Disclaimers: Don't and can't own G Gundam and its characters.
My Desire, Your Misery
by: sereace
Solitary footsteps echoed at a constant rhythm as rain started to fall on the pavement, slowly but surely drenching her clothes. Not that she cared…she stopped caring when he stopped caring. She paused, stilling her thoughts, before barely concealing a wry chuckle. 'When did he ever care anyway?' She resumed walking, even steps against the smoothness of the cemented concrete. The rain was starting to fall harder, and she knew she had to find a shelter soon, else she would be parading herself to the entire city with her clothes clinging like second skin to her body. 'There's a bar here, somewhere…the only problem is where is it?'
Thunder cracked, and lightning illuminated a part of the city. In that split second, across the street, she saw the sign that proclaimed the whereabouts of the bar she had been looking for. Hurriedly, Rain Mikamura crossed the street, long legs pushing her towards the bar's direction.
"More drinks, lad?" A sturdy-looking old man with surprisingly small belly for someone in his profession, his white mustache ending here his neck started, and the mischievous glint in his eyes as the corners of his mouth lifted addressed to George de Sand in the most casual way he had ever been addressed to. The Gundam fighter for Neo-France smiled in amusement, not bothering to hide it, before nodding his head at the bartender.
It was rare for him to be out, much less be present in places such as where he currently was, be it in his country or not. 'Come think of it,' he started, smiling at the bartender, as the latter gave him his drink, 'I haven't even been out of my country for just nothing. They were all…official missions…' He paused, as the liquor traced a hot trail from his throat to his chest. 'This is actually the first time I am out of my country and doing absolutely nothing.'
"You a fighter, son?"
George turned to the sound of the voice he was increasingly becoming familiar with. He cocked his head to a side, before wryly grinning. "Depends on your definition of a fighter, monsieur."
The bartender was surprised. He could count with one hand the costumers he had with such polite manners. The last he had was a few nights ago, a pretty woman, obviously educated, with the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen. He did not bother to hide the amusement he felt, leaning over the table and starting an idle chatter. "You're French. And highly bred at that."
George raised his brows. '"How did you know?"
The bartender waved his hand, before turning around and getting a glass of a mixture he did himself. "Shows. Your speech." He looked back, eyed the younger man from head til the end of his line of vision. "And your clothes, too. Not everyone can deserve silk clothing for everyday wear, you know."
At that, George laughed. It was a long time since he met someone out of his circle of very few colleagues, and even fewer friends commented off-handedly, without sarcasm, of his choice of clothing.
"Haven't lost my touch for dry humor, see? It's rare I get to practice them, what with all these drunken men about doing nothing but discuss how Gundam fighters should fight, when they can't do anything right themselves."
George nodded, eyes surveying the room. True, there were nothing but drunken men, and that he did not mind, but the women…
At that instant, the door burst open and a woman vaguely familiar came in, her hair dishelved, and her clothes wet enough to start clinging to her body.
He was not the only man who noticed. The whole population of the bar shifted their interest to the woman, who was obviously too immersed with her thoughts to mind the stares that could very well have stripped her. A man, tanned complexion with a dragon of sorts tattoo on his right forearm to his knuckles approached the woman, with the obvious intention.
Before he knew it, he was up on his feet, walking towards the woman he now knew. 'What is she doing here, at this time of the night? And where on earth is Domon?'
He almost reached them a second too late. Had it not that she raised her head and stepped backwards, it would not have been possible for them to get out of the place unscathed. It gave him ample amount of time to reach them, and lay a hand on the other man's greasy, muscled shoulder.
The man turned, infuriated that a woman dared recoil from his advances, and glared at the self-righteous man that had come up front to save the damsel in distress. "What do you want, pretty boy?"
Amethyst eyes flashed, then narrowed, before George took a more passive stance. "Don't touch the woman." His voice was like the cold edge of the knife that the man had in possession, curtsey of a friend in the nearby table.
"Why?"
George's eyes narrowed as he advanced, discreetly taking in Rain's condition. 'Something's wrong.´
In response, the man took a step backward, bringing him closer to Rain. "She's not your woman, pretty boy."
George saw Rain's head snap in the direction of her would-be-aggressor, her blue eyes alight with disdain and confusion.
"Neither is she yours." Was the knight's passive answer.
"She would be, if you step out and let me have her."
Fists clenched at his sides, George stepped forward. "Not without a fight."
The man released a dry, humorless laugh that echoed all through out the small bar. "You don't want to ruing your pretty face, pretty boy. Daddy might ground you…"
So engrossed were the men with their exchange no one noticed Rain had moved until she was beside George, clutching the redhead's arm. "I have met men even more uneducated as you are, sir," she started, and the man she addressed to narrowed his brown eyes at her, while the rest of their audience looked on. The bartender had a small smile on his face as he held in his hand a newspaper featuring the members of the Shuffle Alliance. Second from the left of the King of Hearts was the identical to the man standing in the middle of his bar, right down to the silk clothing. "But never one so stupid as to challenge a member of the Shuffle Alliance."
There was a hushed silence and the man took a step backward. "What the hell are you talking about, woman?"
George raised his left fist, the insignia of the Jack of Diamonds glowing brightly. "Is this proof enough, monsieur?"
Caught between embarrassment and bruised ego, the man stood, paralyzed, until a woman with hardly any clothing stepped forward and clutched at him until he began to walk, following her lead, into the stairs at the corner of the room.
"Show's over, folks. Back to what was going on before." The bartender shouted merrily, motioning for the two members of the Gundam tournament to join him.
Author's Notes:
A million thanks to all those who reviewed my other fic! I owe a great deal, and I hope this fic makes up for it…*gulps* somehow…
I am currently nursing an obsession with George having more than a thing or two with Rain, but apparently, I'm not immersed enough with that thought to forget about Domon…^_^;;;
So, that means that this fic may or may not be a G/R fic…depends on where my imagination takes me…and certain motivations…*hint hint*
And I'm not entirely too sure about my timeline here…HELP!!! The new Shuffle Alliance had been proclaimed to be our beloved pilots before Rain left with her father, right? Right?! I pray to whoever would listen that I'm right about that, or its editing time again…