April 15 AC 201
"...and over here are a number of works from the pre-colony era. The creators of these particular sculptures were, I believe, originally from the Mediterranean. Vice-foreign Minister Darlian, would you perhaps prefer to stand over here? Oh yes, that's much better-your stature, or if you will permit me, your lack thereof, may inhibit your view slightly less if you stand in front."
"You know, I think I'm sorry I dragged you along, Ms. Darlian." Parker's voice in her ear was the only thing that saved Relena from politely informing the director of the Earth Sphere's most prestigious museum that he was a consummate idiot. She waited until the squat, gray-haired old man had turned away and was eagerly indicating a set of extremely ugly American paintings to the five obviously wealthy elderly men and women in their tour group, before she looked up at her companion. His gray eyes were twinkling merrily, and she felt some of the tension in her shoulders disappear in response to his sympathetic smile.
"I know you shouldn't have, Parker," she said, but smiled to take the sting out of her words. "I've never been much of an artist. I guess that's why I don't understand all his complex references."
Vice Foreign Minister Brian Parker's eyebrow's rose, and she wondered if he'd missed the joke. Suddenly his hand flew up to cover his mouth, and she knew he hadn't failed to catch her meaning.
"Sure. A museum director who doesn't know where his art came from, let alone who painted it. I hope the sale is more entertaining."
As if on cue, their small party stopped outside a door marked, "admission by appointment only." The museum director, smiling obsequiously, keyed in a short code sequence and swung open the panel with a flourish. The gesture was made almost grotesque by his ponderous girth, and Relena tried not to look disgusted as she, Parker and the other prospective buyers were ushered into a long, brightly-lit room. At first she thought that there had been some mistake-a forest of boxes, crates, esils and stacks of paintings stretched from one end of the room to the other. However, the irritating little man was motioning eagerly to the disorderly collection, so she supposed this must be the right place. You owe me big time, Parker, she thought, and resolutely stepped over the threshold, following his tall figure around a mass of jumbled items.
"Remind me to give you the most odiously tedious paperwork for the next month," she murmured with a smile, as soon as the two were safely out of range of the others. "Not only was the tour exceedingly boring, but the dust in this room is going to render this suit unfit to be seen for some time."
He grimaced. "I don't know how this place got such a great reputation. But you never know, perhaps we'll find something interesting." Turning slightly aside, he began to rummage through a stack of what looked to Relena like very old watercolor drawings.
"Perhaps," she echoed, still unconvinced. However, for lack of anything else to do she began to look around. The most visible items in her vicinity weren't particularly appealing, and more often than not she found her gaze traveling back to Parker. He was keenly examining a number of small framed pictures of something she couldn't quite make out. Relena sighed slightly, and began to toy absently with a lock of long honey-colored hair that had fallen over her left shoulder. She liked Parker's intense nature, his optimism and his seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy. He was young, about her own age, and a refreshing change from the stayed, placid older men and women she'd been dealing with for the past five and a half years.
Five and a half years. It's been that long since the war? I suppose time must move more slowly for me, she thought. I spend most of my life working. People say it's a pity-I guess to them it must seem like I'm wasting my youth. But preserving this peace is my dream, just as well, just as some people dream of creating timeless works of art.
People say. She shook her head, causing her tiny, gold star-shaped earrings to dance merrily. People also said that she had chosen Parker as her deputy because he was young, handsome and single.
Don't kid yourself, Relena. That's exactly why you chose him-at least in part. But not for the reasons they suspect.
She had merely come to the conclusion that it was simply easier to converse with him, to be on friendlier terms, without feeling obligated to keep a certain distance. There was of course the possibility that he felt differently... She dismissed the notion almost as soon as it entered her mind. I think he and Debbie have something going on. Either way, I'm not interested.
As the next, inevitable, thought entered her mind Relena couldn't help grimacing. She
always thought of him when she thought about romantic relationships, even after all this time.
She had long since terminated her search for Heero Yuy. It had become evident within six months of his disappearance in May of 197 that the elusive pilot of Wing Zero had either changed his name-which Relena privately thought was very likely-or had simply immersed himself so deeply in the population of the Earth Sphere that no amount of hunting would unearth him. Even as Vice-Foreign Minister, she did not have the resources available to do a thorough search, and after much thought Relena had decided that even if she could, it would be unwise.
He's a loner. He and I shared the bond of a mutually traumatic experience-and I think, a slight teenage attraction. But I refuse to spend my time chasing after a childhood fancy. He was the support I needed to cling to after father died. He was a symbol of hope and strength for me, just as all the Gundam Pilots eventually became to the people of both the Earth and the colonies. I owe it to him to give him his share of the peace.
"How about this one, Ms. Darlian?" Parker's query snapped Relena out of her reverie.
"Let me see...oh, well...it's, um...ok, I give up. What is it?" The drawing looked to Relena like a myriad of brightly colored blobs, aimlessly applied to the canvas by some deranged kindergartner.
"You really don't know much about art, do you?" Parker inquired in mild disappointment.
"No, Parker, I don't. I wasn't kidding," she replied, feeling slightly abashed. "I took art in school, especially at St. Gabriel's, but I never really grasped it. My lowest marks were almost invariably in those courses."
"Don't worry Ms. Darlian. You learned all you needed to know to keep the Earth and Colonies from one another's throats. That compensates for any artistic deficiencies." He tugged affectionately at a strand of her hair. It had been like that between them for some time. Good friends, but neither one ever addressed the other by their given name.
I suppose it's his way of preserving our working relationship so that when times get tough we can work together despite any differences of opinion. At least he calls me Ms., rather than Foreign Minister.
"Are you going to buy that?" she asked.
"Hmmm. I think I'll hold onto it and see what else I can find. At least make an attempt to look interested, huh boss? Roly-Poly over there is beginning to look very distressed at your seeming lack of enthusiasm." His off-handed quip prompted Relena to swivel around slightly, and sure enough, the museum director immediately substituted a broad smile for the perturbed frown she had just enough time to glimpse. He bowed low and made as if to advance in her direction. Gesturing dismissivly, she began hastily to inspect some line drawings piled on a table to her left.
"Seeming lack of enthusiasm? You should really have brought Debbie."
"I asked her," he admitted. "But she's back at the office making arrangements for your L1 tour. Besides, there are a few issues concerning Tuesday's meeting of the Federal Department heads that I wanted to discuss with you over lunch. What about this one?" He held out a rather charming painting of what looked like a tropical coastline.
"Actually, that one's rather nice," she said. "I think I'll go inspect that back corner. Let me know when you're through." Relena turned away before he could reply. She didn't want him to see the irritation she knew was plainly evident on her face. Just for once, she thought, I'd like to spend Saturday doing something with my friends besides work. Perhaps we're not really friends at all-perhaps I'm just so desperate for company I'm overestimating the merits of our relationship. Relax, another part of her admonished. He's a good employee. You work well together and he has never once made a pass at you. Leave it at that and be grateful. Besides. He is your friend. You know that. Stop being so paranoid. Poor Debbie. She's working today too. Odd that we've been on a first name basis for years, while he and I keep just that much more distance. It must be a female thing.
Goodness these are ugly!
She had begun to rifle aimlessly through another pile of line drawings. Trees, animals-there was one sketch of a cat that she decided was rather cute, and she slid it under her arm. In the process her elbow collided with a small cardboard box full of what looked like tiny gargoyles, which teetered dangerously. Relena's reflexes had never been particularly good, but somehow she managed to catch the container before it's fragile contents could meet a spectacular end on the dusty stone floor.
Lucky Catch, she thought, and was just about to return the box to it's former position atop a stack of slightly battered-looking red crates when something inside it caught her attention. Wedged carelessly between two very toothy statues was a roll of long, white papers. Hmmm, I wonder what this is? She glanced over at Parker, who was deep in conversation with a gray-haired older woman carrying a box full of random statuettes and small drawings. Guessing that he would be thus occupied for quite some time, Relena gently drew the bundle of papers out of the box and began to undo the faded ribbon that held them together.
Whoever packed these drawings must have been in a big hurry. Not only are they in the wrong box, but this knot looks like something I would have tied as a seven-year-old. A little more...there!
"Oh my..." the exclamation burst forth before she had time to completely assess what exactly it was that she had discovered. these aren't ordinary line drawings, they're...
"...and over here are a number of works from the pre-colony era. The creators of these particular sculptures were, I believe, originally from the Mediterranean. Vice-foreign Minister Darlian, would you perhaps prefer to stand over here? Oh yes, that's much better-your stature, or if you will permit me, your lack thereof, may inhibit your view slightly less if you stand in front."
"You know, I think I'm sorry I dragged you along, Ms. Darlian." Parker's voice in her ear was the only thing that saved Relena from politely informing the director of the Earth Sphere's most prestigious museum that he was a consummate idiot. She waited until the squat, gray-haired old man had turned away and was eagerly indicating a set of extremely ugly American paintings to the five obviously wealthy elderly men and women in their tour group, before she looked up at her companion. His gray eyes were twinkling merrily, and she felt some of the tension in her shoulders disappear in response to his sympathetic smile.
"I know you shouldn't have, Parker," she said, but smiled to take the sting out of her words. "I've never been much of an artist. I guess that's why I don't understand all his complex references."
Vice Foreign Minister Brian Parker's eyebrow's rose, and she wondered if he'd missed the joke. Suddenly his hand flew up to cover his mouth, and she knew he hadn't failed to catch her meaning.
"Sure. A museum director who doesn't know where his art came from, let alone who painted it. I hope the sale is more entertaining."
As if on cue, their small party stopped outside a door marked, "admission by appointment only." The museum director, smiling obsequiously, keyed in a short code sequence and swung open the panel with a flourish. The gesture was made almost grotesque by his ponderous girth, and Relena tried not to look disgusted as she, Parker and the other prospective buyers were ushered into a long, brightly-lit room. At first she thought that there had been some mistake-a forest of boxes, crates, esils and stacks of paintings stretched from one end of the room to the other. However, the irritating little man was motioning eagerly to the disorderly collection, so she supposed this must be the right place. You owe me big time, Parker, she thought, and resolutely stepped over the threshold, following his tall figure around a mass of jumbled items.
"Remind me to give you the most odiously tedious paperwork for the next month," she murmured with a smile, as soon as the two were safely out of range of the others. "Not only was the tour exceedingly boring, but the dust in this room is going to render this suit unfit to be seen for some time."
He grimaced. "I don't know how this place got such a great reputation. But you never know, perhaps we'll find something interesting." Turning slightly aside, he began to rummage through a stack of what looked to Relena like very old watercolor drawings.
"Perhaps," she echoed, still unconvinced. However, for lack of anything else to do she began to look around. The most visible items in her vicinity weren't particularly appealing, and more often than not she found her gaze traveling back to Parker. He was keenly examining a number of small framed pictures of something she couldn't quite make out. Relena sighed slightly, and began to toy absently with a lock of long honey-colored hair that had fallen over her left shoulder. She liked Parker's intense nature, his optimism and his seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy. He was young, about her own age, and a refreshing change from the stayed, placid older men and women she'd been dealing with for the past five and a half years.
Five and a half years. It's been that long since the war? I suppose time must move more slowly for me, she thought. I spend most of my life working. People say it's a pity-I guess to them it must seem like I'm wasting my youth. But preserving this peace is my dream, just as well, just as some people dream of creating timeless works of art.
People say. She shook her head, causing her tiny, gold star-shaped earrings to dance merrily. People also said that she had chosen Parker as her deputy because he was young, handsome and single.
Don't kid yourself, Relena. That's exactly why you chose him-at least in part. But not for the reasons they suspect.
She had merely come to the conclusion that it was simply easier to converse with him, to be on friendlier terms, without feeling obligated to keep a certain distance. There was of course the possibility that he felt differently... She dismissed the notion almost as soon as it entered her mind. I think he and Debbie have something going on. Either way, I'm not interested.
As the next, inevitable, thought entered her mind Relena couldn't help grimacing. She
always thought of him when she thought about romantic relationships, even after all this time.
She had long since terminated her search for Heero Yuy. It had become evident within six months of his disappearance in May of 197 that the elusive pilot of Wing Zero had either changed his name-which Relena privately thought was very likely-or had simply immersed himself so deeply in the population of the Earth Sphere that no amount of hunting would unearth him. Even as Vice-Foreign Minister, she did not have the resources available to do a thorough search, and after much thought Relena had decided that even if she could, it would be unwise.
He's a loner. He and I shared the bond of a mutually traumatic experience-and I think, a slight teenage attraction. But I refuse to spend my time chasing after a childhood fancy. He was the support I needed to cling to after father died. He was a symbol of hope and strength for me, just as all the Gundam Pilots eventually became to the people of both the Earth and the colonies. I owe it to him to give him his share of the peace.
"How about this one, Ms. Darlian?" Parker's query snapped Relena out of her reverie.
"Let me see...oh, well...it's, um...ok, I give up. What is it?" The drawing looked to Relena like a myriad of brightly colored blobs, aimlessly applied to the canvas by some deranged kindergartner.
"You really don't know much about art, do you?" Parker inquired in mild disappointment.
"No, Parker, I don't. I wasn't kidding," she replied, feeling slightly abashed. "I took art in school, especially at St. Gabriel's, but I never really grasped it. My lowest marks were almost invariably in those courses."
"Don't worry Ms. Darlian. You learned all you needed to know to keep the Earth and Colonies from one another's throats. That compensates for any artistic deficiencies." He tugged affectionately at a strand of her hair. It had been like that between them for some time. Good friends, but neither one ever addressed the other by their given name.
I suppose it's his way of preserving our working relationship so that when times get tough we can work together despite any differences of opinion. At least he calls me Ms., rather than Foreign Minister.
"Are you going to buy that?" she asked.
"Hmmm. I think I'll hold onto it and see what else I can find. At least make an attempt to look interested, huh boss? Roly-Poly over there is beginning to look very distressed at your seeming lack of enthusiasm." His off-handed quip prompted Relena to swivel around slightly, and sure enough, the museum director immediately substituted a broad smile for the perturbed frown she had just enough time to glimpse. He bowed low and made as if to advance in her direction. Gesturing dismissivly, she began hastily to inspect some line drawings piled on a table to her left.
"Seeming lack of enthusiasm? You should really have brought Debbie."
"I asked her," he admitted. "But she's back at the office making arrangements for your L1 tour. Besides, there are a few issues concerning Tuesday's meeting of the Federal Department heads that I wanted to discuss with you over lunch. What about this one?" He held out a rather charming painting of what looked like a tropical coastline.
"Actually, that one's rather nice," she said. "I think I'll go inspect that back corner. Let me know when you're through." Relena turned away before he could reply. She didn't want him to see the irritation she knew was plainly evident on her face. Just for once, she thought, I'd like to spend Saturday doing something with my friends besides work. Perhaps we're not really friends at all-perhaps I'm just so desperate for company I'm overestimating the merits of our relationship. Relax, another part of her admonished. He's a good employee. You work well together and he has never once made a pass at you. Leave it at that and be grateful. Besides. He is your friend. You know that. Stop being so paranoid. Poor Debbie. She's working today too. Odd that we've been on a first name basis for years, while he and I keep just that much more distance. It must be a female thing.
Goodness these are ugly!
She had begun to rifle aimlessly through another pile of line drawings. Trees, animals-there was one sketch of a cat that she decided was rather cute, and she slid it under her arm. In the process her elbow collided with a small cardboard box full of what looked like tiny gargoyles, which teetered dangerously. Relena's reflexes had never been particularly good, but somehow she managed to catch the container before it's fragile contents could meet a spectacular end on the dusty stone floor.
Lucky Catch, she thought, and was just about to return the box to it's former position atop a stack of slightly battered-looking red crates when something inside it caught her attention. Wedged carelessly between two very toothy statues was a roll of long, white papers. Hmmm, I wonder what this is? She glanced over at Parker, who was deep in conversation with a gray-haired older woman carrying a box full of random statuettes and small drawings. Guessing that he would be thus occupied for quite some time, Relena gently drew the bundle of papers out of the box and began to undo the faded ribbon that held them together.
Whoever packed these drawings must have been in a big hurry. Not only are they in the wrong box, but this knot looks like something I would have tied as a seven-year-old. A little more...there!
"Oh my..." the exclamation burst forth before she had time to completely assess what exactly it was that she had discovered. these aren't ordinary line drawings, they're...