I felt a strong desire to give myself proper closure from this fandom. And so.
Disclaimer: If the rights to GS/D were in my possession, Gundam SEED Destiny would have never graced this planet. Ever.
Also, imagine you're reading a series of fragmented drabbles all twisted into one.
THE PUPPET SHOW
By: rinaissance
Of all people, she, the Queen, remains as Fate's most favoured pawn. In which Cagalli Yula Athha learns to stand firmly on her makeshift normality, despite the gaping holes. Post Destiny.
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Prologue: The Jigsaw Puzzle
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"I went through this before. I will be fine," Cagalli assured her brother, for what could be the last time, in many years to come.
Kira stared for a moment and a hesitant smile passed his face. Cagalli gave him a sighing grin, before leaning over to his welcoming arms. "Do not show your face around here, at least not until you have Kira junior or little Lacus in tow," she warned playfully, smiling against his shoulders.
Cagalli turned to the man beside her twin. "And you," she poked Athrun's chest, "No more self-destructive stunts, okay?"
He nodded. Bewildered green eyes bore into her.
Cagalli knew in that instant - (although she could not quite fathom how his eyes screamed louder than the intercom calling all passengers for boarding) - that there would be no more promises broken or awkward marriage proposals or shy kisses to be shared between them.
Athrun had gently swept her into his arms. Cagalli buried her face on the nook of his shoulder.
"Take care," she said.
"You too."
o
She basked bitterly in the familiarity of her current circumstances.
This familiar setup had reminded her of the aftermath of the First War.
Cagalli had adopted the role of a fireman. Athrun had played catch with his father for the first time. Kira had built a graveyard in his head. And Lacus, in turn, had sung lullabies for the lost souls that haunted all of them.
They had been too busy then.
Cagalli had no time to chug down ice cold water. Athrun had no time to blink lest he missed a ball aimed to kill. Kira had no time to bandage his sore hands from all the grave digging. Lacus had no time to breathe when her lullabies changed keys.
And like before, they - Chief Representative Athha, Councilman Zala, Commander Yamato, Chairwoman Clyne - were still busy now.
And by habit more than logic, Cagalli resumed the role of a fireman, reminding her of when she first held her head high up, in the middle of a nation set ablaze, armed with a fire extinguisher, and garbed in blotches of peppered ashes and greasy dried tears.
Once again, she devoted life in lugging the red pressurised vessel and putting out flames single-handedly, still refusing to cry for help, even when rubble shooting like meteors went to her direction. After all, she tried reasoning out to those who had offered help, no one courageous enough could endure the cloak of a warmth that kills, save she.
One week since she bid them goodbye.
Not once had she felt the faintest bout of longing in their absence.
o
"I'm sorry it took me a week to contact you. Things have been busy here in PLANTs."
Kira called. Lacus smiled apologetically, standing close behind him. Amber eyes travelled across the screen, like they usually would when their owner marvelled at the extent of the sea, as if beyond the sparkling blue stretching infinitely, there she would find where the horizon kissed such a monstrosity.
Kira started off with a barrage of excuses, apologies, and Cagalli's thoughts wandered into forbidden territory.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry, excuses, apologies.
Never greetings or hello's or how are you's.
"It's fine. You don't have to be sorry," she replied.
Although what she really wanted to say was: "I am fine. I miss you and Lacus," she would pause and would reconsider but would add it anyway, "And Athrun."
o
The uncanny resemblance of this life with the one from years ago, elicited a mixed response from her. It was tedious, but it was familiar, and with this came an assurance that this burden too, would pass in due time.
Once the flames had been successfully put out, Cagalli immediately enlisted the help of a dustpan and a brush. Dressed in a mixture of sweat and ashes that felt like sandpaper against her skin, she set out on a new mission. The charcoal-black carcasses of buildings once standing erect and unperturbed, deterred her not. With knees bent down, she began sweeping the ashes - the remnants of the fire that left the past, nonexistent; the present, charred; and the future, an eternal urn.
The days felt years. But no longer did she settle for dreams of ice cold water or a small stretching session to ease her pelvic muscles. The days still felt years, but at least, she thought, there was enough time to breathe.
One month since she last felt them within her reach.
And in between the smallest exercises and wiping off the dusty particles that stung her eyes, she had imagined Athrun's comforting smile, Kira's knowing eyes and Lacus' mirthful chuckle.
One, month.
"Merry Christmas," she sang, in the hollowness of a house that greeted back, with a voice identical to hers.
o
She flinched when she saw his face flash on the screen.
The reception was clear. There was no static in his voice.
"Everything okay?" asked Athrun, eyebrows knitted together.
Cagalli could only look far ahead, secretly chiding herself for failing to mask the surprise in her features.
"Yeah," she said with a small smile. She pursed her lips into a tight line, as if reluctant to let the words she had been keen on saying, burst from the amount of pressure she had initially used to keep them contained. Eventually, the words died along with the length of time that had passed in silence. "Everything okay on your end?" she croaked.
"Yeah."
The silence loomed for -
Cagalli counted.
- she had lost count.
o
She almost smelt victory when her hands had become less occupied. Things had been going on well so far. No fire. No ashes. No more running from roaring flames. No more prolonged bending on her knees. Third degree burns were history. The back pains, almost imaginary.
Unlike the ashes, the distances between the heaps of charred rubble were forgivably sparse. Simply a bucket wouldn't suffice to contain the fragments of dead concrete, so - up, up and away, a wheelbarrow to save the day!
Grinning to herself, Cagalli pushed the wheeled contraption like she would a shopping trolley; she sprinted along a small distance, before leaning all her weight against the handlebars, feet hovering above the ground.
Closing her eyes, Cagalli thought she saw Lacus contemplatively torn between a cabbage and an iceberg lettuce, Kira absentmindedly suggesting that he wanted something spicy, and Athrun dejectedly grumbling that he never understood the hype with kebabs and chilli sauce.
Shortly, the wheelbarrow toppled over a cracked pavement and so down, down the road, she fell.
Three months, since.
She dreamed of them occasionally.
o
They met again during a Peace Conference in Alaska - Cagalli, Kira and Lacus.
Once the political leaders of each nation had dispersed out of the conference hall, like water running with torrential speed out of the sewages one stormy night, Cagalli temporarily shed the mask of ORB Chief Representative, gathered the obstructing dressy petticoat and ran to her brother's arms.
Lacus laughed with a petite hand slightly above her lips. Ever the graceful lady.
Kira blinked a few times, scratched the back of his head, absent-mindedly saying, "Cagalli. You're a girl?" It rightfully earned him a good spanking. Ever the naïve brother.
Lacus placed a hand on Cagalli's shoulder. "How are you?" she asked.
Cagalli had lost count of the times she choked out, "I'm fine. I'm fine."
Many, she guessed. Because Kira had offered numerous excuses and apologies, and none of them seemed to have completely made sense.
Finally. "I miss you, guys!"
Athrun's absence, left unnoticed.
o
On her right was the wheelbarrow. On her left was the bucket of ashes she had collected so far. Bang on the middle was a piece of cardboard.
She started with the rubble, examined a couple closely, and noted the irregularity in their shape and texture. Some were ceramic tiles, others were concrete, and a minority were reminiscent of her failed grilled kebabs that went straight to garbage bins. However, despite their differences, they were all oddly familiar; she had seen too much of them in her life. Trashed colonies, mobile suits and space ships. Along with the pestled dead bodies nestling within the deepest mortars of space.
She cleared her thoughts almost immediately and resumed the task at hand.
When the wheelbarrow had been completely emptied with the contents laid out, and clamped together on top of the cardboard, Cagalli felt disappointed. Frustration brewed from within. None of the rubble fit together nicely. A hole there. And there. And another there. Stomping, she reached for the red bucket and tipped the ashes all over the holes.
Pride swelled, so did accomplishment.
"Well, what do you think?"
Lacus clapped. Cagalli, on the other hand, was indignant at how Kira and Athrun had casually pointed out her lack of artistic skills.
Six months.
She saw them wherever she looked.
o
"Did Kira call?"
"No."
"Did Lacus send a letter?"
"No."
Cagalli hesitated, angled her head down, and when the throbbing in her chest persisted, she swallowed the thick intangible lump on her throat.
"Athrun?"
No one answered.
o
Once the adhesive had gone and patted dry, atop the mound of rubble and ashes, Cagalli had discarded the trowel and called for a renowned framer. She wanted nothing more than having this jigsaw puzzle of rubble and ashes, mounted on the wall.
She cushioned herself on the sofa, breathing heavily.
There were no flames to smother her with warmth, or ashes that prickled her eyes, or rubble that claimed blood from her skin.
But -
One year. One, year.
- she cried.
o
No greetings, how are you's and hello's.
No I'm sorry's, excuses and apologies.
There was a small interference on the screen, squiggly black lines ran horizontally across it, maintaining a distance of an inch in between.
"Hey Cagalli," said Kira.
She raised an eyebrow.
"Do you want to spend Christmas here in PLANTs?"
The storm had worsened, a whooping sound barrelled on the windows, and unlocked the doors to her balcony. The screen shushed and turned off by itself.
Her face waned.
It's okay.
She had planned on saying 'no' anyway.
o
The charred jigsaw puzzle roared into life and screamed from the office wall.
For a moment, she stood proudly, until she took notice of the protruding sharp edges of the rubble, an indication that not even the ashes she had carefully splattered in place of the holes was sufficient. But surely the sharp edges wouldn't be a considerable hazard, at least not when a layer of glass stood between them and a casual onlooker.
It was only then when Cagalli squinted her eyes to the glossiness of the light reflecting from the mounted frame that an image caught her eye, far too visible against a backdrop of black.
Two years.
A greasy face, just like before, minus the flames, the ashes and the rubble and the sweat, stared back at her.
Without second thoughts, Cagalli requested for a frame replacement the next day.
o
"Come on Cagalli!"
"Oh shut it Miriallia."
"Tomorrow is a Sunday!"
"Fine, fine!"
"Beer?"
Cagalli almost, almost hollered.
"Any will do."
o
The jigsaw puzzle was back on the wall.
This time, with a matte finish on the covering glass. The puzzle had no longer reflected light.
Three years.
She stared at the mounted frame and saw nothing.
o
"Will you marry me?"
Once, she mixed blue and yellow in a wooden palette and painted lush green trees.
Once, she took a midnight trip to the kitchen and mistook the glass of milk for chocolate shake.
And so Cagalli wondered if the blueness of his eyes could turn into green, once dabbed with the right amount of sunshine. Or if the yellowness of his hair could turn into dark blue just like hers did at night. Darkness swallowed even the brightest colours, did it not?
Maybe.
"Yes," came her reply.
[Exeunt]
Preview, Chapter One: Some-no-body
She had not seen him for three years, four months - or was it five? - she had lost count.
It was only until she stared at him unflinchingly from across the table that Cagalli understood Miriallia's temporary abandonment of journalistic decorum, nonchalantly preferring the colloquial "ex" to the more eloquent "former", as a means to describe the man before her.
Was there even a need to think of euphemisms or eloquence, she wondered, when not even the sunshine could tamper the heavy feeling that went with knowing, that Athrun Zala only ex-isted in her past. An ex-tinct memory.
This prologue was very painful to write and it showed when things started getting sour in the latter half. Granted, the style is exclusive for the prologue only, but still. /whines
It had been exactly a year since I last wrote something other than Electronic lab reports; I'd be happy to receive feedback, if you could spare a minute, please?
For complaints on glaring errors and the abuse and misuse of language, form and structure, tomatoes are very welcome. Rotten tomatoes on the other hand, shall be binned appropriately.
See you all next week for the first chapter! Thank you!