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May. 27th, 2006 11:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
floweranzaAct 1 -- ...to understand something
Scene 1 – Part 1 - .that touch
Doom was upon us.
That synopsis wasn’t really anything new to any of us. It was the kind of lazy, dreary day on which you could do absolutely nothing at all – to our team, it bordered on near claustrophobia. You can’t keep soldiers down, but orders were orders, after all.
These ones just happened to majorly suck ass.
Every once in a while, between all the action, it was understandable that vigilantes like us had to lay low. Think of those horribly cliché sci-fi novels, when the Rebels have just managed to defeat their enemy, but get everyone else in the whole fucking world on their blood instead.
Maybe I’m just being an itty-bitty-bit bitter, but...
Damn. The day was definitely getting worse, and so was the pure agony of my back. The safehouse didn’t have anything remotely comfortable to lie facedown on – it was, in fact, one of the worst places we had ever stayed in. All rotting wood and horrible smell and... owww... oww, oww, oww.
Maybe if I had something useful to do, it wouldn’t hurt so damn much.
I had to shift carefully on the creaky windowsill to avoid twinging my hurt back, and it definitely still hurt like a motherfucker. My scruffy braid was pulled over my shoulder, and I probably didn’t smell all that sweet, either. Damn after-mission lulls. Damn safehouse. Damn that rotten wood smell.
A good rant was just starting to build up in my throat, about to be introduced to the simply lovely world we live in, when Quatre poked his head through the doorframe.
Q-man knew just whenever one of us started bordering homicidal. It was probably good for the general public that the guy had a soul like an angel.
...an angel with two pretty little knives...
“Duo? Are you okay?” Ah, Jesus, the guy’s voice was like salve on a healing wound. I loved his little golden head. Sometimes I just wanted to hug him right around his pink-shirted, purple-vested cute little middle. And I’d probably do it, too, if it weren’t for the rather large threat of Trowa gutting me through.
I think I started drifting into random thought around that time, and only the sharp pain of my back brought me back towards reality. That sucked too. Everything sucked.
I hissed rather sharply through my teeth, and tried to shift into a nice, comfortable, non-hurty position. It didn’t work out that well.
“Just fine, Quat. I’m just... oooh... relaxing.”
He didn’t look too convinced.
With that, he proceeded to eye me dubiously. I would have eyed myself dubiously too. His greenish eyes moved over me in a professional soldier way, and my brain was promptly drawing up what he was probably seeing, right in the damn front corner of my cranium. The pathetic vision got up on stick-thin legs, and started dancing the polka, flipping me off the whole entire fucking way.
I was drifting again...
The vision stopped in place, and I knew what our smart little strategist would draw from it. My skin was paler than ever, and my hair looked dull and uncombed and that was probably enough damn indication of my current state. I pasted a smile on my face, and he frowned. Quatre stepped over to me on light feet, and I winced with every footfall. Crap. I had really, really wanted to hide this.
His slim hands ran over my side, noting the way I had sat down on the seat... it had taken me a while to settle down so that my back hadn’t brushed or connected with the side of the old bay window.
“Duo,” he repeated gently, “I want you get up and turn around so that your back faces me, okay?”
I was really, really tempted to tell him just how perverted that sounded, and that he could tell me to bend over, too, if he wanted, but I really was too tired to even play with innuendo.
That was a shame. It was a perfect opportunity, one that had to be unfortunately missed. Then I noticed him still standing there patiently, and I knew my gaze was probably unfocused. I shifted myself up, and the muscles pulled all over my back and shoulders and the pain went straight to the bottom of my stomach. Oh, god... ‘ouch’ was probably an understatement. I turned my body around slowly, placing my forehead to rest on the cool wood. Overall, I was feeling pretty shitty, and the feeling intensified when Quatre carefully peeled up the back of my pitch black t-shirt.
PAIN-PAIN-PAIN-BITCH-PAIN. FUCK.
By the way, did you know that black hides the stain of blood really well? It was probably why Quatre had even missed it in the first place. Better for my purposes, if you thought about it in that depressing way.
I lost the battle. A small whimper forced its way out of my throat as my friend moved his slight fingers across the deep cuts in my back. The bloodstained bandages stuck harshly to my skin – a testament of my poor attempts to bandage myself up as soon as I feasibly could after the mission. The cuts were starting to catch a definite infection, and I knew I was damn low on my allotted liters of blood, but priorities came first.
That was something that Heero seemed to be intent on bludgering into my ‘thick skull’, so I had decided to follow it for once. Priorities first, soldier later. It seemed to make sense, so who the hell was I to question it, right?
Quatre muttered a small oath under his breath, and I grinned inwardly. It must be pretty bad, then.
“Why didn’t you tell us, Duo?” He sounded upset, voice wavering. “There’s no way you can bandage that right by yourself, you know that.”
I shrugged out of reach of his hands, turning my back to the wall again. And then I spoke, and my voice sounded weary and the excuse rather thin, even to my own ears.
”It’s okay, Q-man, really, I’m fine. We had mission reports to do and I did sort of tell Heero, but he didn’t really listen. He just told me to shut up and to do my reports, so I did, and no one really noticed it, so it wasn’t a big deal and you don’t have to worry. I put some stuff on it after I finished my reports, and it doesn’t hurt. I swear it’s not as bad as it looks, Q.”
I was aware I was rambling. I was aware that the simple act of standing straight was making the cuts on my back ache with every heart beat, dum-dum-dum, and I was aware of the grey that was starting to eat away at corners of my peripheral vision. Blood loss and I shared a mutual hate. I thought I could feel some of that desperately needed blood sliding down my back again... shit. It hurt. It hurt, it fucking hurt. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
He was looking at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was, but we all were, in our own, crazy ways.
“You shouldn’t hide your injuries from us...”
“I run, I hide, but I never lie, Quat! I didn’t hide it from Heero! Don’t worry yourself about Shinigami’s ass, I can work it out myself!” My voice was rising a bit. I hope he didn’t think I was angry with him. I really wasn’t. I was angry at myself for making him worry because I had been an idiot on a relatively simple mission.
He sighed again. “Okay,” he said gently, “come with me to get the med-kit, though. I can help you with the bandages. You can do the rest yourself.”
I flashed him something that was a poor attempt at a smile. If anything, or of anyone, Quatre knew precisely when to stop pushing me. “That’d be great, Quat-cat, but I can’t seem to... move.” Yeah, my body was agreeing with that. Blah-blah-blah, and you suck, Duo, don’t pass Go!
I was blocks away from Go. Heh. I love myself sometimes.
The blonde-haired pilot sighed again. He looked a bit tired himself. “I’ll be back in a second, then,” he said, and then turned to glare at me, though his lips were smiling, “and if you put off an injury like that again, I’ll hit you over the head myself.”
I gaped.
He headed out the door, wagging a finger at me, as if it would tell me to stay in place. Not that I could actually move or anything. On anyone else, though, the gesture would have been mocking.
My legs gave out. And then I laughed quietly and slid down and sat on the floor, leaning away from the wall. Good old Quatre. I mentally noted that I should squirrel him my dessert tonight. The guy certainly deserved it, since I was sure those cuts on my back looked ugly and gross and bloody and probably purple. Purple’s a funny word.
I had moved on to trying to take in deep breaths, and to figuring out exactly how much blood I had lost and was currently losing. The figures didn’t really look that great... if I weren’t who I am, I would’ve passed out by now. Feel the ego stoking. Feel the ego give up to the nice urge to surrender to the nice blackness.
Ow. My shirt would be a real bitch to really peel off, now. I wasn’t looking forward to Quatre and his med-kit. Time to wallow in despair, Maxwell.
Footsteps were approaching again, and a gust of air escaped my lips. Pain-pain and ouchy-ouchy time.
“Back so soon, Quat...?”
My voice died in my throat. A pair of burning eyes were digging what definitely felt to be a giant hole in my face, and I swear to god my eyes started crossing to see if my nose hadn’t burnt out of existence.
Heero did not look happy.
Oh-shit-oh-shit-oh-shit-crap.
“What the hell were you thinking with those reports, 02?”
Heero seemed to be fuming. I don’t know why. It wasn’t a big deal or anything. Then again... Heero and his little obsessions were all an enigma to me. I shifted again from my sitting position on the floor. Ow. My head fell back, hitting the wall with a thump, and with that I realized that I had fallen into silence again.
”Well?”
If a word could be toxic acid, I’d be a melted puddle of radioactive ooze right now. Maybe it’d hurt less.
“I did them, Heero,” and my voice instantly started to play antagonist, “what the hell’s your problem with ‘em?”
“They are absolutely horrible.”
“I was tired.”
“That is not an excuse!”
The guy was raving mad about some papers. Psycho-freak. Not that it would stop me from thinking he was the hottest thing ever from here to L2, but... My emotions were going on a buzz from the pain, and I did something that probably wasn’t wise. I have the most horrible sense of self-preservation. I guess it shows. I raised my right arm, ignoring the uncomfortable way it pulled at my woe-be-gone bandages and cuts, and gave Heero Yuy the bird.
Well, look at that. It's not that bad.
Scene 1 – Part 1 - .that touch
Doom was upon us.
That synopsis wasn’t really anything new to any of us. It was the kind of lazy, dreary day on which you could do absolutely nothing at all – to our team, it bordered on near claustrophobia. You can’t keep soldiers down, but orders were orders, after all.
These ones just happened to majorly suck ass.
Every once in a while, between all the action, it was understandable that vigilantes like us had to lay low. Think of those horribly cliché sci-fi novels, when the Rebels have just managed to defeat their enemy, but get everyone else in the whole fucking world on their blood instead.
Maybe I’m just being an itty-bitty-bit bitter, but...
Damn. The day was definitely getting worse, and so was the pure agony of my back. The safehouse didn’t have anything remotely comfortable to lie facedown on – it was, in fact, one of the worst places we had ever stayed in. All rotting wood and horrible smell and... owww... oww, oww, oww.
Maybe if I had something useful to do, it wouldn’t hurt so damn much.
I had to shift carefully on the creaky windowsill to avoid twinging my hurt back, and it definitely still hurt like a motherfucker. My scruffy braid was pulled over my shoulder, and I probably didn’t smell all that sweet, either. Damn after-mission lulls. Damn safehouse. Damn that rotten wood smell.
A good rant was just starting to build up in my throat, about to be introduced to the simply lovely world we live in, when Quatre poked his head through the doorframe.
Q-man knew just whenever one of us started bordering homicidal. It was probably good for the general public that the guy had a soul like an angel.
...an angel with two pretty little knives...
“Duo? Are you okay?” Ah, Jesus, the guy’s voice was like salve on a healing wound. I loved his little golden head. Sometimes I just wanted to hug him right around his pink-shirted, purple-vested cute little middle. And I’d probably do it, too, if it weren’t for the rather large threat of Trowa gutting me through.
I think I started drifting into random thought around that time, and only the sharp pain of my back brought me back towards reality. That sucked too. Everything sucked.
I hissed rather sharply through my teeth, and tried to shift into a nice, comfortable, non-hurty position. It didn’t work out that well.
“Just fine, Quat. I’m just... oooh... relaxing.”
He didn’t look too convinced.
With that, he proceeded to eye me dubiously. I would have eyed myself dubiously too. His greenish eyes moved over me in a professional soldier way, and my brain was promptly drawing up what he was probably seeing, right in the damn front corner of my cranium. The pathetic vision got up on stick-thin legs, and started dancing the polka, flipping me off the whole entire fucking way.
I was drifting again...
The vision stopped in place, and I knew what our smart little strategist would draw from it. My skin was paler than ever, and my hair looked dull and uncombed and that was probably enough damn indication of my current state. I pasted a smile on my face, and he frowned. Quatre stepped over to me on light feet, and I winced with every footfall. Crap. I had really, really wanted to hide this.
His slim hands ran over my side, noting the way I had sat down on the seat... it had taken me a while to settle down so that my back hadn’t brushed or connected with the side of the old bay window.
“Duo,” he repeated gently, “I want you get up and turn around so that your back faces me, okay?”
I was really, really tempted to tell him just how perverted that sounded, and that he could tell me to bend over, too, if he wanted, but I really was too tired to even play with innuendo.
That was a shame. It was a perfect opportunity, one that had to be unfortunately missed. Then I noticed him still standing there patiently, and I knew my gaze was probably unfocused. I shifted myself up, and the muscles pulled all over my back and shoulders and the pain went straight to the bottom of my stomach. Oh, god... ‘ouch’ was probably an understatement. I turned my body around slowly, placing my forehead to rest on the cool wood. Overall, I was feeling pretty shitty, and the feeling intensified when Quatre carefully peeled up the back of my pitch black t-shirt.
PAIN-PAIN-PAIN-BITCH-PAIN. FUCK.
By the way, did you know that black hides the stain of blood really well? It was probably why Quatre had even missed it in the first place. Better for my purposes, if you thought about it in that depressing way.
I lost the battle. A small whimper forced its way out of my throat as my friend moved his slight fingers across the deep cuts in my back. The bloodstained bandages stuck harshly to my skin – a testament of my poor attempts to bandage myself up as soon as I feasibly could after the mission. The cuts were starting to catch a definite infection, and I knew I was damn low on my allotted liters of blood, but priorities came first.
That was something that Heero seemed to be intent on bludgering into my ‘thick skull’, so I had decided to follow it for once. Priorities first, soldier later. It seemed to make sense, so who the hell was I to question it, right?
Quatre muttered a small oath under his breath, and I grinned inwardly. It must be pretty bad, then.
“Why didn’t you tell us, Duo?” He sounded upset, voice wavering. “There’s no way you can bandage that right by yourself, you know that.”
I shrugged out of reach of his hands, turning my back to the wall again. And then I spoke, and my voice sounded weary and the excuse rather thin, even to my own ears.
”It’s okay, Q-man, really, I’m fine. We had mission reports to do and I did sort of tell Heero, but he didn’t really listen. He just told me to shut up and to do my reports, so I did, and no one really noticed it, so it wasn’t a big deal and you don’t have to worry. I put some stuff on it after I finished my reports, and it doesn’t hurt. I swear it’s not as bad as it looks, Q.”
I was aware I was rambling. I was aware that the simple act of standing straight was making the cuts on my back ache with every heart beat, dum-dum-dum, and I was aware of the grey that was starting to eat away at corners of my peripheral vision. Blood loss and I shared a mutual hate. I thought I could feel some of that desperately needed blood sliding down my back again... shit. It hurt. It hurt, it fucking hurt. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
He was looking at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was, but we all were, in our own, crazy ways.
“You shouldn’t hide your injuries from us...”
“I run, I hide, but I never lie, Quat! I didn’t hide it from Heero! Don’t worry yourself about Shinigami’s ass, I can work it out myself!” My voice was rising a bit. I hope he didn’t think I was angry with him. I really wasn’t. I was angry at myself for making him worry because I had been an idiot on a relatively simple mission.
He sighed again. “Okay,” he said gently, “come with me to get the med-kit, though. I can help you with the bandages. You can do the rest yourself.”
I flashed him something that was a poor attempt at a smile. If anything, or of anyone, Quatre knew precisely when to stop pushing me. “That’d be great, Quat-cat, but I can’t seem to... move.” Yeah, my body was agreeing with that. Blah-blah-blah, and you suck, Duo, don’t pass Go!
I was blocks away from Go. Heh. I love myself sometimes.
The blonde-haired pilot sighed again. He looked a bit tired himself. “I’ll be back in a second, then,” he said, and then turned to glare at me, though his lips were smiling, “and if you put off an injury like that again, I’ll hit you over the head myself.”
I gaped.
He headed out the door, wagging a finger at me, as if it would tell me to stay in place. Not that I could actually move or anything. On anyone else, though, the gesture would have been mocking.
My legs gave out. And then I laughed quietly and slid down and sat on the floor, leaning away from the wall. Good old Quatre. I mentally noted that I should squirrel him my dessert tonight. The guy certainly deserved it, since I was sure those cuts on my back looked ugly and gross and bloody and probably purple. Purple’s a funny word.
I had moved on to trying to take in deep breaths, and to figuring out exactly how much blood I had lost and was currently losing. The figures didn’t really look that great... if I weren’t who I am, I would’ve passed out by now. Feel the ego stoking. Feel the ego give up to the nice urge to surrender to the nice blackness.
Ow. My shirt would be a real bitch to really peel off, now. I wasn’t looking forward to Quatre and his med-kit. Time to wallow in despair, Maxwell.
Footsteps were approaching again, and a gust of air escaped my lips. Pain-pain and ouchy-ouchy time.
“Back so soon, Quat...?”
My voice died in my throat. A pair of burning eyes were digging what definitely felt to be a giant hole in my face, and I swear to god my eyes started crossing to see if my nose hadn’t burnt out of existence.
Heero did not look happy.
Oh-shit-oh-shit-oh-shit-crap.
“What the hell were you thinking with those reports, 02?”
Heero seemed to be fuming. I don’t know why. It wasn’t a big deal or anything. Then again... Heero and his little obsessions were all an enigma to me. I shifted again from my sitting position on the floor. Ow. My head fell back, hitting the wall with a thump, and with that I realized that I had fallen into silence again.
”Well?”
If a word could be toxic acid, I’d be a melted puddle of radioactive ooze right now. Maybe it’d hurt less.
“I did them, Heero,” and my voice instantly started to play antagonist, “what the hell’s your problem with ‘em?”
“They are absolutely horrible.”
“I was tired.”
“That is not an excuse!”
The guy was raving mad about some papers. Psycho-freak. Not that it would stop me from thinking he was the hottest thing ever from here to L2, but... My emotions were going on a buzz from the pain, and I did something that probably wasn’t wise. I have the most horrible sense of self-preservation. I guess it shows. I raised my right arm, ignoring the uncomfortable way it pulled at my woe-be-gone bandages and cuts, and gave Heero Yuy the bird.
Well, look at that. It's not that bad.