Para Lissie: ja ja ja ja. Finalmente.
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This might be useless to Spanish-speakers, but useful to some of you guys:
Euge: short form for Eugenio
Cris: shot form for Cristiano
Nacho: nickname given to people called Ignacio.
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LATIN (colony) LOVER
Part 1: "Así es María"
(Operation Un-Dos-Tres, Steps 1 and 2)
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Lying on a mat on the sand, in deceivingly skimpy beachwear, Heero brushed beads of sweat off his forehead and resisted the heat with polished stoicism. Seeing Trowa enduring the same ordeal with a relaxed smile and his arms behind his head, and Duo downright enjoying it tempted him to doubt his own resistance- but, as usual, his doubts were evident to himself alone.
The industrial sun lit up the artificially blue sky of their colony, where the curvature had been built to trick the mind into believing that the enchanting sea stretched far into the horizon.
He was counting. He'd been lying on his back for 35 minutes now, and though he felt very ridiculous like that, some sort of inanimate presence in the middle of the merry hustle-and-bustle of the beach; well, at least he was not alone. Exactly ten minutes more passed until Duo, who was keeping track of the time because, evidently, this had been his idea, announced:
'Time to flip, gents!'
Although Heero had agreed to this, at the moment he really felt like he had been pretty foxed by his associate. Almost at the same time, the three of them turned to lie on their stomachs, the sun mercilessly beginning to burn their backs, disgustingly sticky with sweat from having spent almost an hour pressed against a (damnable, in Heero's opinion) mat. And, when he opened his mouth, before he could curse yet again…
'It's a necessity,' Duo explained, 'it brings out your eyes, man.'
'I'll bring out your eyes,' Heero threatened
'Chill, bro! It's all or nothing- just like you like it!' Duo said, smoothly walking around his insults, 'Come on, it'll be grand... it'll be...' he pretended to sound moved, 'beautiful. Trowa-worthy beautiful.'
'I doubt it,' Heero, mumbled under his breath, at the same time that Trowa chuckled privately.
'It's gonna be a nice touch,' their third associate conceded; but then again, Heero knew his friend liked the theatrics.
'We're not fucking film stars,' Heero swore, 'We could've just... whatever,' he said, and let his head drop onto the sand.
Duo exchanged glances with Trowa, who just shrugged. 'Heero, my man,' Duo said, 'you're unusually complainative today.'
From the sand, Heero grumbled what sounded like, 'that's not even a word'.
'Of course it is,' Duo said swimmingly, 'it's when you're talkative but only to complain. Like, you know, now.'
Heero growled.
'Leave him be, Duo,' Trowa said, calmly, 'We're all slightly worked up about this. Last mission, remember. Not happening every day. Be patient.'
From the sand, Heero mumbled again, something about not needing Trowa explaining stuff to anyone. However, no one paid him greater heed. The truth was that, if they succeeded in what they were about to undertake, that'd be It. The End. The hasta-la-vista, never again. They were all a bit edgy, in their own fashion. Trowa was, for example, singing in English for a change. And Duo couldn't stop flicking the cover of his lighter open and shut, rhythmically.
But, although his two comrades were taking their slight nervousness rather light-heartedly, Heero felt kind of uneasy. As if he had a dark feeling about that mission in particular.
But then again, Trowa could be right (as usual, dare he say), and maybe it was just his way of feeling the growing anticipation.
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Later, and back in their headquarters-of-an-engine-repair-shop, the very tanned, very thirsty trio shared some alcoholic concoction courtesy of Duo's mixing arts, and, sitting under the shade of one of the numerous palm-trees, got ready for their last big hit.
'O-kay,' Duo sing-sang, 'What do you have for us, Ignacio?'
Trowa smiled slightly, and quickly briefed them the info of the possible incoming target: 23, rich, single, flying into the colony unnoticed in business class together with two girl friends. He theorized they were on some sort of escapade to their home-lair paradise of forbidden pleasures, which was what L069 was all about with those rich types- party, suntan, and excesses. Or, like Duo liked to call it, "dreamy beaches, steamy bitches". (Trowa and Heero, classier fellows, usually rolled their eyes at his lewd way of addressing their main source of income).
Anyway. He informed them that the target in question was arriving in two days' time, and was called Sylvia Noventa. She seemed to be the daughter of some important titanium tycoon, one of those who'd amassed a ridiculous fortune after getting lucky on a streak of the coveted metal in one of the mining asteroids.
'It's as if the gods wanted to give us a doggy treat!' Duo chirped, '...provided that we were dogs, and that there actually were gods. Gods, dogs, nevermind. Couldn't ve gotten luckier if we'd tried! We've gotta toast to this, guys!'
No sooner had he spoken than he'd grabbed three beers and positioned them before each.
'To the missing 2,000 dollars and the completion of the loot!' Duo called, sanding up in such solemnity that his friends hardly knew whether he meant it or if it was just a mock.
'To partying only for the sake of it,' Trowa added, noncommittally.
'To freedom,' Heero said, '...and to ditching the corny codenames...', he muttered as an afterthought.
Their bottles clinked merrily, and each drank his own thinking of the infinite possibilities that came with achieving their goal.
Duo, however, frowned.
'I resent your words, pal,' he said, addressing Heero, 'When Cristiano's gone, a chunk of me will wither, die, adios mi vida... it's gonna be tough, man!.'
(Cristiano, the name Duo had chosen to go by when they were undercover hunting for rich heiresses, seemed to be Duo's second skin. Whenever the trio stepped into a night club, Heero and Trowa no longer knew whether they were talking to their friend or his character; because he swayed between calculating con artist and devouted latin lover a bit too quickly for his friends to follow right up.
But it mattered little, because it got the trick done every time.)
'Fear not,' said Trowa smoothly, 'That latin-lover-accent of yours will live on... and on...'.
Duo blinked and then roared with laughter, while Heero's blank face anticipated a long, annoying last mission laden with doubtable sentimentalism towards their very disposable charades...
Right. three men (Heero and Duo born colonists of L1 and L2, respectively, and Trowa, born and bred on the Earth) were something very akin to con artists.
After a grand escape from the claws of the rebel militia that had forcibly recruited them as children, they'd chosen the Latin Colony to lay low for a couple of years, where they ended setting up an engine repair shop and struggling to make ends meet, and taking up more than one black-market job. Those had been dark years, when they struggled with the psychological effects of being given AK-49s instead of toys, and the realization that it would take them ages to make enough money to return to the places they had once called home. And, also, there was probably a price to their heads.
One day, when the years had closed their wounds and changed them into agreeable young bachelors, Duo, who'd always been the one with the shady-er contacts (…or at least the one who disclosed that, Heero and Trowa were mysteries…) had had THE idea that'd changed their lives.
The Latin Colony was a den of dangerous criminals and wanted warlords, true, but it was also one of space's vacation hotspots. Wealthy tourists arrived every day, attracted by the fabulous beaches, the glamorous night-life, and all the general latin allure of the colony. With their knowledge and experience, it'd be easy to set up an "express-kidnapping" business, through which, within 24 hours, they could make the money it'd otherwise take them years. All they needed was quick wits, a sound strategy, and fake characters.
Surprisingly to all but Duo, it'd been a spectacular success. They appeased their consciences (they were not, after all, bad guys) by setting ransoms that were affordable to their victim's families; and never extortive. They had also set themselves a money goal; enough to get them all out of there and ensure them relatively decent lifestyles for a couple of years of fun and low-profiles.
Their philosophy had been accurately summed up by Duo once:
'I believe in giving them ladies a fair chance, to be deceived by a man of their own choosing. You see- you've got me, handsome, bright and sexy, and Trowa, tall, dark, and sexy; and Heero: short, dark and sexy (he'd ignored Heero's threatening glare). It's a pretty foolproof plan.'
It was, as it had turned out.
It worked roughly so: Step 1 consisted of them approaching the Target and engaging in casual conversation and light flirting. Eventually, Target would show a preference towards one of the three of them. Step 2 varied depending on whom Target chose: Heero's Eugenio began Step 2-01, Duo's Cristiano began Step-02, and Trowa's Ignacio began Step 2-03. It basically consisted of the chosen 01, 02 or 03 buying a drink for Target and proceeding to seducingly distract her though the night. The two remaining associates split the tasks of fending off Target's possible friends, and engaging in counter-seduction; and stealing Target's cell phone. That was Night #1. Steps 3 and 4 took place during Day #2
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It was Friday night, and our three gentlemen were men on a mission, and dressed for the kill in form-fitting slacks and slender shirts with the first buttons purposefully undone. Trowa donned a ring earring, Duo wore his lucky black rosary, and Heero, in a particularly sour mood, had somehow thought it was a good idea to wear suspenders, which made him look a lot like a disgruntled spy, and nothing like a latin heartthrob.
Little did he care.
The darkness in the club was pumping through blasting music and random LED beams and tacky disco balls.
Heero actually thought everything was tacky when it was such ungenuinely tropical, and as usual he felt like he was the odd one out: Duo was in his element, and Trowa managed somehow to always enjoy himself. Trowa- well, had a magic combination- almost like a mathematical formula: one beer, two shots of tequila; and he became Ignacio for the rest of the night.
Ignacio was intense, fiery; and all for the dance and none for the words, unless they belonged to a spicy latin song- he knew the lyrics to most of them.
As for Heero's adopted persona, Eugenio; well, he did not differ much from Heero himself. He was pretty dark, aloof, and rather blunt: he danced, when dance he must (and damn well, damn it), and he talked, if he had to make idle chat- though the volume of the music hardly required it. He was the brooding, alluring, glimmering-breathtaking-blue-eyes-that-consume-you-from-the-corner presence that many women seemed to swoon for.
Heero, unsurprisingly, believed he wouldn't have fallen for himself even if he was the last man on Earth (and Duo eternally agreed). But what did he know, right?
Right. It was Duo who spotted Target first, so as per their agreement the first drinks were on Trowa (if Trowa had been the one to spot her, drinks would've been on Heero, and so on. It saved them a lot of bickering).
Sylvia Noventa was dancing the soles of her feet away under the blacklight; and the three associates sat at their usual places to begin Operation Un-Dos-Tres. It was an easy procedure, they'd done it a thousand times.
They casually danced, and let the flow of the crows carry them to Sylvia and her friends. Once near enough, Duo mock-accidentally bumped into one of them, apologized, offered the girl a charming compliment, and then Trowa winked at Target. Heero didn't do much more than look gruff and handsome, nodding once in acknowledgement at the girls, and chancing a thin smile.
They quickly formed a group, the girls were good-natured, easy-going, and maybe tipsy already. Such easy prey.
Heero's deep voice distractedly sung what he remembered of the song that they were playing, some stuff about setting things on fire and going on crazy rides, or so he gathered. But they were actually playing David Guetta's Lovers on the Sun, and Sylvia's eyes were on Heero... eh, Eugenio, like he was the very one singing the song and she wanted to set him on fire.
Duo, ever the quick one, discreetly elbowed Trowa in the ribs, gesturing towards the girl's entranced eyes, and made their secret signal of showing first two fingers, for Step 2, and then one finger to show who was up to entertaining Target all night.
Duo's smile was nonchalant, and Trowa shrugged- that task very seldom fell on Heero. But who were they to challenge a woman's taste, right?
'We're gonna go grab a drink with Cris, you want anything?' Trowa asked Heero. That was the code-phrase to you're on your own now, man, work your magic.
Heero groaned inwardly. He was thankful he'd already had something to drink and his tolerance level for annoyance was greatly increased.
'No, you go ahead,' he replied- code-phrase, also.
'If she does not mind, I'd rather stay here with this pretty lady.'
Others would have winked at her, but Heero did not. Who cared.
Sylvia most certainly didn't, anyway.
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Meanwhile, Duo and Trowa were actually going to get something to drink, and then engage in Step 2-01. Duo had to counter-seduce Target, and Trowa had to distract Target's friends and steal Target's cellphone. But, currently, they were heading for the bar, and Trowa was singing the lyrics to the song they were playing:
Así es María,
'Are you talking to me, pal?' Duo said, poking Trowa, who ignored him and continued whisper-singing,
Blanca como el día,
'I don't get a word you're saying, man...'
Pero es veneno, si te quieres enamora-ar
'Dude, if that's an insult, I'm gonna find out. I'm gonna Google-Translate the heck out of your wicked chanting, Nacho!'
...by then Trowa was all but recording his friend, laughing good-naturedly, and getting ready to order two of the barman's strongest.
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Cristiano didn't know the meaning of frustration, but Duo might have known what it was about when, after a good ten minutes of cracking his best jokes over the loud music, and expertly dancing the whole choreography of an unworthy reggaeton song, all Sylvia had to say about him was,
'Cristian, right? Oh, I am obsessed with your hair! What do you do to it? It's so healthy! So shiny! I'm so envious…!'
Which was totally unconventional night-club talk. If drunkenness lent eloquence to Target, well, he was kind of sorry for Heero. But not too sorry, the girl had just nearly dissed his majestic dancing skills by downright ignoring them. Huff!
Huff!
Duo got lost in the crowd, vowing not to come near that insensitive woman again. Maybe Heero and her deserved themselves…
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'I don't have my phone!' Sylvia noticed, almost immediately as Trowa's lithe form had disappeared back into the crowd.
'Forget about it,' Heero said, without much conviction, 'Look at me.' Duo was right. He couldn't even score a rock, if that could ever happen.
Sylvia was worried and did not seem to think that looking at Eugenio would actually solve it, but then the man grabbed her hand and twirled her around in some amazing dance passes, and two seconds later she didn't even remember she'd had a phone in the first place.
'That girl must be out of her mind,' Duo commented, observing Target and Heero from a safe distance.
'Well, if she's letting Heero danseduce her, it's really her problem,' Trowa observed.
It sent Duo into a laughing fit which he was ready to swear had nothing to do with tequila and all with his friend's quick wits.
He laughed until the next song came up, and until Trowa couldn't help it and started chuckling as well.
'Oh, man, you kill me!' Duo said, breathing in.
Then he broke into laughter again.
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Author's Note:
This was going to be a one-shot, but I decided to break it up into two.
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What Heero sings up there is David Guetta's Lovers on the Sun (totally a Heero song!).
What Trowa sings at the end is the song María, by none other than the great Ricky Martin :D… DO yourself the favor of listening to it with your eyes closed, then imagine it's Trowa singing it. Then laugh xD
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UP NEXT:
'Dude, not even the rain would fall for you'
Also, pissed-off Duo, piña colada, failed beach parties. And Zechs.