! Where the hell have you been?”

Heero blinked and looked around in some confusion. “Dodo? What poor soul…” Then he realized Duo was grimacing.

“That would be me.”

“Dodo?” Heero repeated incredulously.

“Didn’t I tell you she comes up with the most awful nicknames?” Duo groused.

“Ah, your housemate Hilde,” Heero said in understanding. He looked around, and spied the girl he’d seen dancing with Duo before – spiky blue hair and clothes that should be outlawed, being almost non-existent. His jaw dropped in a vague sort of horror before he remembered to close it; it was impolite.

Hilde stopped in front of them and glared at Duo. “You idiot, you left me alone to get mobbed by all those men!”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Duo demanded, glowering. “Anyway, I was busy.”

“Hello,” Heero said with an attempt at a smile as Hilde’s attention shifted to him. “I’m Heero, and you must be Duo’s friend Hilde.”

The girl looked at Heero, then at Duo, then back to Heero and then slowly smiled, staring blatantly at him. “My, my, you have been busy, Duo. Having fun, it seems.” She sidled closer to the Japanese man, licking her lips as she stared hungrily at him. Heero slowly backed away. He’d never been able to deal with this kind of woman outside the job, where he could just maim them and be done with it... frankly, they scared him a little.

Duo let go of Heero’s hand and stepped between them, holding up a hand in front of him and glaring in mock-anger at Hilde. “Down, girl! Drop the nymph act, I like him, okay?”

Hilde pouted. “Duo, you never know. I’ll check him out for you first, how ‘bout that? I’ll make sure to check him… very… throroughly.”

“Hilde?”

“Yes, Duo?”

“He’s mine.”

Heero blinked, the pure territoriality in Duo’s voice making heat shiver deliciously through him. Duo turned to wrap himself around Heero, pressing tightly to him and turning his head to rest on Heero’s shoulder, nuzzling his neck. “Mine,” the American purred, one hand sliding again under Heero’s turtleneck, the other sliding over Heero’s ass, and Heero suddenly wanted to trap him against the wall and make hot, fiery love to him right there in the middle of the club.

Hilde threw up her hands. “Fine, be that way,” she grumbled. “Just don’t expect me to let you in the house tonight.” She stalked away, so that only Heero heard Duo’s muttered, “But I’m not planning on going back tonight.”

She did look back, though, at the cut-off yelp behind her, just in time to see Heero shoving Duo against the wall and kissing him, hard, and Duo wrapping his arms around Heero’s neck and his legs around Heero’s waist. She sighed, then smiled to herself as she melted back into the crowd. Duo deserved someone, and it looked like Heero would be that someone. She hoped.

Duo and Heero had already forgotten about Hilde. “I want you, want you so bad,” Duo panted between kisses, their moans mingling.

How did I end up like this? Heero wondered hazily. I’m not supposed to be so involved…I have to start my next assignment tomorrow…if I let this go on I’ll never be able to let him go… and… ohhh, god, what is he doing?

Duo had tightened his legs, bringing their hips into even closer contact (though how this was possible, he had no idea), and was rubbing against Heero. “Can we go to your place?” the long-haired man purred in his ear.

I can’t… I have to find and kill someone tomorrow… I can't let Duo...

Duo, sensing his hesitation, let his legs drop to the floor, and before Heero could react he reversed their positions, pushing the Japanese man against the wall and kissing him as he ground against him, running his hands along Heero’s body. He was good at this, and knew that this balance of pressure and pleasure would drive any hesitation – hell, any logic – straight out of the other man’s mind and into a cement wall. He looked up into Heero’s eyes, invitation and pleading clear.

Heero groaned, surrendering, and gathered Duo in his arms, delivering one last scorching kiss before twining his fingers with Duo’s and pulling the long-haired man after him. Duo kept up with him, laughing breathlessly, and hearing him Heero knew that there was no escape, after tonight.

He welcomed that fate with open arms.

And because they were both too caught up in each other, neither of them noticed the cold pair of green eyes watching them go.

+++

[Ashen][...exploding ducks are a good omen.]

And the new day...

2005-10-26T12:28:58Z

I have no idea what to call this, no idea where it's going, but... here it is.

He wakes and eats and sleeps and wakes and walks around in a haze of his own thoughts, all day, every day. Aware of his surroundings, but uncaring. In school, surrounded by chatter; at home, encompassed by silence; to him there is no difference, he does not notice. He doesn't care for company but the company that is every moment by his side.

He's named the presence Duo, for it's part of him but not him, imaginary but all too real. Like a double-vision, a Duo-vision, on a hot sticky melty day under the scorching Sahara sun and on the shifting Sahara sands, a mirage of life that you swear you saw, you really did.

Duo is the only thing that keeps him going, guiding him through the day without injuries. Not his, but others'. The way he knifes his way through life he cannot understand the niceties, the evasiveness, the convolutions of social interaction. So, often, inevitably, he insults or invites insults, and when that latter happens he can't help but want to lash out there kick here knock them out like so. His is a violent nature, but Duo is there, always there, to remind him, to help him control when it threatens to slide out from under his skin.

Like now, for instance.

"Yeah, beady-eyed, yellow-skinned, we're talking to you, Yuy. Get that stick out your ass and talk back, you think you're good? You think you're good, you think you're better, you think you can ignore us when we talk to you, you little Asian brat?"

He wants to rip them apart, unpeg their puppet-limbs, bones so easily out of sockets. Every time a diferent group, why don't they learn, he just wants to be left alone, can't they leave him alone! Then arms slip around his waist, soft lips brushing his ear, a tenor voice murmuring soothing words keep calm, don't let them get to you, they're idiots, I'm here, focus on me, I love you and he can feel the warmth at his back seeping into him, filling him. He closes his eyes and smiles a little.

And they leave. Leave with loud disgusted comments on how he's a loon, a dope, insane, but they go and that's the important thing. They're gone, and he can't hurt them anymore. Duo's done it again, and he feel ridiculously relieved, ridiculous because there's never been any doubt that Duo would fail, would leave him alone. Duo is his, and his alone.

Yes... yours alone, love.

Mine. And I am yours.

He wonders idly if he would be classified by a psychiatrist as 'schizophrenic'.

Duo is so much more than a simple twist of his imagination, though. He has a personality, vibrant and carefree, and features so clear and unique. A past with roller-coaster ups and downs that match events he'd researched. He walks every night in his dreams with Duo, in a world more solid to him than the reality he inhabits physically.

He doesn't care that no-one can see Duo. That if he talks of a phantom that holds him, loves him, and whom he loves back, they will label him 'mentally unstable'. Crazy Yuy, Heero the Zero, little Asian brat can't measure up to us after all. Heero Yuy, resident nut, watch him crack. Crackcrackcrack.

Not going to give them the pleasure. Not going to let them win. Duo's real, and he's not ashamed to tell others just how precious Duo is but he won't because he doesn't want to share. Selfish, oh yes. But it's justified, because he has no one, nothing, no-one-thing but Duo.

You don't have to worry about that. I'll never leave you even if I have to weld myself to you with a blowtorch.

Won't that hurt?

Not as much as the other option, no.

I'll never leave you either. Even if you almost kill me with your blowtorch.

Good to know I'm loving a masochist.

He imagines what he looks like to others - sitting there with his expressions changing for no apparent reason, a smirk, a quirked brow, a sigh. He only ever shows emotions when he's having mental conversations with Duo; normally he is stoic, blank, cold. It must be weird for them. Not that he cares, when he's wrapped in strong gentle arms with a chin propped on his shoulder, and cheery laughter ringing in his ears.

He does his work in school; lingers, when he is done. The ordeal of school ends when the final bell rings, when his tormentors leave. He borrows a cello from the school’s string orchestra and finds an empty room to play in, locking the door and closing the drapes on the windows. He does not turn on the lights, and so sunlight is faded gold through those curtains; the room is strangely muted, like an old film in brown sepia. The strings are liquid under his fingers, the bow warm; the heavy old notes hang in the trembling air, and if silent tears and sorrow were sounds, they’d be the deep resonating notes of the cello that sang with his swaying figure, eyes closed.

He stays as long as he possibly can, but when the light begins to burn orange he knows he has to return that precious instrument, to step out of the echo-y emptiness of the school into the late afternoon, early evening, wide world and the path that led to his house.

Not a home, just a house.

Walking slowly, he takes deliberate steps. Steady, one foot after the other, he focuses on moving, just moving, or he’ll turn tail and run. He’ll stop, and that’s a no-no, because he’s not going to flee. Not a coward, oh no, not a butterfly rubbing its butterfly-nose in flower fields, so harmless and pretty, so defenceless and weak, so useless. Not that, but a bee, stinging and dying for it. So he focuses, and moves. Step, step, step. Step.

It’s nearing dusk; he amuses himself, takes his mind off – things – by watching the colours play in the sky. Play. Like an orchestra, violins and flutes and a hundred-strong cast. There’s this book he read once, he’s reminded of it, what was it again?

The Phantom Tollbooth?

Ah. Yes. The orchestra of colours, forever playing on, with some stupid kid coming by once in a millennia to screw things up.

I like that book. Read it as a kid. It’s not pretentious, or too convoluted, trying to be all mysterious and philosophical like some. It’s, what’s the word, subtle but not too much. Hidden in plain sight, y’know?

He’d found it childish. Its messages – clichéd.

To each his own, love. But I thought you of all people would appreciate things being plainly hidden.

Duo, always with him, but not. Yes. He struggles with the words that want to speak themselves. I’m sorry. Please don’t be upset, I do appreciate you. More than that, I – I need you, want you. Rely on you and trust you. I believe in you – the kind of believing where I will clap my hands for you until they are bruised, until they are numb, until they are raw, just to keep you real…

A smile like that could inspire a handful of broken men to conquer a country. He’s read that line before, or something similar, somewhere, someplace and every time he sees Duo’s smile, Duo’s face, just Duo, he understands the dizzying sentiments that accompany it.

So now I’m Tinkerbell?

Gentle teasing, and he’s glad for it; Duo’s offering him a way out, because he’s said too much, too much. But – he’s not a butterfly.

Tinkerbell belongs to children and Peter Pan. You’re Duo, mine and I love you.

Duo’s answer is a kiss, strong, gentle, thorough. It’s become a tradition, this kiss. A brief respite, a healing balm, remember-you-still-have-me before the second half of his day-long ordeal begins. He’s vaguely aware that he’s stopped in the middle of the tree-lined path, head tilted up to the sky between the leaves and lips slightly parted, a dazed lunatic to passer-bys. He hopes there are none, but thought is swept away before long and all he feels is a body pressed against his, a soul loving him, warm arms against the autumn breeze and the wind blown leaves, falling whispers of russet snow rustling so briefly past his skin. Little fairies of the woods, tiny hands and tiny feet and magic mushroom rings that capture you and make you stay forever.

He thinks hazily that he wouldn’t mind so much.

Duo pulls away, finally, leaving him flushed and, warm, breath coming out in little white puffs in the cool air. Like an intoxicated man with a pipe in his hands and opium smoke in his mouth, addicted and lost; like the Magic Dragon, Puff-who-lived-by-the-sea. And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honna Lee, and was thrown aside like so much trash and useless burdensome rubbish.

Don’t think like that.

How can I not? I’m going to hear it in five minutes.

Five minutes later he’s proved right.

“You’re finally home, boy! You doing that music thing of yours, weren’t you! Don’t lie to me! I don’t know why I don’t just disown you, you’re useless, a waste of money –”

– good money that they could use for their retirement, all wasted on his education, his upkeep, and they would never get it back because he would amount to nothing. Nothing! He took them for granted, one day they would die and what would he do? He’d die as well, because he was a stupid boy who didn’t want to do as his parents advised, with their years of experience. Music, hah, music wouldn’t bring home money; musicians were a dirt-poor lot who had nothing better to do than waste their parents’ income on frivolous things like music – and all the while his mother watched from the side, silent and accusing with her crow-feet eyes.

He bows his head in wordless submission, and does not talk back. It is unthinkable to talk back; it goes against everything he’s been taught. A Japanese boy must always defer to his elders, and to do otherwise would add another sin to his list and give his father more to be angry about. So he doesn’t, but it takes every desperate whisper from Duo, every ounce of strength in those arms around him as he stands there.

And look at the pretty, pretty fanart that Ling Xi sent me a few days ago - that girl can draw. *sighs in envy*

[Ashen][...was a great big fish.]

[Vampire...]

2005-06-22T04:39:54Z

This is... long. Really long. And random. Really random.

And I admit to shameless use of my twin muses. Who are also, incidentally, the main characters in this thing called a Roundrobin which someone is supposed to be writing the second chapter for...?

The corpse was withered, void of all blood and water, a mummy in a perfectly creased black-tie-dinner suit. Over it knelt a man, head bowed, body tense and trembling. Only minutely, of course, but nothing escaped the gaze of the two other men standing before him.

Those two stood at ease, but instinctively somehow one knew it would be a bad idea to take advantage of that and try to take advantage of them. One, standing slightly behind the other, wore a dark green turtleneck that matched his one visible green eye perfectly. This eye was focused on the corpse; the other eye – what it focused on was a mystery behind the fall of dark brown bangs that covered it. Black jeans hid long legs, and his feet – black, worn leather boots.

The other man had purple eyes, intent as well on the corpse. Those eyes were black holes Aurora-hid, their glowing colour attracting gazes and sucking in those that were so foolish. Chestnut bangs did not obstruct but framed a youthful face, and a hip-length braid trailed down the back of his black leather coat, the exact shade of the darkest shadow. Under the cloak was a dark red silk shirt, the sleeves folded up mid-forearm, the hem tucked out over figure-hugging black slacks. Stark white bandages wrapped around his palm, his wrists, disappeared into the sleeves. His boots were similar to the other man’s but dustier. When he spoke, his low tenor was pleasant in tone, but nevertheless caused the kneeling man to flinch.

“Third one this week, hmm? Why wasn’t I informed of these deaths sooner…?” His gaze was unforgiving on the back of the bowed head before him.

“My Lord Shinigami… we thought, we thought it might be a fluke, a small matter, not worth bothering you with – ”

“A fluke happening three times?”

The man was almost shaking now. “We thought it could be, perhaps, the same hunter who killed them, perhaps he did it wrongly…” Wisely, feeling the slow acid anger becoming almost tangible, he trailed off and shut up.

“How often does one of us die, Captain? How often do you have to inform relations of a death?”

“Two… two of three times a year, my lord.”

“And these recent deaths were in the span of…?”

His voice was shaking now, too. “A… a week…”

“How often have you actually had to deal with a dead body, Captain?”

The man was silent.

“Captain?”

“…Never, my lord.”

“And if I had not had an appointment with Lord Morhange and therefore was in place to find his corpse, when would you have informed the Court of this matter? In a month, or two? When the bodies are coming one a day?”

The pitiful Captain dared not speak.

Shinigami let the moment drag out a little longer to uncomfortable proportions, then nodded grimly. He crouched cat-like in a sudden movement that caused the kneeling man to flinch back, but he was not Shinigami’s objective. Instead, the cloaked Lord extended bandaged hands over the corpse’s head and heart.

The Captain watched silently as Shinigami remained like that for a few moments, then shook his head and turned slightly to nod at the green-eyed man, who stepped forward to place both hands on Shinigami’s shoulders. A few seconds, and then he suddenly stumbled back, visible eye wide.

“That’s – ”

“Yes.” The purple-eyed man stood, calmly. He stepped back from the corpse, looking down at it contemplatively. “Calm yourself, Nanashi.”

Behind him, the green-eyed Nanashi took a deep breath and settled, expression going blank, body relaxing again. The damage had been done, though. The Captain’s mind was racing. What could have startled the normally silent, blank Lord Nanashi?

“Captain.”

He looked up.

“Carry out your duties in relation to Lord Morhange’s death. Any further such corpses, tell me immediately. You have been keeping these incidents silent?”

“Yes, Lord Shinigami.”

“How? I expect that questions would have been asked and a fuss been made by their relations.”

“We stake the bodies, my lord, before we inform them. My men and I have discovered all the bodies so far, and we know better than to let knowledge of this spread.”

“Very good. Keep it that way.”

The Captain didn’t even have the time to answer before Shinigami vanished; one moment there and the next moment gone. Nanashi had followed him, and he found himself alone with the corpse.

With a sigh, he stood, knees protesting the movement after having been bent for so long. He had a duty to carry out.

+++

The City was built in a enormous underground cavern made of rock. The majority of the residents lived in the City itself, with their houses and the shops built on the ground, but some of the more powerful Lords had built theirs into the face of the rock wall. The view was good, and they had an unlimited space to expand – providing that they had the power to do so.

Shinigami was one of those who had the power. Though most knew his real name, Duo Maxwell, only a few had the privilege of calling him by that name. His apartment was large, but sparsely decorated; there were only a few luxuries in there – an example would be a well-stocked wine bar.

When he appeared in his living room, Duo immediately made his way towards that particular luxury, set against one wall. He was just pouring his second glass of wine when Nanashi arrived. The name Nanashi, like Shinigami, was also a nickname, and few knew him by his original one, Trowa Barton.

“When?” Duo asked when he felt the presence behind him.

An arm reached past him to pour another glass. “Tomorrow evening, six. We have twenty-four hours.”

“Good enough. Thanks, Tro.” He wandered over to one of the couches in the living room and flung himself down on it, brooding into his wine.

“Duo...?”

“This could cause mass panic, you know? Hysteria, chaos, the works.”

“Yes.”

“What the hell was it? Could it have been mutated, d’you think?”

Trowa shook his head, troubled. “I can recall nothing that would have that kind of effect.”

“Not a hunter, either. They don’t have powers, and we detected traces of it. Nothing you’ve ever felt before?”

“No.”

Duo sighed. “Then we have to assume the worst.”

“…Yes.”

“Like I said. Panic, hysteria, chaos, death and destruction.”

Trowa smirked a little as he went to sit on the couch opposite Duo, though with more poise than his friend. “Dramatic.”

“Maybe the ‘death’ part,” Duo agreed without pause. Then he knocked back the last of his drink and flung himself to his feet. “This goes against everything, you realize? The world as we know it, upside-down, on its side, dried and withered and drained of every single tiny drop of blood and moisture. What kind of creature can do that?”

Trowa shrugged, watching Duo pace.

“Oh, that’s very helpful.”

“I try.”

Duo made a face at him. “It’s not funny. Morhange was one of the older ones, and he fell victim. If even he couldn’t defend against whoever did this, what hope do the majority have? And more importantly – these powers can’t have just appeared from nothing. I just hope it’s a bizarre fluke, a one-time, one-person thing... because if it isn’t…”

“That means there’s another equally powerful group out there,” Trowa finished.

“Hiding, like we are. Biding their time, maybe? For what? Do they know we exist? Oh, damn it all.” He looked over to Trowa. “Can we go above? I need to feed.”

Trowa got to his feet. “So do I. Meet you at the N-Gate in five.” He walked over to the bar, put down his glass, and disappeared.

“Yeah,” Duo said absently to the air as he made his way to his room, deep in thought.

+++

They emerged from the N-Gate into the aboveground world, in a dark alleyway. Duo took the lead, sauntering down the street, with Trowa next to him. Duo hadn’t changed, only put on black kohl eyeliner, while Trowa had opted for a brown leather coat over a sleeveless turtleneck. They drew appreciative stares from the passer-bys, most of them heading towards the same part of town, only a few streets away – the Night District, where the stores, most of them clubs, operated only when it was dark.

They settled in a club where they were regulars, and ordered drinks while they watched the crowd gyrating on the dance floor. There was always a wide selection to choose from, in this club.

“That guy there, black hair, lean body, having the time of his life.”

“Nah, not my type… looks good, but I prefer them less… wild.”

“Ah. So you’re looking for a bed partner as well.”

“Maybe not a bed, per se… but yeah. I need to work off my nerves. Hey, that blond in red looks good. The one grinding against – whoa, three at a time.”

“No, too… energetic.”

“You’re right. Hey, isn’t that Kyo? That red-haired guy?”

Trowa looked. “You’re right.”

“I don’t see Kei, though. That’s weird; the two of them are always together when they’re aboveground.”

“Kyo looks like he’s searching for something.”

“He looks worried.”

“Panicked.”

“…Not good.”

They got up as one and moved with purpose through the crowd, touching minds here and there to ease their way through. The Japanese twins had managed to retain their cheerful energy and optimistic outlook through centuries of not-living, and seeing such a look on one of their faces did not bode well. They caught a flash of red hair and followed it through a door, out into an alleyway.

And instinctively threw up temporary shields as a blast of wind nearly killed them.

The hell? Duo thought frantically as he took in the scene in an instant. Kyo had apparently found his brother. The red-haired twin was standing protectively in front of the younger blue-haired Kei, his hand held palm-out before him. That pose meant that he’d used his powers, and judging from the angle of the wind blast, he’d used them to deflect the attack away and coincidentally onto the two newcomers.

The origin of the attack was a man in his thirties – unassuming, if not for the vicious snarl on his face, the entirely white eyes with no pupils whatsoever, and the wind swirling around him, as evident by the movement of his clothes and hair. The problem was, there was no wind anywhere else.

Keeping a wary eye on the man, the twins moved to stand with Duo and Trowa. They were also Lords, Kei known as Hydra and Kyo as Agni, both after deities in human myths.

“He uses wind to attack,” Kei informed them quietly.

“He’s powerful,” Kyo added. “That blast knocked me back a few steps. I enclosed this place in a bubble, to be safe.”

Duo nodded. Not taking his eyes off the man, who had closed his eyes and started muttering to himself, he said, “Trowa?”

“It’s him,” the other man replied. “Or at least, his power.”

He nodded grimly. “I thought as much.”

“You know what he is?” Kyo demanded.

“No, but we know what he is capable of,” Duo said. “Wait – can you feel that?”

“His power’s increasing,” Kei agreed. “We have to – ”

The attack came brutally fast, and unexpected. Kyo screamed his brother’s name as the blue-haired twin was picked up bodily by a powerful wind, and held there in mid-air. They couldn’t even get close to either Kei or their attacker, the winds were so strong. Blasts of their power were merely deflected.

“Dammit!” Duo growled, hating what he knew he had to do. He began undoing the bandages on his right arm. When his arm was bare, he shoved the white strip into a pocket on his coat, and called. His power came easily to him, and he knew the purple of his irises would have turned black, the same non-colour as the power that was gathering around his hand.

He let the power settle into his skin, and then walked forward. The winds did not bother him this time, and he moved easily. Kei was his first priority, as he let his power form a protective circle around the twin, stopping the wind’s attack. Without the air to hold him up, Kei dropped to the ground, and Duo left a dome of black fire around him, making sure that his power did not touch skin.

Then he turned his attention to the man, who, apparently, was throwing everything he had at Duo – but he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything but a thirst for life, for pain, and he knew the feral grin on his face showed it.

I want your life, bit by bit. I’ll take it all, slowly, I'll let you feel the pain, the terribly agony of dying helplessly. I’ll make you feel fear, feel terror, and I’ll make you cringe and beg at my feet…

The man was in arm’s reach. He laughed at the insane anger on that face. You have no idea what’s coming.

He used his other hand to call forth purple fire to pin the man’s lower body and torso, then reached out with one black fire-covered finger, and touched the man’s eyelid.

Flesh wrinkled and turned rotten, decomposing. A black film covered the eyeball, and then it followed suit, rotting away in the socket.

Duo grinned in mirthless, cruel delight.

The man screamed.

He did the other eye next, causing the man’s limbs to start flailing, but when fingers and arms came into contact with his power they began rotting, too.

Terror fear agony pain helplessness life and death all mine… mine.

The nose; an ear. The other ear. They all crinkled, blackened, peeled off and shrivelled to reveal white but blackening bone. Blood dripped, and when it encountered black fire it vanished.

Let’s see… what next?

But then there were arms around him, pining him against a warm body, immobilizing his hands. It was so foreign a feeling that he was confused for a second.

No one, no one at all, had ever been able to touch him when his full power was unleashed.

He was vaguely aware of white fire spreading through his black, and wherever the two met they vanished, leaving empty air. He stopped generating power, and as the black and purple flowed back into his hands, his consciousness returned.

He stared in horror at the man at his feet, crumpled into a heap, black decomposed flesh where eyes and nose and ears had been, and tried to back away. The body behind him let him go, then, and he turned around, shaking, struggling with the pain that always came after using that particular power.

The man took two steps backwards, out of Duo’s personal space. He looked Asian, but with dark, wind-tossed brown hair and a pair of piercing, deep blue eyes. He was about the same height as Duo was, wearing a black jean jacket over what looked to be a green tank top and black jeans that covered brown boots. His eyes were unreadable as he raised a hand and white fire gathered around it.

Duo tensed as this new power streamed towards him, but its target was the man behind Duo. Turning, he watched in shock as the fire surrounded the man – and slowly restored what Duo had destroyed. Eyes, ears, nose, arms – everything. When it was done, the man was slumped on the ground. Was he alive?

“He’s unconscious.”

Duo turned back towards the newcomer, who regarded him coolly. He was about to say something when Kyo’s yell made him hurry over. As he reclaimed the power that formed the dome, he could see that Kei’s skin was dry and pale, and felt nauseous at the thought that he would have ended up like Morhange and the other poor bastards that had died, if they hadn’t been there. If he hadn’t done what he did.

It took some of the agony away, knowing that.

Kyo, usually the tough one, was almost in tears. “He’s not waking up, Duo,” he whispered, cradling his twin in his arms. “He’s so pale, and I’d give him my blood if he’d just wake up and take it – ”

“Let me help.”

They all turned to stare at the stranger. “You!” Kyo spat. “That man – he was one of yours, wasn’t he? You had the same powers! The same damned control over wind!”

“Yes. I will not deny that – but I will tell you that he was not in his right mind.”

“Not in his right mind!”

“Kyo.” Duo put a hand on the red-haired twin’s shoulder, and he quieted. “This guy just might be able to help – I’ve seen his power. Let him.”

The Japanese man looked at him, then at his brother. Silently he nodded.

The Asian man immediately crouched down by Kei’s prone body and held his hands over him. The white power Duo had seen flowed out again, covering Kei. A minute of apprehensive silence passed, and then the fire dimmed and stopped. The man stood and stepped back as Kei stirred.

As Kyo fought tears of relief, Duo turned to face the stranger. He held out a hand, pushing aside the urge to curl up into a ball and hide – for now. “Duo Maxwell,” he said with a small smile. “Thank you. For them,” he nodded towards the twins, “and for… stopping me. How you did it I have no clue, but thanks.”

The other man took his hand. “Heero Yuy,” he said with a nod.

They let go, and Duo grinned at him with a touch of a warning in it. “I have a feeling we have a lot of things to discuss, Mr Yuy. One of which is why your kind, whatever it is, is trying to kill mine.”

A slim eyebrow rose. “My kind have been dying in… unusual ways, as well. Apparently the work of yours, as you are the only ones who could have done it.”

Duo frowned at that. “You too? Okay, look, I’m really bad at this polite diplomacy thing, so can we just speak plainly? What are you guys, anyway?”

Heero was about to speak when Duo, all senses on alert after what had just happened, dropped to the ground in a crouch as a blur whistled past, heading for the Asian after it had missed its original target – and suddenly, hitting an invisible wall, clattering to the ground. Duo blinked up at Heero, who shrugged. “Compressed air,” he said, as if it explained everything.

Duo rolled his eyes and got to his feet, turning to face yet another newcomer. Seeing the crossbow, ready to fire another arrow, he groaned.

“Not – ”

“Evil beasts of the dark, die!”

“ – another stupid Hunter,” he finished, sighing.

Trowa moved in a blur of speed, hand lashing out at the back of the Hunter’s neck, rendering him unconscious. Then everyone froze as another Hunter appeared out of nowhere to pin Trowa in a steel grip, as a third man placed the tip of a stake at Trowa’s heart.

“No one move,” came the order from the man holding Trowa. He was another Asian, hair as black as his eyes; he wore a black coat over blue jeans and his hair in a tight ponytail. His taller partner had long silver-blond hair tied at the nape of his neck, ice blue eyes, and black slacks and a white shirt. Duo recognized them at once, and cursed himself mentally for not having sensed their presence. Never mind that he’d had a lot to deal with, it wasn’t an excuse.

“Oh, not now!” he snapped. “Wuffie, Zechsy, aren’t you getting tired of this?”

The younger man growled. “Will you stop those infernal nicknames, Shinigami! My name is Chang Wufei, as his is Zechs Marquise – remember them!”

The other man was not so easily riled, and smiled at Duo. “No, not really. Especially since now we have you at a disadvantage. You are fast, Shinigami, but not that fast. By the time you get here, or use your powers, Nanashi here will be dead.”

“Why do you not kill him then?”

All eyes turned in surprise to Heero, who raised an eyebrow. “If you wanted to kill him, you’d have done it immediately. It does not matter if you kill him or take him away to finish the job, these people – ” he nodded at the twins and Duo, “ – will still go after you. Why hold him at your mercy and talk? It provides more time for an escape plan to be put together. It is the mark of a foolish man.”

Duo laughed outright. “I love this guy,” he said, grinning as Wufei sputtered as Zechs stared. Even Trowa had a vague look of amusement on his face.

“You’re right, we don’t need to waste time,” Wufei said finally, face flushed. “Zechs – do it.”

The blond shrugged, and his hand moved –

And the arrow stopped right above Trowa’s heart.

Zechs cursed. “What the hell?”

“Is it you again?” Duo asked Heero without turning.

“No. My hold over my powers are tenuous right now; to try to control the wind in my state would be chancy at best, at that distance.”

“Which is why he called me to come,” said a light voice. A slim blonde stood in front of the club door, smiling pleasantly at them. His blue-green eyes and light golden-blond hair made him look innocent; the look in his eyes was not. He wore a pair of khakis with a poet’s gauzy white shirt, cuffs buttoned but top buttons undone. “My name is Quatre Winner. Nice to meet you all. Now, let go of him, please.”

No one moved, and he sighed, then narrowed his eyes. Winds suddenly came out of nowhere, and gently but firmly pried the Hunters apart. Trowa, once free, moved quickly to stand with the rest.

“What are you?” Zechs demanded, staring at Quatre. “You and apparently that brown-haired guy over there. You’re not vampires, but I’ve never heard of you!”

“Oh, so you guys are vampires,” Quatre said to Trowa cheerfully, as Heero said at the same time, “We are Zephyrs.”

There was a pause. Then:

“Vampires?” Heero repeated.

“Zehpyrs?” Duo and Wufei said together.

“What are they, then?” Quatre indicated Wufei and Zechs.

“You are a vampire?” Heero asked Duo.

“What are Zephyrs?” Zechs demanded.

“We’re vampires,” Duo said to Heero.

“Hunters,” Trowa told Quatre.

“Zephyrs are vampires and Hunters?” Wufei said.

“What’s a Hunter?” Quatre said, puzzled.

“What’s a Zephyr?” Duo asked.

“We are,” Wufei said.

“They are,” Trowa said.

“Zephyrs?” Duo said to Wufei.

“No, Hunters,” Zechs corrected.

There was another pause. Then:

“What?”

Trowa shook his head and smacked the back of Duo’s head lightly.

“Ow!” Duo rubbed the back of his head and shot a mock-glare at Trowa. “Okay, okay. Look, all I'll just take over for a while, ok? Apparently Quatre and Heero here are Zephyrs, whatever that is, as is that man who tried to attack us. This here is Nanashi, as I am Shinigami – we’re vampires.”

“Vampire Lords,” Wufei spat.

“Yes, yes.” Duo waved a vague hand in his direction. “What he says. The twins have gone off, likely to find somewhere to recuperate, but they’re vampires, too. And finally Marquise and Chang there are Hunters.”

“What are Hunters?” Quatre said quickly.

“Just this really pesky group of humans who want to kill us.”

“Oh. Why?”

“How am I to know? Maybe our ancestors accidentally spilt pasta over theirs and forgot to say sorry.”

“This is ridiculous,” Heero interrupted, scowling. “Can we just dump these Hunters somewhere and get on with it? There appears to be a pressing state of matters between your kind and mine.” He nodded at Duo.

“That whole going insane and attacking people thing, yeah.” Duo looked apologetically at the Hunters. “Look, sorry to run, but we really don’t have the time to bother with you now – ”

“Wait.”

Duo fell silent, noting the furrowed brows and contemplative looks on the Hunters’ faces.

“Did you say… members of your species are randomly attacking people without cause?”

“Yes,” Duo said testily. “Don’t worry, though, we can still hold our own – ”

“We have the same problem.”

They stared at Zechs, who had spoken. The Hunter turned to his partner, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. They lowered their crossbows.

“We would like to be included in your discussion, if it is about this… affliction that seems to be affecting all three of our species,” Wufei said calmly.

There was a silence, in which no one seemed to know what to do.

Then Duo said brightly, “Well! This is going to be quite the party. Anyone for pizza? I like pizza.”

“Can we make one seafood?” Quatre said hopefully.

[Ashen Skies][...fic.]

[Neil...]

2005-06-13T11:39:30Z

Oh my.

Neil Gaiman's coming to Singapore for a book signing, talk, and talk-and-book-signing deal in July.

Singapore's so small we've given up hope of any really famous people coming to do stuff, but this proves us wrong. ^_^

Now if only I could find the time to read one of his works... I read this list, see of all his achievements. I hadn't even realized it was possible to *have* that many awards and honours and whatnots. I am speechless. I need to go buy his books.

Do you think he'd sign Good Omens if I ask him nicely? >_<

[Ashen Skies][...Gaiman!]

[A rose by any other name...]

2005-04-14T13:23:47Z

*snerks*

This is hilarious. Taken from inthefire2002's friend, miriald.

Baby names gone wrong...

A few excerpts below: italicized words are the site author's comments.

+

For the last 50 years, my family has been naming their children after Southwestern Ontario cities. My brother is Barrie, my sister is Kingston, and my cousin is Markham. I am due in two weeks (it'll be a girl) and I thinking about naming her either York or Orillia. What do others think?

I think it's time for a nuclear strike against Ottawa.

(Reader Tom wrote in to suggest that she branch out to include other provinces and name her after this town, the single greatest town in Newfoundland, or perhaps anywhere else...)

+

In a few months I'm going to be a new mom, and we know its a girl. My dh and I have been discussing names lately (we already have six children: Jack Dominick, Rose Solenne, Monroe Charlize, Ophelia Eden, Heart Scarlett, Pascal Sebastien) and our favorites right now are... (etc.)

Okay, I think this lady's lying. No two people could contain between them enough evil to conceive both of this many children and this many f'ed up names. Even a godless universe contains more rhyme and reason.

+

Thazel is a name I've wanted to use for either a boy or a girl. Is that name too weird? It's a combination of my grandmothers who pasted away just three weeks apart. (Thelma and Hazel)

"So where'd you get that interesting name, Thazel?"
"A string of mysterious tragedies. Now I'm haunted by two bickering old ladies from far beyond the grave."
"Oh, that's nice."

+

It seems to me that the name "Scatman" is a great one. you know: after semi-singer and comedian Scatman Crothers.
I keep envision having a son named Scatman. I can imagine everyone he meets saying, 'What a cool name.' Which is good because that way they'll have something to like about him even if his personality is really off-putting. Or if he's shallow or a bully when he's like 13, when he should be getting into punk rock or something. At least they'll think he has a hip name.

But don't use it, cause I thought of it.

Damn! But your arguments are so compelling! If he grows up to be an asshole, people will still like him. And if he's a meek nerd, no one will POSSIBLY find something mean to call him as is name is already a toilet insult.

And then Jack Nicholson will hit him in the chest with an axe.

+

I really like Freddie Prinze jr. and heard his father was famous and died tragically. What was his name?

His name was Scatman.

+

My last name is Tinkletop. For some reason my wife objects to naming our son Timothy, Timmy for short. I think it's a good, memorable name.

You're right.

+

My daughter-in-law would like to name the baby River Sunshine. That's the first and middle names. I think he's going to be teased in school.

Are you kidding? Boys love being called Sunshine. And it goes so well with the last name "Stankowski."

+

I'm expecting triplets in April and we've picked out the girls names: Alexana Chenaur and Kia Nicasey. the boy my husband wants to name Richard Allen, I think it's a bit boring and prefer Shaden Elijah. Last name Zane. What do you think? I prefer unusual but not to far out.

Chenaur - She can grow up into a half-man, half-bull who roams the labirynth!

Update! Eagle-eyed reader Susan pointed out something I missed in my Chenaur-induced dementia. The proposed boy's name would be said "Shade Insane."

But then, aren't all the names here?

+

I am thinkimg of naming my girl Oleo. But my husband has a different idea and wants to name her Rodana! What do you think?

Cookies and rodents. Sure. Kid'll love it.

+

To the parent who is naming their son Rebecca~ that is so horrible! What if their son growing up isn't all the brawny and muscular, too!! Think of what he would think! Um, wrong!!
P.S. I am 19

To the person writing about a boy named Rebecca - You're not reading at your grade level! That person never said that! And would it have made a difference if boy Rebecca were all femmy and gay, too!! Um, no!!
P.S. I could tell you're 19

+

i wanted to name my girl Heaven but i have been getting alot of mixed reactions to it. is it to weird?

No one liked my choice of "Solace" for my second daughter. I loved it for it's meaning (comfort). It has grown on the rest of my family though and even strangers tell me what a beautiful, unique name it is.

Really? Is that what "solace" meant? I thought it was part of a turkey for some reason. OK, that's it. I officially declare all nouns off-limits. No Heaven, no Destiny, no Solace. Too much pressure. You just know Heaven will be a miserable bitch, Destiny a welfare queen and Solace in desparate need of Ritalin. No nouns. Not ever. No Hunter, no Colt, no Trinity, no Summer. No River, no Phoenix. No Attica, no Chance, no December. No Aria, no Legend, no god damn Dakota. Have you ever been to either of the Dakotas? Yeah, there's a reason. It's the same reason no one names their kids Iowa, Nebraska, Idaho or Wyoming.

+

And there's more. A lot more. >.<

+

I am so glad I have sensible parents.

[Ashen Skies][...would be way, way happier.]

[Survival of...]

2005-03-26T11:10:44Z

Wow.

*peers at LJ*

I cannot believe I am updating my blog ~~twice in a week~~ twice in as many days.

And with fics both times, too. I feel productive. I'd feel even more productive if I'd actually continued my current fics instead of starting a new one. *sighs* Oh well. What's done is done... enjoy?

+++

One last mouthful, and the plates were clean. One last sip, and the tea and coffee cups – empty.

They made idle chitchat, then, seemingly random and lighthearted, full of amusing little tidbits on personal lives. Their relaxation, though, was merely a way to put off the inevitable confrontation.

The serenity couldn’t last. They all knew that. And Duo, being Duo, could never keep his peace for long.

So he made the first attack. It was a well thought-out one, subtle and hard to counter. And he picked the perfect opponent to use it on.

“Hey ‘Fei, could you buy me some ice-cream? You’re sitting at the aisle and I’m right next to the window – it’s kinda hard for me to get out. Please?”

Wufei scrambled for a defense. “Don’t be lazy, Duo.” Not the best he could have done; there were holes in it that could be fatal.

Quatre knew it, too, and strategic abilities helped him decide to form a temporary alliance – after all, it meant one less opponent. “I’m at the window, too, and I would really like some desert to top off the night… please, ‘Fei?”

The Chinese knew when he was beaten, and he accepted defeat graciously after a second of hesitation. He got up and headed towards the counter, four pairs of eyes tracking his every movement. Four sighs of relief in varying level of audibility were let out when he reached the counter safely, without pausing to speak to anyone on the way, and started queuing in the very long queue (part of Duo’s calculations).

Duo smiled. It was not a nice smile. So far, so good.

What he didn’t notice, was that Quatre was smiling an innocent smile. At him. And anyone who knew Quatre was that this was Not A Good Sign.

In this instance, it was because Quatre’s reasoning went like this: Duo always goes on the offensive. So it’s better to take out the attacker with an unexpected attack first, and then work on whittling away the others’ defenses.

“Oh yes, Duo, Carrie over at In the Ice says she’s got this new flavour of ice cream for you to taste – Mocha Fudge, I think? She said to tell you, drop by anytime today for a free scoop or four. They’re closing soon, so you’d better make it quick.”

Duo was clearly torn. It was a devastating attack, indeed – no man should have to choose between free samples of Mocha Fudge ice cream and winning a battle. So he stalled. “Mocha Fudge? Sounds interesting, but I’ve already sponged off Carrie enough. She dotes on me lots, I feel guilty…”

If this went on he just might convince himself not to go. That would never do. So Quatre implemented the second half of his attack. “Nah, don’t feel bad, women just love you. Speaking of which, Tricia also wanted you to drop by the C-House. Says you haven’t been by for a drink for a while, so she wanted to treat you to one or two of her latest coffee concoctions over a chat.”

There was no way to counter this, Quatre knew. Guilt over not keeping in contact, and free samples – he’d won, and hands-down.

Duo sighed and then grinned. “Well then, I guess I have no choice but to go catch up with those lovely ladies. See you guys back at the Mansion later.”

“I really wish he’d stop calling my house that, it’s not that huge,” Quatre murmured to no one in particular as they watched Duo saunter out of the room, exchanging helpless shrugs with the still-nowhere-near-the-counter Wufei as he went out.

Alright, two to go. Who next? If he left Trowa for last, he could always work on retaliation at home, so he should work on Heero first – oh no. Too late.

The three remaining bodies at the table stiffened as three pairs of eyes snapped towards an approaching figure. Their target was here.

Hands surreptitiously slipped into clothing.

Three. Two.

“Hello, sirs – ”

One.

“ – er, here’s the bill?” the waiter squeaked, staring cross-eyed at the three credit cards shoved under his noise with split-second reflexes.

They glared at each other. Three voices spoke at the same time.

“The bill is mine!”

+++

From the kitchen doorway, two waiters winced in sympathy for their fellow compatriot, who was visibly cringing as hands flew right in front of his face, shoving each other away from the black leather-covered clipboard thing that they used to clip bills on.

(A/N – I have no idea what it’s called, sorry.)

“Think we should’ve warned him?”

“Nah... we all had to go through it. It’s almost tradition. Besides, no one else would’ve gone, he’s the only one who doesn’t know.”

“You’re a hard man, Bri.”

“Survival of the fittest, Pete. C’mon, let’s get back to work. He’ll be fine.”

“I hope.”

“Well, I’m hoping that we get a new guy here before they come again…”

+++

My reasoning is that the G-boys are all very independent people.

^_^;

Okay, I'm sorry. I don't know which muse possessed me.

*wanders off to continue reading BMB*

Oh yes, speaking of which, all my yaoi-loving friends must read it! It's one of the best online comics I've read. Boy Meets Boy. Thanks to merula31 for intro-ing it! kizha you could use it as inspiration for the second chap of the roundrobin...

[Ashen Skies][...the Fittest!]

[Howl's Moving Castle!]

2005-03-20T16:10:55Z

I absolutely adore that movie. It has officially become my favourite movie of all time, just like how Ender's Game has become my favourite book of all time after reading it again. And seeing as I never had a favourite anything before, this day is going down in my personal history as a monumental event.

*randomly* Howl is Hot.

*loves*

stolen from merula31!

What Type of Yaoi Fanfic Writer Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

okay, now this I don't agree with. ;_; Evil writer? Hey, I torture my characters only a little, and not my readers at all! I'm very nice to my readers except for the whole irregular update thing. And no one really crawls on their knees to beg for more. Squeal for more, maybe, but I don't hold that in the same light. My reviews decrease by the chapter. (Not that I'm counting, of course. Nuh-uh.)

And can anybody make sense of this review? For Roommate.

How exciting. And I hope I know what the giggling is.
Cordon blue, my dear. Cordon bleu.

*rubs eyes and stares*

Nope, still don't get it.

Giggling? There's no giggling at all in Roommate from what I remember. And what's cordon blue/bleu?

[Ashen Skies][Ender's Game!]

[Spam...]

2005-03-16T12:28:39Z

*snorts*

Funny thing 1!

MY Dear,

This mail may come to you as a surprise but is borne
out of my genuie need urgnet assistance . I prayed
over it and selected your name among other names due to its esteeming nature and the recommendations given to me as a reputable and trust worthy person that I can do business with and by the recommendation , I must not hesitate to confide in you for this simple and sincere business .
I am FRANK LORENCE the only son of late Mr and Mrs. LORENCE. My father was a very
wealthy. cocoa merchant in Abidjan , the economic capital of Ivory coast, my father was poisoned to dearth by his business associates on one of their outings on a
business trip .
My mother died when I was a baby and since
then my father took me so special. Before the death of
my father on february 2003 in a private hospital here
in Abidjan he secretly called me on his bed side and
told me that he has the sum of eleven million ,five
hundred thousand United State Dollars. USD ($
11.500,000) left in fixed / suspense account in one of
the bank in Europe ,that he used my name
as his only son for the next of Kin in depositing of
the fund. He also explained to me that it was because
of this wealth that he was poisoned by his business
associates. That I should seek for a foreign partner
in a country of my choice where i will transfer this
money and use it for investment purpose such as real
estate management or hotel management .
I am honourably seeking your assistance
in the following ways:
(1) To provide a bank account into which this money
would be transferred to .
(2) To serve as a guardian of this fund since I am
only 22years.
(3) To make arrangement for me to come over to your
country to further my education and to secure a
resident permit in your country.
Moreover, I am willing to offer you 15%
of the total sum as compensation for your effort/
input after the successful transfer of this fund into
your nominated account overseas.
Furthermore, you indicate your options
towards assisting me as I believe that this
transaction would be concluded within fourteen (14)
days you signify interest to assist me. Anticipating
to hear from you soon.
Thanks and God bless.
Best regard
FRANK LORENCE

This just amused me so much I had to share it. ^_^; So my humour's rather warped... do most people find spam funny?

Funny thing 2! ( Honda )

Funny thing 3! ( Kill Bill )

Funny thing 4! ( Craziest ) (although it's rather boring at the beginning and gets slightly tedious in the middle, it has a cool ending. 8 mins running.)

Funny thing 2 and 3 come from _bwahahaha. Much thanks!

[Ashen Skies][...and other assorted funny things.]

[Fics...]

2005-03-11T13:12:01Z

Well, kizha and I continued the tradition of swimcarn/sportsfest ficcing and this was the result! Inspired by WanJie's plotbunny suggestion after I bugged her for ideas, so it was given in an irritated heck-care tone: two guys together in a pool, okay?!

Okay. *grins*

This one's Prince of Tennis, since that's about the only fandom in which we both dabble and can agree on pairings.

We started out alternating sentences, then alternating a few sentences, then ended up alternating a paragraph or two. It's pretty obvious, I think, which part is by whom -- I'm the one making all the sarcastic and hentai stuff (not to mention the convoluted sentences, which I hope will be understandable), and she's the one trying to make everyone sweet. Especially Atobe and Fuji. Which I don't agree with because I think they're so much cuter when they're sadistic and all, and would love more to torture-tease their partners than to be so openly demonstrative. Ootori's the only sweet and kind one! But I have to bow down to her knack of capturing Atobe's arrogance and snarkiness. *bows* ^_^v

Anyway the poor characters end up being wrenched around so much that they might end up seeming to have split personalities, was the point I was trying to make.

kizha, I kinda added quite a lot at the end after your Oshitari 'sleeping' comment. Hope you don't mind -- and I fully expect you to write just as much for your next part. *grins* No escape, so don't even think about it.

+++

Poolside Party, it's called, for lack of a better name and brain cells to work with

+++

“If you’d wanted to see through my clothes, you could have just asked.”

“Well, I never had to ask just to look at something, I don’t need permission.”

A too-sweet smile. “Ah, so you did want to look.”

“I see nothing that can impress me more than looking into a mirror.”

“You wound me, Keigo-san. Truly my heart bleeds.”

“Don’t fret too much about that… few can surpass my beauty.”

“And I know one of those few who can.”

His eyes travelled slowly towards a slim figure standing alone at a corner of the pool, taking in the delicate features and long eyelashes. Eyelashes that veiled eyes narrowed in irritation, in his direction, before the boy turned and stalked gracefully into the house – or mansion, more like.

Atobe’s grey eyes sparkled with amusement as he turned towards his companion, his lips curved into a playful smirk. “It seems that he doesn’t appreciate your appreciation, Syuusuke-san.”

“Indeed, he certainly needs some tutoring in that aspect.”

“OY, buchou, Fuji-san, stop ogling each other and get out of the pool!”

Atobe raised an eyebrow in a manner that was both elegant and disdainful. “Ore-sama does not need to ogle anyone, Mukahi, ore-sama has himself to ogle at.”

Ootori, kind and attentive, quickly glanced towards his perpetually slumbering orange-haired senior.

Jirou mumbled something and twitched in his sleep.

“Sometimes, though, I might be distracted from my own perfection by… something,” Atobe acknowledged, regally inclining his head slightly towards Ootori in recognition.

Fuji merely smiled as he got out of the pool and headed towards the house, having his own ‘distraction’ to appreciate. He hadn’t taken more than a few steps, though, when the aforementioned distraction darted out of the house, and, as he was looking over his shoulder and not in front of him, crashed into Fuji.

The tensai, despite his excellent reflexes, could not keep his balance on the slippery ground and fell backwards into the pool, pulling the other boy along with him in a desperate attempt to regain his balance. Or perhaps, as this was, after all, Fuji Syuusuke, not so much of ‘desperate’ but rather more of ‘carefully calculated’. Similarly, perhaps it wasn’t his balance, exactly, that he was trying to gain from this whole orchestrated ‘accident’.

Fuji surfaced with his hand casually draped over the other boy’s shoulders and smiled sweetly in response to the knowing grin Atobe was directing in his direction, triumph in his clear, blue eyes.

Let the… tutoring… begin.

“I’m terribly sorry, Ryoma-chan,” Fuji began, turning to face the slightly smaller boy – and faltered in the midst of his oh-so-apologetic speech. Ryoma’s face was scrunched up, bangs plastered messily to his forehead, fists rubbing at his eyes – it was so cute and kittenish that he wanted to sweep Ryoma off his feet and cuddle him to death.

Then Ryoma managed to get the water out of his eyes and looked up, golden gaze annoyed and smouldering with the beginnings of anger. His shoulders were tense, expression intensely serious, water dripping off his body, and white T-shirt transparent and clinging. Fuji’s mind did an abrupt about-turn to: Damn but he looks delectable when he’s trying to be angry.

Rawr.

Keeping his animalistic instincts under control, for now at least, Fuji placed one hand under Ryoma’s chin and gently forced him to look up and meet his eyes. His blue eyes were filled with tender concern as he stared into Ryoma’s golden eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

His tone was gentle and sincere when he spoke, acknowledging the fact that he knew the cause of the other youth’s anger; he didn’t bother explaining or making excuses, there was no need to.

And as he’d predicted, the anger went out of Ryoma, leaving only the usual slight belligerence. “Hn,” the younger teen muttered, turning around and wading his way to the side of the pool where two servants waited with a towel each. Atobe was already out of his wet clothes, and was in his swimming trunks rubbing himself dry, another servant hovering beside him waiting to take the wet towel when he was done with it.

Throwing a glance in the couple’s direction, Atobe found himself amused by how the all acted. It was surprising, really, the way the devious and cunning tensai behaved so sweet and sincere around Echizen, much like how Oshitari, his best friend who while generally sly and manipulative behaved like the devoted lover he was when it came to Mukahi. Or how Shishido, one of his close friends and best players, could go red with one smile from the innocent Ootori. Usually he was loud, rude, and entirely disrespectful to his team leader – namely, Atobe himself. Atobe didn’t mind, though. For all his brashness, SHishido wasn’t any good at coming up with retorts on the spot, and it was such fun to see him sputter when they exchanged wits.

Looking around, Atobe looked for someone he could direct his smirks and remarks to, seeing that Fuji was too absorbed in enjoying Ryoma’s company to continue their little flirting game. Really, it was unfair that Fuji got all the fun – he half suspected that if he threw (or accidentally pushed) Jirou into the pool, the dratted boy would just go to sleep in the water, and not even the liquid would dare to stop him. Hell, the water would just part to allow him to breathe. Jirou could make the world bend to his will to sleep.

He ignored the smug little voice in his head that whispered, no, it was just his world that Jirou could bend to his will. Atobe might be the all-important sea, but Jirou was the Moses to his waters.

He stuffed the voice into a box and mentally burned it.

Seeing that everyone was too busy being all too lovey-dovey to entertain him, he stood up with a flourish and walked towards the bench where Jirou lay fast asleep. Sitting down beside the other boy, he pushed him gently to wake him up, but his efforts were rewarded with a sleepy grunt as Jirou merely ignored him and continued sleeping.

“Jirou.”

No reaction.

“The bedroom would be more comfortable. Shall I accompany you there?”

A soft grumble, a lazy hand batting him away. Or at least, batting in his general direction with the equally general message of ‘please leave’.

“You do know what I am implying…?”

“Mm… go ‘way…”

Atobe sighed. “Ootori just jumped Shishido and Fuji is doing unspeakable things to Echizen in the pool.”

Ootori was Jirou’s best friend in the Hyotei team, Fuji was of course, his much-admired rival, and when awake enough Jirou really was quite perverted. Atobe knew all that, so he had moved back a little so as not to get hit when Jirou shot upright, rapidly blinking away sleep and looking around frantically. “What? Where?”

Then the newly-awakened boy saw Fuji towelling Ryoma’s hair, the younger boy trying desperately to get away, and Shishido blushing as Ootori smiled at him, accepting the glass of Ponta he was offering.

“You cheated!” Jirou accused, turning back to a smirking Atobe.

“You were ignoring me.”

“Hmph.” And he promptly went back to sleep.

Atobe sighed and gave up, leaving Jirou to his rest, as he gently stroked the light-brown hair, taking in the delicate features, and admiring the sweet, angelic image of the sleeping boy. Standing up after a moment, he saw Oshitari looking in his direction, the Hyotei tensai greeted him with a smirk as he looked up, his eyes moving from Atobe to the sleeping Jirou and back again.

“All he seems to do is sleep. No?” Oshitari looked into his friend’s eyes as he spoke, a subtle grin in his words.

Atobe simply looked superiorly back. “When he’s fully awake, I can assure you we have more fun than you and your monkey ever do.”

Oshitari just adjusted his spectacles in a way that reminded Atobe eerily of Seigaku’s Inui, grinned at Atobe, and opened his mouth to reply when he stumbled forward, knocked off balance by Mukahi’s enthusiastic tackle.

“Yuushi, buchou, let’s play a game!”

The two looked warily at him, and Oshitari, since he knew Atobe wouldn’t lower himself to ask the question that was clearly expected after such a suggestion, asked, “What game?”

“You can choose, buchou,” Mukahi said generously. “There’s Spin the Bottle, Seventh Heaven, strip poker, truth or dare, strip twister –”

“Strip twister?” Ootori, who’d wandered near them and overheard, blurted out.

“Twister with a twist!” Mukahi said gleefully with the glee of one who’d been waiting for the exact opportunity that had just been provided to him to say that particular sentence gleefully.

“The games seem to all have a recurring theme,” Atobe interjected delicately.

“That’s because Mukahi is an insatiable pervert,” Hiyoshi muttered.

+++

did you notice the rawr? did you did you did you? *bounces* I'm very proud of my rawr! *rawrs* I think it's a mark of ataraxistence's influence on me, and maybe _bwahahaha's kawaii icon.

tbc whenever we can.

You know, it was supposed to be FujiRyo, but somehow the characters seem to be spinning out of control... In any case like I said, I refuse to let this end until FujiRyo is achieved! *beams*

[edit] Ooh I absolutely love the 'creative' icon! Even beats the bouncy one, which looks like it's on crack.

[Ashen Skies][...for the ficcing!]

[Hotel Rwanda]

2005-02-11T09:48:01Z

Ooh... that is one sad movie. Actully, not really sad sad, just... emotionally sad. Touching sad? Moving sad?

I like the Red Cross girl more than the Paul guy, surprisingly. Hmm. And the UN guy who keeps helping Paul is pretty cool.

Almost cried during the part where all the refugees from the church were running in and they were playing this music with kids singing and the white priests and nuns were forcefully torn away from their charges and it was raining and all. The part where they were driving over all those dead bodies - that was scary, too. But not as tear-inducing for me, at least.

Now for Constantine and Finding Neverland, one promising to be scary and the other moving. ^_^v

On another note, saw this guy from CAP when sitting around waiting to watch the movie. Forgot his name, but his face was familiar. I remember faces, not names, but even so it took me a second or two to recognize him. It's a nice feeilng to see people you know by accident. Unless it's a bad kind of accident, of course. Hmm. Oh dear, I still can't remember who he is. Ah well.

This was a pointless entry. Oh yes kagen THANK YOU for the pwetty pwetty Gackt-sama pictures! *drools* Oh They Are Lovely. He looks positively edible. You have an amazing scanner, too.

[Ashen Skies][Kill the tall trees]

[The Cape of Storms...]

2005-02-03T12:17:11Z

I simply love the strings and the flute in Cape of Storms. The orchestral accompaniment and slightly classical effect is more characteristic of X's Yoshiki, but then there's something in it that's purely Hyde... *sighs happily*

Okay, sSince everyone's doing it, let's join in the fad! stolen from darthliterate's and inthefire2002's journals...

You scored as Sadistic Humour. Congratulations, you scored Sadistic Humour. You find the little things in life to be funny, and have a great sense of humour, whether it's stupid or dark. You're probably young, and older people don't understand why it's all so fucking hillarious. Either way, check out: Clerks, Mallrats, Napoleon Dynamite, Wayne's World.

</td>

Sadistic Humour

80%

Artistic

80%

Drama/Suspense

70%

Mindfuck

70%

Sci-Fi/Fantasy

40%

Romantic Comedy

25%

Mindless Action Flick

Movie Recommendation.
created with QuizFarm.com

In other news... this is one amusing poem! Think it's a song, actually. Took me a few seconds to figure the entire relationship thing out, though.

I'm My Own Grandpa! by Lonzo and Oscar

It sounds funny, I know,
But it really is so,
Oh, I'm my own grandpa.

I'm my own grandpa.
I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds funny, I know,
But it really is so,
Oh, I'm my own grandpa.

Now many, many years ago, when I was twenty-three,
I was married to a widow who was pretty as could be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter who had hair of red.
My father fell in love with her, and soon they, too, were wed.

This made my dad my son-in-law and changed my very life,
My daughter was my mother, cause she was my father's wife.
To complicate the matter, even though it brought me joy,
I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy.

My little baby then became a brother-in-law to Dad,
And so became my uncle, though it made me very sad.
For if he was my uncle, then that also made him brother
Of the widow's grown-up daughter, who, of course, was my stepmother.

Father's wife then had a son who kept him on the run,
And he became my grandchild, for he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother, and it makes me blue,
Because, although she is my wife, she's my grandmother, too.

Now if my wife is my grandmother, then I'm her grandchild,
And everytime I think of it, it nearly drives me wild,
For now I have become the strangest case you ever saw
As husband of my grandmother, I am my own grandpa!

I'm my own grandpa.
I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds funny, I know, but it really is so,
Oh, I'm my own grandpa.

Isn't it just... precious? ^_^v

[Ashen Skies][...echoes the pain I feel inside]

[He sleeps...]

2005-01-29T17:24:46Z

Did this in twenty minutes at 12:50 am. Five pages of weird disjointed fic. Ooh, look... 12:59, 12:59, 12:59 -- aha! My clock just went 1:00.

Delirious with lack of sleep because of an overwhelming load of work which I'm supposed to be doing right now, actually, but cannot concentrate on. So I let my fingers and mind run on autopilot and got this fic out. No idea where it came from.

Un-betaed -- hell, I haven't even read it through a second time. This is entirely raw, forgive me for any obvious mistakes. My eyes are dying and my brain's all mooshy right now. *prods* Eww. Comments, critique, ranting at how I can't stick to one storyline for more than a few chapters are all very welcome. I desperately need con. crit. for this one. I am so, so sorry it's so long... couldn't find a good place to cut it.

It was midnight again. Past midnight. God he was tired. Twenty-four seven cafés were a godsend; he didn’t know what he’d do without them. Buy ration bars by the carton, probably. At least he could carry ration bars around, and gnaw his way through them whenever he was hungry. Right now he didn’t even have the time to do that – eat when he was hungry, that is. If it wasn’t for the coffee and the midnight food he’d starve. Ration bars sounded good, if only to keep himself alive, though the taste might just kill him instead.

Dammit, he’d grown so soft, there was a time he’d be happy for even half a bar, it was that bad, but now he couldn’t imagine going back to that. The war was hell, yet this – he supposed this was a more organized modernized form of it. Paperwork, red tape, he’d take the war over this any day, at least he’d been running on adrenaline then. Now he was running on autopilot. On the obligation he had to keep his company going, provide jobs for those people he hadn’t managed to kill, do his bit for peace. Penance for what he’d done in the war. He knew that no matter what he did it’d never be enough, but his body was telling him something else.

Kill me now instead of killing me slowly, it was telling him.

God he was tired.

Steering wheel, brake, gear stick, stop. He stared blankly at the windshield and then turned the key. The engine died, he opened the door, forced himself out of the car. He wanted to sleep, but he knew he needed this once-a-day meal. He wished he’d never found out the difference between want and need, or trained himself to do the latter in spite of the former.

Bright lights, door, empty booth, sit. The cushion of the seat was soft, the table hard, but he couldn’t really tell the difference, couldn’t really care, besides he was used to it. He crossed his arms on the table, nestled his head in the crook of his elbow, closed his eyes against the white movement and slept.

A gentle voice, calling him. He stirred, lifted his head, squinted at the blurred face looking down at him in concern, sat up and rubbed his eyes. Ten minutes already? It seemed like he’d just laid his head down. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. It was all he had, little chunks of ten minutes like this.

Food. Warm, colourful, unlike his office. He’d kept it cold to keep himself awake. The Arctic, his staff called it, bare and cold. He still remembered the first time he’d came here, nearly one o’clock, looked at the menu and asked for the dish they’d take the longest to prepare fresh. Lasagne, the waitress had told him, confused. Seven minutes or so if the chef hurried, since there was hardly anyone else in the café. He’d told her to make it ten, and wake him up when it was done.

“Duo?”

He remembered how he’d inhaled it, how delicious it’d tasted. Everything was delicious when one was hungry. Now, though, he hardly tasted the food, and let his hands and mouth work automatically while he zoned out to get as much mind-rest as possible.

“Duo,” the girl had said, a few seconds ago. Damn, this was pathetic; if it was wartime he’d be dead thousand times over, zoning out when someone was calling him. This was pathetic. His reaction time had been instantaneous, now it was a few seconds late. He needed to pull himself together. He didn’t know how to.

“Mary,” he said, acknowledging her, turning to give her a dredged-up smile, seeing the worry in her face, in the way she was standing there at the side watching him with furrowed eyebrows. Standing a few steps away. The first time she’d woken him, she’d tried to do it by shaking his shoulder. The bruise had faded after a week. That she still continued to serve him, worry about him, was a miracle.

“You look worse than usual. Busy week?”

He’d hurt an innocent. A motherly sixty-something year old woman, at that, gentle, defenceless. His being asleep at the time wasn’t an excuse. It was unforgivable. He’d kept himself on unconscious alert since then, while sleeping here or anywhere where there might be someone coming near. It meant he’d gotten even less sleep than before, but that was okay, if it meant no one else got hurt.

She’d asked him a question. “Yeah,” he said, picking up the fork. “Five hours reduced to three, now.” More like two and a half, but she didn’t need to know that. She was worried enough as it was. He was just so busy…

“You’re killing yourself, Duo. You eat something as fattening as lasagne late at night yet you seem to be losing weight, fast. Most people would be at least five pounds heavier after a month of eating like you do.”

He took a bite, chewed, swallowed. He hadn’t tasted anything at all, like he was chewing air. “Most people aren’t me.”

“I can see that.”

Bite, chew, swallow. “I’m fine. I’m still alive, aren’t I.”

“Not for long.”

Bite, chew, swallow. “I need to work.”

“Not like this! No matter what you’re working as, no one should have to work like this.”

His fork paused on the way to his mouth. “Should doesn’t work in reality.” Bite, chew, swallow.

She changed tactics. “Why do you work so hard? You could just quit, find another job. Or tell your boss you can’t take this.”

He smiled grimly. “I am the boss.”

“Then make your employees share some of the responsibility!”

Bite chew, swallow. “I give them enough work to occupy them during working hours, and then a few more hours when they get home. It’s enough. All of them have families, they need family time. I don’t.” And besides, part of the penance was that he provided efficient low-cost high-quality work, to do his bit for the people, and so he couldn’t hire too many workers. He needed to keep his company afloat. Fewer workers meant fewer expenses. It didn’t matter that it meant more work for himself.

He couldn’t tell her that, of course. She wouldn’t understand. She didn’t know he was a Gundam pilot, didn’t know the guilt he carried.

“A few more hours of work each won’t kill them. A few less hours of work won’t kill you. Again, why do you work so hard?”

Bite, chew, swallow. He didn’t answer.

She sighed. Out of the corner of her eye he saw her shake her head. He took another bite. She sighed again, and left.

He appreciated her concern. He didn’t deserve it.

It took him ten minutes to finish the food. It was a generous portion, slightly larger than the usual. He rather suspected Mary was behind that. He must have looked especially bad.

He placed the utensils neatly at the side of the plate, wiped his mouth with a napkin, leaned against the booth’s back while he took out his wallet and placed fifteen bucks next to the plate, then slid out of his seat and stood. Time to get home and do his work, catch his two and a half hours of sleep. Knowing how much work awaited him, it would probably be two hours, tonight.

A few steps away from the door he paused, hearing Mary call him. Turning, he watched her approach him, something white held in her hand. Rolled-up, good quality white sketching paper, if his tired eyes were any judge.

“Here,” she said. She held the paper out. “The artist asked me to give it to you.”

“The artist?” He took it warily.

“We don’t know his name. These past two weeks he’s been sitting around town, quick-sketching people, giving them his drawings. Usually it’s the tired ones, who need cheering up, he draws them happy. He did me once. It’s framed at home.” She looked at him, smiled ruefully. “If there’s anyone needs cheering up now, it’d be you.”

Someone had been observing him, drawing him, unnoticed. Even with the best of intentions, it still sent a chill up his spine. He hadn’t felt it. He should have felt it. Should didn’t work in reality. He wouldn’t be caught off-guard like that anymore.

“Well? Go on, open it,” she said. There was eagerness and anticipation in her tone, in the wrinkle-lines on her face. It was unusual, surprising, to see her so animated. It was something he didn’t want to disappoint.

He opened it.

Startled laughter, a disbelieving quirk of the lips, of eyebrows, braided hair whipping into the air with a quick, unguarded duck of his head, an abandoned movement. Arms half-raised above his face, guarding against a friendly joking blow from the top, face half-turned away. Eyes crinkled with amused mock-annoyance, looking to the side. Broad sweeping strokes, thick to thin, short powerful ones, full of energy; careless skilful shading brought out the leanness of his arms, his body, the contours of his face, the odd yet so natural angle his face was tilted at towards the light.

He half expected his black-and-white self to complete the movement, twisting his back and waist away, and leap out towards him, laughing, to avoid the blow. He could almost hear Quatre’s amused admonishment to take the blow like a man, and him retaliating by straightening and tackling the blond, tickling him into submission, while Trowa watched bemused by the side and Heero and Wufei torn between smiling and muttering about little children.

He found himself looking up, around, to check for their presence, and caught himself. Mary was exclaiming over how handsome he would look if he gained some weight and smiled more often, and he remembered a time when he did exactly that. It seemed so long ago now, but it was only what, four months since the end of the war? Four months since he’d left the others, since he’d run and hidden himself in some remote corner of the country, setting up his salvage business which was starting to become well known around the area. Four months since he’d started to try to lose himself, his past, his dreams, and become an ordinary man, and he’d succeeded.

He’d succeeded, but a little too well.

He’d succeeded, but suddenly all he wanted to do was meet his friends again. To be subjected to Quatre’s all-too-knowing comments and mother-henning, to Trowa’s meaningful silence and expressive looks, to Heero’s blunt logic and extremely dry sense of humour, to Wufei’s self-righteous rants and focussed determination. To laugh and tease and mock-fight and he was not going to cry, god dammit.

How the hell had the artist managed to capture the essence of who he’d been? Just like that?

“Who – no, you’ve said no one knows. Where is this artist?” he asked, carefully rolling up the picture again.

Mary shook her head. “He left immediately after he gave that to me.”

“Where can I find him?”

“No one knows. He goes wherever he wants to, draws whoever he wants, and disappears after he finishes a drawing. He draws someone only once, so you’ll probably not meet him again.”

“How does he look like?”

She smiled, amused. “Why the curiosity?”

“Because someone with this kind of talent should be out there making money, not sitting around drawing people for free.” And also because I need to ask him how he knew. How he saw what he did.

“It’s very nice of him, don’t you think? But anyway, no one knows how to find him, like I said, he’s anywhere he wants to be. You’re not the first one to try, and you’ll not be the first to fail if you don’t find him. He’s very normal, wears a cap, T-shirt, jeans, sports shoes… just your average guy on the streets. Even if you see him you won’t know it’s him.”

He nodded, feeling the beginnings of anticipation spark inside him. “Thank you.”

“No problem. See you tomorrow,” she said, and as he turned and took the few steps to the exit, added, “Take care of yourself.”

Bright lights, door, darkness, pause. He let his eyes adjust to the change in lighting, walked to his car, unlocked it, got in, turned the engine on. Carefully he placed the drawing on the passenger’s seat, reversed the car, backed out of the lot, drove away. Somehow he wasn’t as sleepy as before. Adrenaline, an old companion so long forgotten, had come back for a visit.

He didn’t think it would leave anytime soon.

He did so love a challenge.

On a totally unrelated note, bought a hippie-looking glittery pink-orange-red flowery ankle-length skirt and a mauvish-pink sleeveless shirt for Chinese New Year. Rather amazed at myself because until now my wardrobe was the entirely black, blue, jeans-and-T-shirt kind, with a few un-outstanding colours thrown in here and there like beige or purple. And all a single colour, too, unlike this new... thing. But since black is kinda supposed do be unlucky during New Year, where everyone'll be wearing red and other auspicious colours, I had to get something new. Can't imagine wearing them outside of New Year. Hmm.

On yet another unrelated note: my email's now wingedscythe@gmail.com, for those who didn't know. Gmail's brilliant -- one GB storage! I have 20 over mails in my inbox and the counter tells me I'm using 0% of my space. Hotmail would have died on me by now.

[Ashen Skies][...beneath a covering of flame]

Teachers can be fun, too...

2005-01-09T05:54:04Z

So my principal gathers us for a talk about learning attitudes, and I'm ignoring her and fending off sleep by writing a story with a friend of mine -- one sentence each, and I drove her crazy by writing sentences like 'Why?' or 'Wait.' in response to her long lines. She got fed up and we began a new one -- a conversation between two long lost friends, and I must say I'm amazed. I never knew she had such a kinky side; leather and whips and hancuffs. Whew.

But the point of it is, somewhere after all that, the principal began to talk about States of Learning -- and one of them was the State of Arousal. We kinda stared at the screen for a second or two before sniggers erupted everywhere. She was unfazed, though, and ploughed through to how the State of Arousal, furthered with Passion for what you do, will lead to the Flow of Learning and I kind of lost it then. My friend had to smother me into silence.

School can be such fun sometimes.

On another note, I caved in to four new GW bunnies. One is a sort of school fic, which if I continue will turn out long; the second a weird and not very happy one which should become a oneshot; the third an even weirder one about dust (don't ask me, I have no idea either); the last inspired by Sunhawk's contest pic, which should be a relatively long oneshot. Unfortunately this means that I will now have near 20 stories that I'm working on and this is Not Good.

If anyone's interested, this is the first bit of the second bunny, the weirder and not very happy one.

"Delivery!"

Control Booth Attendant (Service with a Smile!) Scott Langley looked up with an expression somewhere between a confused frown and the compulsory smile. Delivery? Control Booth Attendants did not get delivery. They were not supposed to get delivery. They were supposed to sit in their stuffy hellholes and give directions to trains that didn't need directions and smile at people with attitude problems who should be ranted at by absolute strangers for problems caused by their own ineptivity. See how they liked it.

Someone poked him in the side. He turned to glare at fellow Attendant Mike Sanders. The younger man raised an eyebrow at him. "Delivery?" he said in a I-can't-believe-you-ordered-delivery tone, indicating the screen which showed the view from the camera outside their door, which in turn showed a guy holding a box of pizza, face shielded by his cap.

''l did NOT order delivery!" he snapped.

''Well neither did I!" Mike retorted. "And there's only you and me here. And Jake, but he doesn't count."

They turned to look at the slumbering man in the chair across the room and acknowledged the fact that yes, Jake could not have ordered delivery.

"Okay, so – "

"Yo, anyone in there?" an annoyed voice cut in.

''I don't think we even ordered delivery in the first place!" Scott said irritably.

''This is Atwater station, control room, right?"

"Yeah, but we never ordered no delivery! We’re not allowed to at work!" Mike agreed.

''Look here, all I know is that I'm wasting my time here talking to a stupid door when I've got other deliveries to make – "

''YOU look here, we've not payin' for somebody else's damn – "

"That's it? Why dincha just say so? It's pre-paid.”

The two men blinked at each other, and then Scott grinned. “I like the sound of that,” he said.

“We take it?”

“We take it.” He got up and walked over to the door, flinging it open with a smile. “We’ll take it, kid.”

Dark purple eyes, so dark that they were almost black, looked up at him from under the cap, and a mirthless grin chilled him. “Sure you will.”

Scott’s eyes widened in horror. “You’re – ”

Mike stared, uncomprehending, when Scott’s body sort of jerked and then crumpled to the floor, revealing the pizza boy. Only he wasn’t.

The last thing Mike ever said in his up-to-now uneventful life was “Gund – ”

The door was close and locked. Silent steps brought the not-really pizza boy to the second corpse, eyes still wide open and staring up at him, and the cold smile came back. “Yes,” he said softly, completing the uncompleted sentence in those terrified eyes. “Gundam pilot.”

He turned to sneer at the still sleeping man, and shot him without any problems. Carelessly shoving the body off the chair and kicking it into a corner, he then took its place. Emotionless eyes flicked over to the many monitors watching over the busy station, and took a moment to observe peacetime life. It was like the war had never happened. Easy scenes of laughter, of work-oriented people hurrying about. Happy. Relaxed. Uncaring.

After what they did…

He'd make them pay.

[Ashen Skies][Bunny master!]

(Just a quick post)

2004-12-02T13:09:09Z

Okay, did a few memes.

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid:	Very High
Schizoid:	High
Schizotypal:	Very High
Antisocial:	High
Borderline:	Very High
Histrionic:	Very High
Narcissistic:	High
Avoidant:	Very High
Dependent:	Very High
Obsessive-Compulsive:	High
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! --

and

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Third Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Extreme
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	High
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Extreme
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very High
Level 7 (Violent)	Extreme
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Very High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	High

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test

I am amused - my friends all got moderates and lows and only a few highs and yet their levels were all sixths, sevenths and ninths! Anyone knows why the results are so... screwed?

Oh, and hi to everyone! I'm currently quite enjoying myself overseas, even though I don't have a computer. I feel very accomplished - I haven't been dying (much) for an internet connection or my laptop.

Damn - have to go now! this is frustrating. Next time I shall go read journals instead of doing memes.

[Ashen Skies][Broken angel falling down]