Disclaimer: I own nothing of GS/GSD. R&R please.
Chapter 8
The time she had spent here in this room was terrible. Each day was like a grain of sand in an hourglass, seeping through a narrow, glass waist, deposited into a small, but increasingly large pile of wasted days. The calendar was outdated- she'd given up tearing days off.
The stranger in the mirror was her. Long hair, a bit untrimmed, a bit dull. Her face, a bit waxen, eye rings a little obvious, mouth twisted like she didn't recognise herself.
The only upside to the ordeal was Epstein, who had not arrived yet. And of course, there was her captor's consideration towards her- the care Rune Estragon lavished on her was exceptional, even more than what Cagalli had back in Orb.
But then, that was because she had the power to decide what she wanted in Orb, which included her personal space and a rather empty house. Here, she had no choice whatsoever.
The maids were busying themselves with tea while she sat still on a chair, trying not to get in their way. Now and then, they would block the mirror on the vanity, and she prayed that when she could look fully into it, things would have changed.
So every now and then, she snuck a look at the glass across her. But nothing ever changed even as the reflection of the maids bustled across its clear surface.
"Where is your master?" Cagalli said reluctantly. She was afraid to ask, but eager to know, all while aware that it was unlikely for them to reveal this. She wondered why she cared to ask about someone was trying to forget.
"I'm afraid they can't tell you, even if they did know." Another voice said.
Cagalli lifted her eyes as Epstein entered her room. He was a tapering silhouette against the stone walls, and she thought of Jervie from Daddy Long Legs. His young, raw-scrubbed face had a hare's bright eyes, intelligent, fetching and very curious.
She had no resentment towards him whatsoever. How could she, when he was her only friend here? The irony being, of course, that she did not trust the doctors or the maids, but trusted her captor's right hand man.
"Leave us." He said to the maids, who looked hesitant, but bowed and left silently. They did not dare disobey him.
She looked at him, wondering if the youth in his face was a reflection of his age or his nature.
"I brought some port and glasses." He said cheerfully, holding them up. "Forget the boring old tea."
She laughed, leaning back. "Will that spice up another day here? We speak of the same things every day, don't we? What can we do with our free time, of which I have plenty and you have little?"
"We'll talk of interesting things then," Epstein said obligingly. "Whatever you want to talk about."
"I want to know more about you then." Cagalli said boldly.
Epstein however, had learnt the ways of his master. He gazed at her with an unreadable, even reassuring ease. But she sensed danger, how his eyes did not blink as they watched her. "I'll tell you what I can."
Which meant that he would tell her next to nothing. Rune Estragon had taught this man-child how to tell a story, leaving out parts that were more important than the story itself. Typical. Athrun had always been a good teacher, a rare talent in a man who learnt very fast and very well.
"Come," Epstein said steadily, perhaps sensing her thoughts, "I'll do my best to amuse you and keep you company."
A small, angry smile escaped her control.
"As your master instructed?"
"Yes and no. I want to, you see." He took her hand and patted it in hers, in an avuncular manner. She took her hand away and turned, irritated. She did not want a kind uncle cum babysitter in lieu of that damned person.
He sensed her hesitation. "I'll tell you things about myself and him to make time pass quicker. How's that?"
Her eyes flew back to his, and she saw triumph in his smile. He was baiting her.
She wondered why she was allowing herself to be baited. And the answer was clear to her in his knowing smile. For Cagalli could not leave without having information, be it her location, if there was a route out of here, or who held the keys to the house.
It struck her then, that she had asked the wrong questions in exchange for her kiss, questions about the place. In order to leave The Isle, she should have asked questions about her captor.
For now, she would have to play by ear. In her mind, she could only think of Athrun and how his kiss had been needy, impatient and passionate. She did not know what to think of him, only that her heart was aching for something beyond her.
"Alright." She agreed. "I'll admit it. I'm curious. Tell me about yourself, and him."
"Ah." He said slyly. "That's provided you tell me about yourself first."
She hesitated again. She recalled what Rune Estragon had said.
'There is a price to everything here on The Isle.'
So she nodded.
Any price was worth it, if she could leave this place and stay away from that man. She paid a kiss for information. Surely, her time and some memories, which she had plenty of, would be a low price for Epstein's information.
Besides, what more could they know about her that they didn't already?
They spoke of her childhood in the deserts and Orb, and she tried to be as vague as possible, afraid that the information was more valuable than she realised, afraid that it would be used against her. But Epstein was obliging and an astute listener, as well as a good companion, and she found herself opening up to him.
Yet, when she'd turned the questions on him, he became guarded. He shielded himself, however, so subtly that she scarcely realised this at all, what with the way he sat and smiled at her. His teacher had taught him well.
Cagalli was gazing at Epstein and her eyes were wide. Her tea was untouched.
"So you don't know who your parents are?"
"No." He said mildly. He looked pleasantly at her, not bothering to elaborate.
Erlich Hoffman had been a gurgling toddler when his mother had returned to the Plants. Of course, his father had been rather upset, but a divorce had been imminent from the point of the marriage. It helped that Erlich's father wasn't the man that his mother had married. Of course, Erlich never knew who his father was until he received a classified folder of who his mother had been.
"Then where did you live as a child?" Cagalli pressed.
Whatever the case , Erlich had been carted from orphanage to orphanage in Berlin. Something of his father had been destroyed by his marriage to Erlich's mother, and the man had never recovered from the shock of realising that his son was another man's. Of course, Erlich's mother still arrived for her biannual visits at the orphanage, bringing him a cake and clothes he wore proudly amongst the ugly gingham uniform the other children wore. And for a boy of four, that had been enough. Then the visits stopped and his father didn't bother taking over where his mother had left off.
The boy always felt himself to be superior- he still had a father didn't he? But the man got himself killed in some accident or some bar-brawl where the lager was strong. So Erlich sank into general obscurity, celebrating his birthday with a small picture of his mother and a boy with honey-brown hair and smiling blue eyes.
"I lived with a distant relative." Epstein remarked offhandedly, taking a sip of his tea. He surveyed her, setting down his glasses that he wore.
He vaguely distrusted her, despite liking her and possibly, being rather attracted to her. Of course, there was slight dislike as well- she was a competitor for Athrun's attention, but he was reasonable enough to accept this.
The Orb princess looked at him curiously, and he fought back a smile. "Did you like it?"
"Yes and no," Epstein admitted. "Every place has its good and bad memories."
She nodded, agreeing thoroughly.
He enjoyed taking on bullies who were twice his size, sporting blue-blacks but often inflicting equal or greater damage on the others. He had been educated sufficiently well, because the nuns at the orphanage were adept at using arithmetic tables and Tickler, the communal cane. Erlich enjoyed arithmetic to the point that the nuns sent for Father O'Casey and he had privileged lessons. By this time, Erlich was nine and according to the Father, "Too big a fish for too small a pond."
"So when did you start working for Rune Estragon?" Cagalli said suddenly.
Epstein grinned. "Well." He paused, allowing the silence to continue for a bit as he collected his thoughts. "It wasn't my first job."
They had sent him off to work as a shop-boy, and he rather enjoyed taking stock and pilfering from the sacks of prunes. But then, he had been adopted by the shopkeeper, and the Fraulein Martha, who scarcely seemed young enough to be addressed as such, liked seeing her shop-boy well-fed.
By this time, Erlich had forgotten about most of his life at the orphanage. That period hadn't been particularly unhappy, but it had certainly been a lull amidst an already monotonous existence. As a young boy, he'd tutored the other children in their weaker subjects. Coupled with his extraordinary athletic abilities, it became exceedingly obvious that Erlich was not a Natural.
The fraulein was a widow and she liked children, going as close as to spoling Erlich. But when she found a man who wanted to marry her, Epstein was terrified. Fredyrick Murdstone was had an appearance of wasted youth and a faint handsomeness that became a splotchy red rage in his frequent, drunken stupors.
One night, when he picked up a meat chopper and chased the nine-year old Erlich around the house, Erlich decided to save them all the trouble and ran away. This was hardly uncommon in Berlin- as far as he could reason, Epstien was still superior to the waifs who surrounded tourist and pick pocketed them.
But after starving for three days, he found employment and a good pay in a small, sex shop somewhere in the tourist traps of Munich. The shopkeeper hadn't had objections to him working after he promised to work hard, so Erlich was ensured off three hot meals and a roof over his head. The nine year old amused himself for hours, re-reeling old tapes of nubile, young girls pouting at the camera.
His employer was a hearty, comically-goateed man whose girth exceeded the young boy's by more than three times. And Herr Boniface had been surprised when a mere child had arrived with the notice he'd put up, but the boy was gifted at taking stock and calculating at demonic speeds.
"So what did you do for your first job?" Cagalli asked.
"Stock keeping, you could call it."
Boniface had noticed that Erlich had a knack for organisation, and came to rely on his worker to arrange the stock into neat rows. The little shop had never looked so cheery before, with its mended curtains, newly-polished brass door handles, and the new light bulbs that showed the boy's restructuring of the place.
Boniface had been delighted at the impeccable, alphabetical arrangement of the lubricants, video tapes, and best of all, the organisation of whips by the material, leather, hemp, then cloth. He promptly offered the boy higher wages, which Erlich gladly accepted, above lodging in a small backroom, and free weekends.
"I worked in a necessities shop," He said vaguely, "Filled with things that people needed."
If they were into bondage and a colourful sex life, then why, yes.
"Like potatoes and soap and that sort of thing?" Cagalli echoed.
"Oh," Epstein smiled. "Why, yes. And then the First war disrupted my job."
She nodded, believing whatever he let her believe. But he had been affected by the First War very minimally.
When the First War struck the Earth Alliance, Germany sent its children to the underground shelters. By a strange twist, the sex shop was a bomb shelter, and Erlich found dozens of children picking up bottles and asking what this and that was for. He told them rather straightforwardly, resulting in oohs and aahs everywhere, until a frazzled looking Boniface insisted that he kept his mouth shut.
And then, after a month, it was over. The First war came and went, and for a nine year old, nothing seemed to have changed. The town centre had been bombed a little, but reparations were on its way, and business was better than ever.
Erlich was convinced that the young children had gone home and advertised the quality wares to their parents. The corsets were in unprecedented demand. And Boniface, coughing slightly, could not disagree.
"And the Second war?" Cagalli questioned. "What were you doing at that time?"
"Trying to live," He said sincerely.
The Second war happened in the same way, and Erlich was far too absorbed in the emptiness of his general living to care. He watched as politicians argued over whether they would send men to the war front or not. But he preferred watching footage of those gigantic killing machines, the beauty of their lines, the way the mobile suits slammed into each other.
A boy was old enough to enlist as a clerk, but Boniface balked at the idea of Erlich becoming anything remotely linked to the war. Boniface did not want a boy who was like a son to him going off to fight a war that did not know what it was fighting for.
Erlich couldn't be bothered either- he was far too busy sorting out the storeroom's garbled mess of feather boas and other equipment that Boniface had not gotten to for years.
"I suppose I have had a rather normal life," He laughed, cutting the cake on his plate into half.
She winked at him. "I wouldn't say so. You probably had quite a few experiences that are equivalent to the most exciting things in the world."
"You may be right," Epstein shrugged, smiling at his master's captive.
So Erlich lived a rather fascinating life after all. He liked to watch customers shuffle in embarrassedly, poke around at the wares, and look awkward when he offered to help.
Once, an old man tried to grope him, Boniface threw the man out and yelled German that Erlich didn't even understand or speak. Erlich didn't even mind when women squealed at his smooth, white face and pinched his cheeks. In fact, he rather enjoyed their attention, and they tipped him well and taught him different languages.
When he practised it at dinner time, asking if Boniface wanted more of this or that dish, as Erlich assumed, Boniface nearly had an epileptic fit. So Erlich was forbidden to practise the French and Italian that the customers taught him.
They were a strange pair, living each day by, counting the day's profits, eating hot mash, watching their favourite cartoons by the flickering telly, surrounded by the new arrivals- life-sized dolls. The boy amused the Boniface by chasing the flies away by flicking a long, black leather whip, although Erlich didn't understand what his adopted father was laughing at then.
He lived in a haze of contentment and dim light, studying the books Boniface found from somewhere on political science and world history, enjoying the discussion on gender inequalities with a few female regulars who seemed to smile secretly at everything he said.
And Erlich had few friends, save the familiar faces he recognised, the lady with electric blue eye shadow, the man who twirled his moustache nervously, the young girls who had laughed at him once but tried to kiss him nowadays, and Aunt Rhoda who ordered everything in bulk.
That had been until Plant had sent for him.
"Wait," Cagalli said suddenly. "And then you enlisted in Zaft and became affiliated with him?"
"Why," Epstein paused, wondering if half-truths were better or blatant lies easier. "Why, yes."
He had told the entire truth, but it was obscured for both their sakes.
When Erlich had gone to Zaft, he had never quite understood the procedures, except that Boniface had cried all night and Erlich could not sleep with the prospect of sitting in a shuttle and going to a place smack right middle in space.
He was going to Zaft- the notion of that was too strange and so seductive. He would have a uniform, two sets of standard wear, a bottle of shoe-polish, and like the hundreds of others who received this, would belong to a platoon. The point was that he would belong.
After all, he was a coordinator.
He spent the next two years in Aprilius, completing his education in a top school and going on to university modules. Although he was intelligent, his learning in Berlin had been lax and the children in Plant had learnt at much faster paces than he.
So within these years, Erlich learnt how to shoot, knife the cloth dummy, and hack into computer systems. Around him, the war was going on, dying and starting again, until the colossal fight that ended the war- the Messiah. At that time, Erlich had his first girlfriend, so he barely bothered.
He had lost his virginity at twelve, having stumbled into a party, thanks to his friends' insistence that he live a little as a young adult coordinator. His reputation preceded him far too much- Tommy had told the girl that Erlich had worked in a sex shop for a few years, and the girl had expected too much.
He had decided that he did not like the experience of booze, nor the smoke he blinked through rather pathetically. The truck's backseat had been too cramped for two, and he had been dazed throughout the entire experience.
After that, he had rarely looked at girls who spoke loudly and wore too much makeup. But overall, Erlich had a few friends and his life was decidedly quite enjoyable.
Sometimes, he wondered why his parents had been such letdowns, but then he decided not to care. He spoke with a stutter at times, trembling from the shouting of his officers, but he was fit and ready to serve.
An officer named Trine was particularly kind to him, enquiring about his health and his life, but Erlich never spoke to him much, deciding that another avuncular character in his life was unnecessary.
Erlich was tall for his age, and in Plant, found that his maturity that seemed strange for a thirteen year old was common here. In the Plant, thirteen year olds were adults, but he still watched with amazement as Fainey, his bunkmate, got engaged to a girl who looked a little like a customer Erlich had once served.
Now, Cagalli leaned back in her chair, surveying him, unable to see what flashed in his mind. "How did you find Zaft?"
"Good," He said casually. "I wasn't in the thrust of war, so it was good."
Sometimes, Erlich woke up in the night, hours too early for the morning march, and wondered what the hell was going on. The barracks had many of such people like him, stranded and collected again after the second war, orphaned, adventurous and a bit displaced.
"It was good to get along with everyone else." He explained to Cagalli.
His superiors looked at him with strange eyes even though he never did more than get along with every body else. But better the odd stare without any explanation than trawling Berlin's streets as an urchin.
"I see." She said briefly, watching him with the eyes he thought were very strange and beautiful. "And how did you meet your master?"
"He needed a personal assistant." Epstein said quietly. "I was available for the job. And that was all."
When he was fourteen, he was unexpectedly called into his squad leader's office and he stared at the person sitting in the visitor's chair. Uncomfortably, he shuffled into the office, feeling like regular scum after an afternoon's worth of physical conditioning.
"At ease." His superior told him, and Erlich had dropped his hand, staring at the other person in the office. The visitor never even returned his salute- he merely lifted his eyes to Erlich, coolly surveying him, drinking tea with beautiful manners Erlich had grown unaccustomed to seeing.
"I see." Cagalli said again, only her eyes visible above her teacup rim, and Epstein knew that she did not really see. "So you both met in Zaft as colleagues."
"You could say that."
The man had looked like a civilian in his dark suit and tie, well-dressed and formal without the stiffness of one who served Zaft. That was fine, except that Erlich recognised him- the civilian had served Zaft before.
This man was young, approaching middle-age by Coordinator standards, actually, but well, sociologists were still disputing the matter of the coordinator-adult. Whatever it was, his eyes were old, alert but old. Recollections of war reports, the names of Zaft's top aces and mobile suit numbers flashed by in his head.
On that warm, slightly stifling day which seemed as routine as the others, Athrun Zala had arrived for Erlich Hoffman. And one month later, Erlich Hoffman was re-christened as Epstein Cleamont.
"I thought it would be a good experience to become his personal assistant once I graduated from Zaft," Epstein elaborated.
For a person like him, adventure and revenge was the only way to live. Athrun Zala was his parent in name and in person- a person Epstein was drawn to despite his reservations. The man was a very gentle person, fair and patient as a teacher, loving as a father despite their ages, and very protective of him.
"Really?" Cagalli said, a strange expression on her face. "What have you learnt from him?"
"A lot," He told her sincerely. "Too much to elaborate on."
Epstein learnt a great deal of things from a man who did not and could not even trust himself. But the love Epstein had for his father was not known to himself until five years ago. Athrun had stayed on The Isle for his sake. These sacrifices Athrun had made for him were countless and burdened Epstein with guilt.
But he had found a way to repay Athrun after all.
She was looking at him with doubt. "Too much to elaborate on?"
He looked at the woman sitting before him. She was the key to everything.
"Why, not at all. I was just looking for a change of topic. Tell me more about Orb."
The streets, a hundred and thirty storeys beneath them, were dots of pretty colour. The world seemed to be made of thin air and high altitudes at this point. Today was a single day of some festival. The mask-stands boasted colours he had admired while watching from the window of the car. Somewhere below them, a child was pestering his mother to buy him a fragrant, maple-cream snack. But there was only business now- the streets were far beneath him.
Athrun sat down in the lone chair that the men had placed in the centre of the room. He did not watching the man's upturned face turn ashen. He crossed his legs delicately. The kneeling man, his arms held behind him, began to curse in his native tongue.
"Marubeni-san," Athrun said tonelessly. "The proposal was and is rather fair."
There was an ominous entendre in his words.
As if to prove his point, the shadows grew longer, their faces halved by these. Outside, the streets were bustling, and he gazed towards the windows at the far end. A magnificent view of the architecture in the centre of the business district. Of course, it looked somewhat like Eiffel Tower at this altitude, but at the street level, it was impressive with its sheer magnitude.
The man snarled before him, tussling violently, but Harumi's men were very strong. She was standing next to Athrun, and she smiled winningly at him. "I told you he was a stubborn one."
He watched her, noting that the smile did nothing to remove the reptilian glaze of her eyes.
"Estragon," The man was trembling, speaking haltingly without the comfort zones of his native language. "I'll do anything for you, but don't ask me to sell the company."
Athrun stared at him, his expression growing wintry. "I've made offers that were more than reasonable."
They looked at Tetsuya Marubeni. His great lump of a forehead shone with the large wet beads trickling down. His jowls quivered in agony.
Harumi, petite and bloodthirsty, shook her head. "Estragon, he's a greedy one. Don Mittall agreed at the first price you set, but not Marubeni. And Mittall Steel is certainly far more profitable than the shell of what Marubeni Corporations used to be."
"Thank you," He said simply, and she grew quiet. He focused on the man kneeling before him, and tapped his chin with a finger, thinking.
"If I buy over the oil companies, ten percent higher," Athrun said evenly, "Would you sell it? Of course, I do not need to remind you that your companies have been operating at a loss for five years already. Add to that the externalities the government will soon make you pay for, these are already nearing bankruptcy. And you have a score to settle with the patent-owners you've been disregarding. Add to that, the inefficiency of your production chain. Why not sell it while it's worth something?"
The man was spewing obscenities. "I won't sell Marubeni Corporations!"
In a flash, Harumi drew her sword, wiping it, and re-sheathed it. A second later, there was a scream that shook the air. Obscenities in a language Athrun did not fully grasp were scattered in the air, but the tone was unmistakeable. Pain was universal. She had moved so quickly that Athrun scarcely noticed what she had done, save the drops that were growing on his sleeve. He looked at his sleeve with narrowed eyes.
"But you promised," She said coyly. "See?"
Something splattered on the floor, and there was a silence that followed, save the gradual whimpers and increasingly louder sobs. Marubeni's severed pinky lay like a worm after the rain, on the carpet.
Athrun refused to look at Harumi, knowing that she would have read him from his eyes.
He turned back to the whimpering man, feeling sorry for him. "Please agree and let us treat the wound."
"You bastard!" the man wheezed. He seemed to be leaking oil and blood as he shook with fear and pain and hatred. The odious, gold rings on his hands shone dully. "Are you going to sew my finger back? Kitani Harumi! I'm your uncle!"
"It can be done," Athrun said calmly, as Harumi's expression turned slightly, almost imperceptible churlish with glee.
She took a step forward, her robes moving slightly. Her henchmen were all outside the boardroom, and yet, she was capable of killing as many as she wished while all thirty of guarded the entrance.
Her dark hair was pinned up with an ornate gold pin and blood-red coral pieces for the festival. She bent down and said something he couldn't understand, but Marubeni could. His eyes widened and he began to gag and choke in an induced epileptic fit. Her voice was deep, sultry, even, and guttural in its rich articulation. Then satisfied, she stood up and moved back to Athrun's side.
"Done." She said easily. "Sold. But you must thank me. I've gotten you a bargain." Her face looked brutal in its efficient simplicity, the eyes slits and the mouth a red scar, plump and vicious. "Free."
"What did you tell him?" Athrun said, out of curiosity.
She looked at him, her face beautiful. She had surgically removed the scar near her forehead a month ago, making the face the Noh mask it was again. Her eyes were liquid obsidian, the white teeth sharp behind the red, painted lips. "Nothing in particular."
He stood up, not caring to look at the sobbing man. "Send someone in to fix him up."
She nodded at one of the men. He stepped forward, gangly, hunched and thin but very strong, and gripped Marubeni's head by the hair, upwards, the eyes behind the dark glasses as emotionless as his letterbox mouth. The outward gesture of violence made Athrun look away.
Harumi brought her hands together, bowing, her flapping sleeves swinging. A sign of respect towards him. It seemed almost like she was mocking him, but he knew that she did not appreciate sarcasm.
Before he stepped out, he turned back to her, frowning. "I don't approve of your methods."
She straightened up, no clear expression but a sneer in her eyes. "This is my territory. As long as I am alive, the underworld is mine. You wanted the oil corporations, and now you have it. Marubeni though, has been trying to establish power that belongs to me. No? So it is our matter, a private one that I will settle."
He kept his silence, watching with some pity.
She turned back to Athrun and smiled, tilting her head in that pretty manner. He looked at her, deciding what to say.
Then he bowed, in her custom, and left.
Her henchmen bowed in a corridor of bent bodies, dark suits like moths aligning the cloth of the carpet, and he left. He must have looked like one of them in his own dark suit. It looked like a funeral in the narrow corridor, the smell of ink and air freshener trailing after them as his shadow marched before him.
As he stepped out of the building, the receptionist smiled at him. He glanced at her name tag, although this was more a habit than a necessity. She looked like a young, fashionable girl with silver hoop earrings and dyed hair, her uniform sporting the Marubeni logo. But they both knew had probably been sent in as early as Rune Estragon had decided that Marubeni Corporations were to be bought over.
The receptionist greeted him with what he recognised as a morning greeting in her tongue.
Naturally, he returned it out of courtesy. "Ohaiyo."
Almost conspiratorially, she bent forward and her eyes twinkled.
He nodded stiffly.
So he watched as she laughed suggestively. The board behind her reflected an electronic system of reminders and London and New York's time. The phone records showed a dozen calls from the chairman's office, all probably requesting for security.
And of course, her desk registered a dozen missed calls. There was nobody to see the call board either, or to respond. They were all wearing dark suits, lining the hallways of the top level, waiting for their mistress to finish her business meeting. The people working here were either Harumi's, or people who were warned to leave the building as Harumi had entered with her entourage.
The girl looked interestedly at him, but he moved away fairly quickly. He did not like to mix with Harumi's henchmen, even if this one was a very attractive girl.
Thus, when Athrun stepped out of the massive building, nobody would have guessed that Marubeni Corporations was not a building anyone could simply enter. He was so unassuming, so average, so absolutely normal.
Athrun did not bother to gaze up as its steeple impaled the clouds. He might have been blinded by the glare of light that cast itself against Marubeni Corporations' headquarters.
The procession danced like a red and gold chameleon, a strange blend of tradition amidst the urban settings. Girls wearing thigh-high boots with soles the width of a large sponge cake careened, their dyed hair gaudy and eye-catching.
One girl produced a cell and put it to her ear, the phone strap and toy larger than the phone itself. Her scarf had something like the emblem of pistols knitted into it.
He stared, feeling the cold slab of metal in his own coat pocket.
Some school boys ran past him, lassoing their blazers, one knocking slightly into him and its owner apologising in a hurried, laughing voice. They compared notes and then flung it into the air, shouting that the examinations were screwed up anyway. There were street performers screaming their songs into megaphones and electric guitars screaming louder than their players.
Athrun ignored them all.
He walked at a steady pace, alone but at ease with himself and the world. He stopped by a quaint but renowned sweet shop and emerged a little while later. A box in his right hand held the maple-leaf shaped cakes that Epstein had a weakness for. He smiled at the shopkeeper next door and picked out pretty hairpins for Cartesia and Laplacia- he got a bargain from the female shopkeeper.
A passer-by, hurrying home, stopped and stared at the person who crossed the street, noting the man's midnight coloured hair and pale skin. A group of youngsters with the rainbow spectrum of hair colours were talking loudly.
They passed by, with their outlandish clothes that somehow fit the neon surroundings, their multiple piercings glinting in the sun.
The passer-by wondered if the man he saw belonged to this group. But the man with the midnight hair had already crossed the road, his height swallowed by the crowds on the other side of the lines.
So the passer-by registered only this man's profile without comprehending the face.
And thus, nobody really quite noticed Athrun Zala standing, smack in the centre of the crowded crossroads, right in the middle of Tokyo.
Coughing his laughter, Epstein beamed at Cagalli.
She was clapping her hands softly in her mirth, swaying slightly in the seat, her eyes tearing with laughter.
He laughed just as openly, enjoying her equally spontaneous show of humour.
Bawdy jokes tickled most men but made women snobby with upturned noses. Not this one. If he had started out as cordial but distant towards her, he was utterly charmed by her now.
She was unlike any other woman he'd seen, as charismatic as conniving salesman, but lovely and pure like a child. And her beauty was breathtaking the first time but it developed into something else the more one studied her. He knew that she was often compared to Lacus Clyne.
But they were very different women, and this one seemed to be a war hforse, golden and magnificent, unlike Senator Clyne, a mild, snow-white dove.
The clematis flowers that he'd brought her were a pretty pink splotch on the chocolate tones of the wood. Their tea things lay there and the cakes were half-eaten. She looked around in surprise, for there was a chocolate mousse that she could not possibly swallow a mouthful of.
He cast an eye over her. She was a little pale, slightly peaky even. But the sparkle in her eyes had fooled him for a second.
Cagalli was very pretty, he noted. Those fine features and the slight haughtiness but open warmth in her face made her quite attractive. No wonder his master had once been taken with her.
He had often asked Athrun what Cagalli was really like in his younger days, the way a child would question his father on a mother he'd never known. Of course, Athrun never replied, and if he did, he would mention vague things about Orb's politics and things that never really answered Epstein's questions.
And Epstein had learnt to forgo his curiosity five years ago, after silently watching his master punch the wall with a bleeding fist over and over again. It had left thin white scars even after the shattered fist had healed. Athrun had begun wearing gloves after that, but he revealed nothing.
It had angered Epstein that Athrun told him so little. Sometimes, he felt as if Athrun did not trust him enough. But he was sure that the Orb Princess had something to do with his master- he never mistrusted his instincts.
He watched balefully as Cagalli poured tea for him. She was chattering away, glad to see him.
Of course, there was a familiarity he had always felt with her. He half-despised her for it- the way she put him at ease, the way she could put Athrun at ease.
Good grief. He was jealous of her, but he was starting to wonder what it would feel like to put his arms around her and kiss her. She did not notice his thoughts and continued what she was saying, though nary a word got through.
"I suppose you entertain your master like this, all the time?"
"He'd be horrified if he heard me telling lewd jokes," Epstein grinned. "He's a very proper person, a gentleman. He would avoid hearing anything vaguely demeaning to women, I suspect.
The mention of Rune Estragon made her eyes dark in cynicism, and he noticed this.
But she did not say anything more. Abruptly, she drank her tea.
Behind them, Cartesia and Laplacia waited with trays of more desserts.
"Rune Estragon is a good person," Epstein said, picking up on her discomfort and goading her with it. "He would never hurt anyone he cares for."
She looked sharply at him. "Are you sure about that?"
"Very." Epstein said, signalling to the maids that they should leave.
They bowed and pattered out. He stared at Cartesia- her arm sported a bandage. Laplacia, on the other hand, looked tired and wan. Of course, they'd given Cagalli excuses, falling down, things like that.
But he knew that they had been training even more aggressively these few days. He shook his head inwardly.
He refocused on Cagalli, noting the frustration in her face.
Cagalli blew her fringe out of eyes. "Epstein, why do you work for Rune Estragon?"
He sat back, looking directly at her, unable to keep the frostiness from his voice. "He's a benefactor."
"Surely," She said in a hushed voice. "There are other ways to repay a person? This job you are doing isn't simple."
Epstein surveyed her with some sadness. He tapped his fingers on the table, thinking of a suitable reply.
It struck her, although not for the first time, that he didn't look older than twenty. But she couldn't tell either. He was almost as tall as Athrun, and he might have been seventeen or thirty.
A man-child, and she was attracted to him. She ached to see a familiar face, and with Epstein, she thought of Kira. His face was very young, his eyes large and a lovely blue next to the peach skin. She wondered if he had a sweet tooth and was prone to worrying, like Kira.
He did not catch hold onto any of her wayward thoughts. "He's worried about you. That's why he instructed me to come. But I'd come, even if he didn't ask me to."
She smiled, grateful and pleased.
All those were his master's orders- keep her company. But he enjoyed meeting her, enjoyed seeing her face light up when he came to her. Together with the maids, they spent long, happy hours on their stomachs, betting on all sorts of things with dice.
Epstein found that Cagalli had a knack for such vices- blackjack, poker, just plain betting, she would emerge the winner.
Now, he teased her on it. "How much have you lost these days?"
She grinned. "I didn't lose. I won Laplacia's apron."
"And that's worth such a lot," He said cheekily. "How is she going to live without her apron? She won't be able to wash, cook, clean, good lord- that valuable apron!"
She shrugged. "She won an emerald bracelet."
This time, Epstein did gasp. "Good god! The one you were wearing the other day?"
Cagalli squinted. "The emerald one? Well, yes. Why?"
"D'you know how much that's worth?" He said in shock.
"Oh come," She laughed airily. "Live a little. Besides, it's not mine."
"And you gambled it still! It was a gift from my master!"
She frowned. "I don't need it. And Laplacia liked it. I could see."
"Girls generally like that sort of thing." Epstein said pointedly. He wondered why she saw no value in the baubles his master picked personally for her. The other women certainly had.
"I know."
"Then why'd you gamble that?"
"I don't want anything he's giving me." Cagalli said abruptly, so suddenly that it sounded rude.
Epstein paused. "He's-,"
"I don't care what he thinks of me." Cagalli said fitfully. Her mood was changing again. "As long as he leaves me alone."
He paused. "What happened?"
She looked at him, her cheeks becoming rosy. "Nothing."
If she had seemed difficult with his master, now he found her irresistibly lovely.
She seemed younger than she really was, easily fooled and trusting, and he began to laugh and talk with her, banter as they argued over topics like gender inequality. Her sensitivity and intelligence was not numbed by the tranquilisers, as far as he was concerned.
He was drawn to her, and he wondered if she was a piece of him that had been taken away a very long time ago.
He had found himself visiting her at every opportunity he could find, just to talk to her and amuse her with anecdotes and jokes.
But today, he thought with some regret, he would not have to do so anymore. His master was coming back to The Isle.
Five years ago, he had been driving along the sandy roads. Barely anyone drove by, save a sleepy truck driver who cut into his lane.
He wondered if the sunrise would be early, then rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The road under the car was becoming bumpy- the road was contiguous to absolutely nothing in this coastal region.
Nothing grew well here, he reflected. Not even his faith in human nature, which certified him as a bit of a misanthropist.
The Cliffside was ill-suited for his car, or perhaps the other way around. It was his will against the environment. He spotted a tree branch extending from the shallower regions of brackish water, swirled around by the suspiciously violent currents. As he sped by, the branch took on the appearance of a hand, extended to heaven in a mute cry for mercy as the water swallowed it whole.
He might have left The Isle. It was not impossible.
But now it was. He was disgusted with principals and moral goading- he loathed himself for being susceptible to both of these. He had rely on Sander, trusted him even.
And he had watched, unable to articulate his grief, as their bodies were burnt to destroy evidence of their existence on The Isle. This would be his end as well. He could not leave The Isle until his end came. And then nobody would remember that he had ever set foot here. There was only one way to prevent this- succeed in this mission. And for that, he had to stay on.
That day, he spotted belladonnas in pots, lining a small shop. He had forced his car to a halt and found himself in front of them, staring. Those were pretty flowers, as their name suggested. But the poison was a different thing altogether.
Athrun did not care much for flowers, although he did appreciate the fresh beauty of blossoms. In this place, flowers were rare.
Imported flowers were few and those that could be grown were hothoused and fed with fertilisers and not the normal sustenance of climate. This place was unsuitable for anything except brambles and red clovers. Those grew in abundance, but then he also cared very little for them.
His garden remained a wilderness, but he rarely entered that portion of the manor. He had not given orders for it to be aesthetically pleasing, and his protégés had little initiative when they were in the thick of their training.
The town was mostly empty, almost as if The Isle existed only for him. But then, it might have been the fact that it was six in the morning. The sun's rays were only hinted of beyond the sea. This place was very the cliffs- too near, in fact. He pursed his lips, deciding what to do. Buying it up would cause suspicion, but if the owner was willing-,
He turned in, and spotted a brown bulk of a man's back. It was bent- probably watering the plants in front of him or something.
Athrun peered to see, and then tapped the man, unsure of his identity. The man, or his bulk rather, turned, face scarred and toothless. Athrun swallowed his shock.
He had asked the man politely, "Are you the shopkeeper? I'd like to speak to the- wha-?"
Abruptly, the man threw a punch at him and he ducked, just in time. And suddenly, he was hitting back while a flower pot smashed over their heads.
Then another flew over them, and chuckling, Athrun dodged while it hit the brute squarely in the forehead. The enormous chunk of a man bent over and knelt, smashing his jaw into the floor, effectively knocking himself out.
"Thank you," He called. The girl who had thrown the pots emerged from where the man had been crouching and blocking her from sight. She looked every part the distressed maiden that the blob had been threatening.
He stared. Hay-coloured hair with grey eyes that reflected a few other colours if given the right lighting. A bit peaky looking, but quite attractive.
She did not thank him however, only looked frightened. "Stay away."
"Hallo." He said unsurely. She had a sort of face that was both impish and pretty, and her eyes were very distinctively grey. But he was staring at her because her voice was slightly husky and warm like she had a perpetual cold. Like Cagalli's.
She had looked defiantly at him then. He felt something in him grow uncomfortable with the familiarity.
"You're one of them, are you?"
"One of whom?" He said, puzzled at the ambiguity.
"The Madame's cronies. A pimp. Like this one." She gestured to the mass on the floor.
He shook his head, although he was beginning to understand. Business often took him to Madame Chanteuse's, although being called a pimp was something else.
Had he seen this girl before? No. Surely not. He didn't like to indulge in that sort of thing, at Madame Chanteuse's. "Are you one of those girls who managed to buy their way out?"
She had looked apprehensive, like a threatened animal. "I don't want to have anything to do with Madame Chanteuse."
"I've visited." He said calmly. "And I've never seen you around. Who are you?"
"Lyra Delphius. I got out of there before I was auctioned." She said, stammering, reaching out to take a pot off a shelf, clutching it to her, as if she were planning to run away with it. "I convinced her that eighty percent of this shop's would more than cover the cost of rearing a whore who would eventually grow old and earn little."
She looked at him very suddenly, and her long blonde hair covered a little of her face, as if she didn't know why she was saying all this to him. Her hands were very small, that he noticed almost immediately. He stared at those, afraid to look at her face. Lyra Delphius- she was surely a native, who had no idea who he was or what he was doing here.
Perhaps his intervention in Madam Chanteuse's thug's visit made her obliged to tell him something of her past.
His eyes were still on her hands, and he felt strange. Something made him uncomfortable, the way she bit her words, the way her eyes were darting to his, away, staring at his suddenly in a way that arrested him, then flitting away again.
"I'm sorry to have caused the ruckus. Lyra."
She looked painfully shy, fiercely awkward but very pretty.
He tried to focus on picking up the broken pot, and thankfully, she let him. But that might have been because she was backing into a wall, watching him with those large, slightly almond-shaped eyes.
He felt a horrible sense of déjà vu.
He began to take a closer look at the shop. It looked almost make-shift, but the splashes of colour masked most of that. And a few pictures hung about, simple paintings of cliffs and the sea. So she painted.
He grinned at her and she blushed, muttering something about the chilliness of the shop.
Silently, he handed his coat, and she shook her hands helplessly, her inability to articulate rather charming, and then she held it, her hands in it like a muff. Her long hair swung about like a fish tail, hay colour, a bit on the paler side of gold. He noticed this and pursed his lips.
Then he remembered his purpose and frowned unconsciously. "Is this shop for sale?"
She looked at him with a horrified suspicion. The coat she was warming her hands in looked ready to be flung at him.
And her eyes were fearful but almost vicious in their fear, quite changing her thin face. He knew then, that she was going to be difficult to deal with. "You work with Madame Chanteuse, don't you? I knew it- You waltz inhere and you want me to sell this shop, and then you'll take me back there so she'll have both the shop and another whore- how much is she paying you to do this?"
And suddenly, Athrun lost the desire to care about the shop. He wanted to gain her trust.
He shook his hands in self-defence, mirroring her discomfort a few moments ago. "No- I just thought that I-,'
His sudden awkwardness made her relax. Animals were like that, he reflected. They panicked easily, but then relaxed upon realising that the predator was possibly weaker than the pre.
"It's still hers for now," Lyra added bitterly. "She takes all the profits for seven years."
"Why did you agree to this?" Athrun said in surprise. "It sounds like a pretty tough bargain. Nothing grows very well on this island." He trailed off and the ambiguity festered. "Anyway, it's rare that she lets one of her-, wards venture outside the- compound."
His euphemisms had precisely the opposite effect.
She smiled sardonically. "I'm seventeen this year. I think you know Charles Purcell? A man named Greyfriars and others who I cannot remember, were looking for a new face to celebrate his birthday."
He nodded, thinking of the man that was slightly older than him, chiselled with a wasted, waxy handsome with the aggressive eyes and hard, cruel body. He had watched Purcell kill before- efficient and with a delight that sickened Athrun.
"I was frightened when he hit Bonnie," She said numbly. "So when my turn came, I convinced Madame Chanteuse that I could make more money for her in other ways. Ways that didn't involve my virginity. I suppose that the plan worked too well for my own good- the demand for flowers is high and the price the blossoms fetch give her lots of money. I suppose she wants both the shop and a whore who works for her. It doubles the profit. So she's been sending her thugs to make me give up this shop. If you're one of them, you can go back and tell her that I will not."
He felt a surge of sympathy for her, but he shook his head inwardly, trying to be as impersonal as possible.
She was staring at him, and he thought that Madame Chanteuse had probably made a wrong business investment. This place couldn't be earning as much as this girl potentially could- long, soft hair and limpid, expressive eyes with a passionate mouth. And she was dressed decently, non-descript even, but she was young, nubile and probably worth paying for.
"I'm not her thug," He insisted, suddenly even more eager to make her trust him.
He looked at the shop, its cramped but cosy parameters and the flowers that were arranged lovingly in their corners. He wondered where she lived. There were some sacks on the floor, and with growing disconcertment, he realised that she had no bed. She had been woken by that thug- he'd probably broken in.
The flowers made him look twice. Those were the finest he'd seen anywhere on The Isle. It was impossible for them to grow on most areas here. Nothing grew except spruce and red clovers.
She was probably growing the flowers in some patch of fertile soil she'd discovered. If the thugs realised this, they would destroy that patch and her livelihood.
He said abstractly, "I just thought I'd come in and-,"
"Whatever it is," She interrupted, "You saved me from a scuffle. I could have done it without your help, but you did help me, and I thank you for that."
She lifted her head, as even fiercer and prouder because her shame lingered inwardly. Her eyes flashed as if daring him to say anything.
He was forcibly reminded of Cagalli.
"I just came for some flowers." He said stiffly.
She looked at him, her eyes appraising him and her lips slightly moist. There was something strange in them.
"Take your pick."
Haplessly, he chose some belladonnas, irony of ironies.
Instead of paying up and getting the hell out of there, he made his decision.
They spent an hour talking about the weather and every single thing that they could think of, testing each other, and getting to know each other. She was naïve but cunning in her own ways. In some ways, she was a dreamer who was mercenary when it came to achieving her dream, vicious because of her helplessness.
Whenever he smiled, she looked shy, looking at him through her long fringe. She was a child, and it was a pity that she had grown in a soiled, adult-dominated world. He paid, despite her protests.
The next few days passed and he sent her little presents, visiting and chasing away a few more thugs. They were always around when he appeared.
He admired the fact that she was strong-willed and not as weak as she appeared- she'd given concussions to two of them with a particularly heavy pot of daffodils by sheer effort of will. They had tea once they'd pulled out the two unconscious men and left them outside the shop.
Then two days later, he had appeared with a contract he'd obtained. It wasn't for her to sign- she didn't own the shop, Madame Chanteuse did. Or rather, Madame Chanteuse had.
He told her that he wanted her to live with him, and if he had to buy the shop, he would. Of course, they both realised that he had bought her freedom from Madame Chanteuse in the process- paid more than what the little shop was worth, really.
He hadn't bothered haggling with the old shrew. She'd whined about how profitable Lyra could be, and he'd eventually convinced her that she was right- he paid for Lyra what half of Madame Chanteuse' girls would have brought in with ten years of hard labour.
Lyra had slapped him, screaming that he had betrayed her, that he had pretended to be her friend, but was a pimp just like Madame Chanteuse. He knew then, that he wanted her all the more for her anger, for her rage and scars.
He'd hauled her to the little patch of land she'd been tilling in secret, showed Lyra evidence that the thugs had been preparing to burn the shop down, along with the land.
She'd stared at the kerosene cans and clutched the arm he'd slid around her, afraid that he'd leave.
Of course, he hadn't told her that he'd paid the thugs to leave signs of their damage, and that he'd paid them off their job. He didn't tell her that he had bought the thugs as well, asked them to hound her and let him fight them off to gain her trust.
And he never revealed that he had hid around a few times, waited for her to leave her shop, her bag stuffed with packets of seeds, and followed her to the cliff's edges. She had an absolute flower bower here, hidden behind the granite rocks, warm from the proximity to the sea, the breeze cut off by the shelter she'd built.
So naturally, he gained her trust completely, and she agreed to leave the shop and leave with him. It seemed logical to give up what was unviable and face the inevitable- that he had bought her freedom for himself. And this man she'd met for barely a week, was promising her a different life. She would have her own house, her own life. She could have the entire garden to herself if she liked, he promised her that, all while drying her tears with his hands.
They stood in a shadowy corner, the air thick with jasmine and the shop sign slanted where he'd shifted it to the 'closed' side. He kissed her softly, their hands exploring each other.
There was inevitability to everything.
He whispered that he loved her and he wanted her to love him back. But even when she responded, he knew that she had, from the minute she'd met him.
A week later, they were making love for the fifth time that day, tucked away in the house he'd bought, their limbs entangled, and her face flushed with his kisses.
She was young and inexperienced, but she had a knack for knowing how to please him. She had probably learnt a thing or two by hearing the other girls or watching them solicit business.
But he couldn't think clearly with the wine guiding him and her body nestled next to his. Her golden hair had been cut short to reveal most of the neck, and she was not used to the exposure of her neck.
She murmured that it was a dream, she was finally free from Madame Chanteuse's and with a man she loved.
He did not hear what she was saying, only continued to hold her and stroke her feverishly, thinking about the glimpses of her breasts when she'd been flustered, trying to rid herself from the tiny crabs.
The light was dim and her eyes looked amber and molten despite, or perhaps because, they were an ambiguous grey. Her voice was hoarse and sobbing, calling his name as he'd told her to through.
Athrun.
And he was holding her near to him, telling her brokenly, that he had never meant to hurt her by leaving for a war that his father had started. He was repeating over and over again, that he had returned for her.
And in the morning, as he had dressed and drove away from the little neighbourhood he'd settled her in.
He had done what he had to. She wouldn't have vacated that shop unless he had done what he had. Buying the shop directly would have made her fight him. Buying her was different. She had come closer to the truth than she had known- all because that flower-patch and shop was too near the cliff edge.
As he left the small house, he ignored the neighbours who were suddenly busy diving behind their books, avoiding him. But as he moved off, he noted the woman who was driving behind him.
They stopped at a secluded road. Her hair blew in the wind, luminous white and luxurious, and her eyes were hidden behind shades, as were his. Neither bothered removing those. Yet, her eyes were searching, and he nodded at her as she stared at him.
"One problem after another, but it happens only with you." She said clearly, through the window.
He smiled lightly, aggravating her because he didn't know how else to look her in the eye. Sanders was dead because of him. "I have my needs."
"I don't care who you want to bring home," She said tightly. "As long as you minimise the danger we're already involved in."
He shrugged. "She's only a child."
"And yet you bring her into all of this!"
"So you do bother about these things," He said evenly. "I knew you weren't the machine you claimed to be. When Sanders died you just took off and-"
"Don't change the topic," She said, her teeth gritted. "I have been keeping tabs on Lyra Delphius for three days now. You brought her here a week ago, didn't you? To a normal, small neighbourhood. And someone like you, driving in and out of that place, is going to be noticed sooner or later."
"I've been staying there for a week. I haven't been driving in and out. And I've told her that I won't frequent regularly. What do you know about her?"
"Relatively safe. Had no contact with anyone significant. One of the girls Chanteuse bought from nowhere and raised to be one of her cash cows. She's met a few of them, including Greyfriars. But no harm."
"I thought so." He said quietly. "Leave her alone."
The woman made a sound of despair, and he realised, not for the first time, that she was nearly a head taller than him, despite him being relatively tall.
"Estragon, I repeat. I don't care about your little affairs. You could keep a harem and I and the others wouldn't care. Look, Tom's had his nth girlfriend. The uppers aren't expecting us to be celibate or anything, but you know what the risks are. We're isolated within an isolated place, and it's best for it to remain that way. Get too close to anyone and you'll have difficulties breaking free of The Isle. And the danger- just keep that poor girl out of this."
"I know. I will."
It was unlikely that his colleague's worry was necessary. He felt little for Lyra, needed little from her to satisfy his own needs.
The only thing that had passed through his mind in the morning, when he'd made love to her again, was that he would arrange for the shop to be destroyed- he wanted the cliff abandoned to prevent trouble.
The woman before him crossed her legs imperiously and glared at him.
Her pure white hair, as usual, fell over one ruby eye, making her look even more enigmatic in her beauty but always slightly sinister as well. She hadn't changed much these years, Athrun reflected. None of them had. "And you think that it's fine that you're double-crossing them so openly?"
"Sheba," A tall, pale man with glasses above a pleasantly good-looking face said exasperatedly. "Rune's been holding onto the princess for, what's that again? Nearly two and a half months, correct?"
"Yes." Athrun said stoically. "And it will not be a double-crossing. Not a clear one anyway."
"Estragon's a sly bastard," another man said, his body and face clearly more a boy's than a man's, save the grim eye patch he wore, "He's probably using someone in the Danish faction to overthrow Greyfriars, or convincing Greyfriars that someone has broken his rules. It's not his style to appear when he kills someone."
Athrun smiled and said nothing.
"Very well." Sheba said with a sigh. "The others have voted to let you do as you deem fit. Of course-," She added with some trepidation, "Don't go and make a mess out of this. The point is to obtain the suitcase. Create a suitable alibi for yourself to maintain your standing on the Fifth Isle. Remember that you're a wealthy businessman, not some terrorist. Don't charge in with that gun of yours, you'll scare the daylights out of that woman."
"Roger." Athrun said indifferently.
He looked at her and saw that her eyes were like full-moons, dipped in blood.
With a woman like this, he had to be careful. She was a wolf, sniffing out trails, ruthless and determined beyond his comprehension. She was probably wondering who he would bring along with him to Rochester's, since he'd refused to use the other Eyes' aides.
He kept his expression neutral.
But he thought of the firms he had acquired, and he knew that his pulse was racing. He had been thinking of his captive increasingly, these few days, and he wondered if he had been in her thoughts.
The months to follow would come and pass soon, and he would be free of The Isle, once and for all.
Eight hours later, Athrun turned to face Cagalli, scarcely registering that Epstein was shutting the door for him. Epstein had already taken the parcels that Athrun had brought back and was busy looking into the parcel of maple treats with delight.
Athrun approached the bed and stood about two metres away, but it was enough for Cagalli to get riled up.
She sat up slowly from the bed, stirred from her sleep as they'd entered, her eyes flashing but somehow fearful.
Her bare arms were pale and luminous in the light, and her hair was untrimmed and fell like gold over her shoulders. The slip she was wearing was thin and she shivered, gathering pools of the blanket around her.
They did not speak, merely breathing and looking at each other.
Bloody hell, she thought. Bloody bloody hell.
Athrun looked perfect. Not a hair out of place, not a sign of imperfection, save the dark circles under his eyes which made his face look even more attractive. Not a wrinkle in his suit, and his shoes gleamed.
She on the other hand, must have looked like something the cat dragged in, her hair tousled from sleep, despite it being less than half an hour. Her cheeks were flaming and her body still slightly slow from sleep.
Nervously, Epstein broke the silence. He had reclaimed his attention from the sweets that Athrun had given to him. "I told you she was taking a nap."
Athrun showed no sign of hearing him, and quietly, Epstein slipped out of the room. But he cast a look at Athrun that Cagalli noticed, one of despondent misery and something like jealousy.
They continued to stare at each other, until Cagalli stood up, still clutching the cloth to her, a red riding hood character facing the fabled wolf. It wasn't particularly cold, but she was still trembling and her eyes were unfocused.
Her voice was low and quiet. "You're back."
He imagined her pressed against him, her voice a mewl of desire, barely articulating his name while he cut off her air with kiss after kiss. He had not seen her since then- naturally, his last memories was of her, the way he had finally gained some kind of access to her through her consent. He noticed again that her hair fell long and slightly tangled, beyond her shoulders.
He shook himself out of his daze. "Fine. You?"
She nodded absently and began to walk to the table. The blanket trailed after her like a long tail. She poured water into two glasses and drank from hers, studying him above the rim of her cup.
Slowly, he moved to Cagalli, reaching with one hand for hers, and she gave it reluctantly. The blanket slipped off one shoulder, and Athrun's eyes were drawn to her collarbone. Pillow marks glared at him, and he realised that she had hugged the pillow to her, curling next to it like a cat. He knew she was a person who liked to sleep, the sort of person who slept very deeply if given the chance to.
"Epstein tells me that you've been gambling with the maids." He said each word a thin slice from the other. He allowed the smirk he hid inwardly to surface briefly.
She looked slightly embarrassed. "Not much."
"Just enough to lose a bottle of perfume and a few silk handkerchiefs." He said wryly. "Cartesia didn't dare take you up on the offer when you offered to gamble with an emerald bracelet. She slipped it back into the casket."
"I don't need any of those." She said defensively.
"No." He said acidly. "Not at all."
"I didn't think so." She said disagreeably. "They aren't for people like me. They're for people like-I don't know- your girlfriends or something-,"
"I'm glad you noticed. You'll need to wear one of those tonight."
"What?" She said sharply.
He smiled and pulled her to him, and suddenly, she found that his arms were encircling her waist and shoulders. She found that his hands were tight around her and he was measuring the ends of her hair, looping a lock around his finger.
"What the fuck?"
"You have such a potty mouth," He said huskily, near her ear, tickling the sensitive lobe with his lips. "You don't look like you can swear."
"And why not?" Cagalli said brazenly. She was finding it difficult to think clearly.
"You look too dainty to swear," He said lazily, kissing the side of her mouth.
"'dgiveyouakickinthenether-,"
He laughed, feeling her struggle madly against him. "Did you miss me?"
"What do you think I am?" Cagalli cried, "Rover?"
He only laughed at her.
She swore, flailing against him, trying to yank herself away from him.
And with that, Athrun neatly gripped her wrists and kissed each one. "A little more respect, Princess. Self-discipline would be good too. Don't forget how you kissed me."
She gaped at him, forgetting to be calm and proper. "You patronising pig! Just because we kissed once doesn't mean that you get to be all smirky! I did it so I could have my way! And you! Disappearing for two whole weeks to god-knows-where! Leaving me to rot in this damn room-"
Athrun grinned. "They told me you were a little listless. But you look fine to me, in fact, a little too robust for me to believe what they reported. Perhaps, you felt listless towards them. I must tell Miles that his company's not been appreciated much."
"No! You bloody-,"
"Here-," He brushed his lips lightly across on her cheek, causing her to turn a strange colour.
"Arrgh!"
Her wrists flew out of his hand as she pulled and he let go, the impetus causing her to fly back and stumble into her bed. He wasted no time- he moved above her, crouching over her in a dominant position, trapping her in the nest of silk sheets and capturing her mouth for his.
She moaned quietly, struggling a little as he rolled slightly and she found herself nestling against his chest.
When he released her, she stared at him in horror. "What the hell are we doing?"
"Snogging," Athrun announced blithely.
She made a sound of insane frustration. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing at all." He said softly. "I just decided that I had waited long enough."
He kissed her quickly and without lifting his mouth, ran it to her bare neck, biting it gently to remind her of her place in the food chain.
Wildly, she pushed him away and sat up, pushing her hair over one shoulder as he did the same, although more leisurely.
"Don't try tomfoolery with me." She said in a low voice. "We're both adults now. We know how to behave and the kiss was a one time thing. A one-off."
"Really?" He interrupted. "Then it's a one-off thing that's quite frequent."
She glared at him. "And whose fault is that?"
He looked at her abruptly, narrowing his eyes in a squint. "You look thinner."
"Don't change the topic!" Cagalli snarled. "I don't believe how awful you are at-,"
"Tonight," Athrun said simply, ignoring what she was trying to say, "I'm going to bring you out of the Manor. You're coming with me, and you'll need to get ready for it."
She stared at him. "What? What?"
She couldn't believe how he was doing this to her- jumping from one topic to another, making her head spin, and then telling her that she would be out of the room, out of the Manor that night.
"There's an event I must attend." Athrun said slowly. "And a dinner date is required."
"Why don't you do what you usually do," Cagalli said nastily, "And pick up some girl on the way there?"
"Don't be ridiculous," He said calmly. "Those girls would want more than payment for their time."
She laughed mockingly. "Well, I'm sure a little snogging would help. You seem to be quite forthcoming even when nobody needs it."
He smiled, playing along with her. "There's a price to everything here."
"You're referring to the lady you're paying tribute to, no? What are you going to give her? A night she'll never forget, being the rake that you are?" She fired back at him.
"Don't be ridiculous." Athrun said bluntly. He was studying his hand in a way that suggested that he was unimpressed by Cagalli's comeback and the mention of the host. "She's an old bitch with a pug's face. But she'll get a five carat diamond."
Cagalli whistled, unimpressed but shocked enough. "Doesn't she have some of that already?"
Deciding to hit below the belt, she added, "And won't she want an hour with you or something?"
"That's why," Athrun said with something like a forced smile. "I need a dinner date. And there won't be any need for more discussion. I'll have the maids bring a dress for you. A more formal one, I think- maybe the maroon. Or that one- hmm, I think that one."
He strode to her cupboard and opened it, peering into it. He put his hands into the depths and began shuffling around, pulling the hangers aside.
"Don't just make decisions for yourself!" She cried, stomping after him and clenching her fists, glaring at the back of his head.
"Why not?" He said mockingly. "Maybe you should as well. You've got no country to think about here, do you?"
"What?" She said, stunned.
"You'll only have to eat, smile, talk of silly things, and dance with me." He said confidently, turning around and catching her eyes with his for her to fall silent. "Epstein will teach you some simple steps. If I'm not wrong, you've already learnt this stuff."
"How'd you know?" She sputtered.
"I was there." He said simply, "As Alex Dino."
She fell silent, unable to think of anything to answer back with.
"And nobody will be able to tell that you're unable to do either of these naturally. And after presenting our tithes and offerings to that bovine, we'll enjoy ourselves immensely. Nobody will realise that you're the bumpkin you are."
"What?" She sputtered again. How she hated being goaded by him!
"Or that you have a very limited vocabulary." He said absent-mindedly.
She swallowed her next exclamation and began to speak, but he intercepted her.
"You'll do as I say." He said cheerfully. "Your payment for the kisses I gave you when I came into this room. I told you didn't I? Everything has a price."
A pillow hit him in the chest and her voice rang out in the room.
"Damn you!"
4 months 4 days
A/N: Hello dear readers!
I'm sorry it took so long to upload this. I got lots of PMs this year, just for this story, and it's basically boiled down to, "Giddyup and get going!" Thanks for all of those, you guys. I was touched by some reader's concerns. e.g. "Are you having writer's block?!? READ: DISEASE?"
'The Isle' has been completed during this time already, but I couldn't bear to upload every chapter at one shot. (It makes the number of reviews drop crazily, I've heard.) Besides, uploading has been delayed because of other stuff. (Like watching Gossip Girl for 8 hours in a stretch- guilty pleasure as a closet chick-lit reader...)
I'd like to say here too, that 'The Isle's going to get even more mature. So if you've got to pass the subsequent chapters over ( chapter 11 onwards), then do it yup. Thanks for reading this far.
I'm waiting eagerly for the next time when I can upload, so RnR quick so I can throw in the next chapter already! :)
