Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING G.W.! I am poor, and not that talented. :P These are not my characters; but I can write about them anywho, neh?
I warn you now: SAD ENDING! If you love (to the point of avenging the death of) Quatre, Trowa, or Dorothy; then I would not suggest reading this. nodnod
Silence
Soft music flooded the small church. It was some classic symphony; no one could put their fingers on which one it was, though. But, titling the music was not important. There was a wedding happening, and that was all that mattered to the inhabitants of the church.
Dozens upon dozens of guests filled the small oak pews; all facing the small alter (covered in a read, velvety cloth) at the head of the church. Standing in front of the altar were two men; one distinctively taller than the other.
The taller lad had rugged, brown hair. It was cut short, save the swatch of bangs covering one eye. He was tall, he was tan, he was slender; and was quite the eye-candy. Bronze-tanned skin covered sleek muscles that were hidden now by a white tux. He was the quiet type; but underneath the solemn shell was a passionate heart. A heart beaten by war; but a heart madly in love. His name: Trowa Barton.
The shorter lad had silky, blonde hair; hair that fell in a shaggy pattern around his face. And that face; it twas a face fit for a cherub. Large aqua eyes set against smooth, creamy skin; and that innocent doll-like smile. He was petite, he was slender, he was something that one would long to hold tight when things were creeping in the night. He was proper, but he was loving. He was tender. And his heart skipped a beat every time he looked at the man he loved so dearly. His name: Quatre Winner.
The two men joined hands (and exchanged ear-to-ear smiles), and the priest nodded, starting the ceremony.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of these two people..."
Quatre and Trowa locked eyes on each other. All they could do was smile; they didn't even bother to catch whatever it was that the priest was saying. Their palms were sweaty, their legs were like jell-o; but they didn't care. They were finally going to start a life together.
The Priest continued, for what seemed like forever to the love-birds. The vows were soon exchanged, and the rings were presented. Trowa slipped the band on the small pilot's finger, gently brushing his palm against Quatre's fingertips.
Quatre returned the gesture, granted Trowa's finger wasn't quite as slender. Trowa held on to Quatre's hand, and they smiled as the priest finished the ceremony.
"If there is anyone today who thinks these two should not be joined, speak now, or forever hold your peace..."
Amongst the silence and smiling faces, a figure rose. Long, blonde hair swished behind the figure. A womanly body, a jealous smirk. There was no mistaking it as the shot rang through the church; this was Dorothy Catalonia. A pistol grasped tightly by her fingers, she fired a shot; just one was needed. And she didn't even have the courtesy to miss.
Trowa was struck, and fell hard to the floor. Blood poured around his body as Quatre cried out. There was no hope, no second chance. The pulled ripped through Trowa's heart; and the man was dead.
Quatre turned to see Dorothy still standing there, smiling. Tears poured down his tender face as he read her lips and shuddered under her voice.
"I said I'd love you forever, Quatre. Even if forever has to be in the afterlife."
Another shot, and another bullet. This one hit the small blonde, throwing him to the floor. With an unchanging smile, Dorothy lifted the gun to her head, and pulled the trigger. A shot, a cry...
...and then a cloud of silence filled the church.
Fin
Yes, I feel sort of bad; but these things aren't always filled with happy endings. Please R-n-R. Thankies! :) (Flamers shall be roasted)
I warn you now: SAD ENDING! If you love (to the point of avenging the death of) Quatre, Trowa, or Dorothy; then I would not suggest reading this. nodnod
Silence
Soft music flooded the small church. It was some classic symphony; no one could put their fingers on which one it was, though. But, titling the music was not important. There was a wedding happening, and that was all that mattered to the inhabitants of the church.
Dozens upon dozens of guests filled the small oak pews; all facing the small alter (covered in a read, velvety cloth) at the head of the church. Standing in front of the altar were two men; one distinctively taller than the other.
The taller lad had rugged, brown hair. It was cut short, save the swatch of bangs covering one eye. He was tall, he was tan, he was slender; and was quite the eye-candy. Bronze-tanned skin covered sleek muscles that were hidden now by a white tux. He was the quiet type; but underneath the solemn shell was a passionate heart. A heart beaten by war; but a heart madly in love. His name: Trowa Barton.
The shorter lad had silky, blonde hair; hair that fell in a shaggy pattern around his face. And that face; it twas a face fit for a cherub. Large aqua eyes set against smooth, creamy skin; and that innocent doll-like smile. He was petite, he was slender, he was something that one would long to hold tight when things were creeping in the night. He was proper, but he was loving. He was tender. And his heart skipped a beat every time he looked at the man he loved so dearly. His name: Quatre Winner.
The two men joined hands (and exchanged ear-to-ear smiles), and the priest nodded, starting the ceremony.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of these two people..."
Quatre and Trowa locked eyes on each other. All they could do was smile; they didn't even bother to catch whatever it was that the priest was saying. Their palms were sweaty, their legs were like jell-o; but they didn't care. They were finally going to start a life together.
The Priest continued, for what seemed like forever to the love-birds. The vows were soon exchanged, and the rings were presented. Trowa slipped the band on the small pilot's finger, gently brushing his palm against Quatre's fingertips.
Quatre returned the gesture, granted Trowa's finger wasn't quite as slender. Trowa held on to Quatre's hand, and they smiled as the priest finished the ceremony.
"If there is anyone today who thinks these two should not be joined, speak now, or forever hold your peace..."
Amongst the silence and smiling faces, a figure rose. Long, blonde hair swished behind the figure. A womanly body, a jealous smirk. There was no mistaking it as the shot rang through the church; this was Dorothy Catalonia. A pistol grasped tightly by her fingers, she fired a shot; just one was needed. And she didn't even have the courtesy to miss.
Trowa was struck, and fell hard to the floor. Blood poured around his body as Quatre cried out. There was no hope, no second chance. The pulled ripped through Trowa's heart; and the man was dead.
Quatre turned to see Dorothy still standing there, smiling. Tears poured down his tender face as he read her lips and shuddered under her voice.
"I said I'd love you forever, Quatre. Even if forever has to be in the afterlife."
Another shot, and another bullet. This one hit the small blonde, throwing him to the floor. With an unchanging smile, Dorothy lifted the gun to her head, and pulled the trigger. A shot, a cry...
...and then a cloud of silence filled the church.
Fin
Yes, I feel sort of bad; but these things aren't always filled with happy endings. Please R-n-R. Thankies! :) (Flamers shall be roasted)