to liss, who said she wanted to read another chapter
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vienna
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He'd texted János before leaving, and then he'd been persuaded to stay with the brothers a couple of days, and until there was no underground pub left in Budapest where they'd not had a beer (until he ended up liking beer…)
Now, the wind in his face made him feel alive, and lessened the sadness that came with driving away from Hungary.
The highway was busy, and sometimes the flow of traffic was slow, but, steadily, the road led him to Vienna in but a few hours.
The chill of winter in the air was now undeniable. Although the brave trees that lined the streets still displayed crowns of withered leaves, the air left a different feeling lingering on Trowa's skin, and it carried, already, scents of hearth-firewood.
Half-hidden in the crook of a narrow, stone-tiled, winding alleyway, he discovered an inn with the coziest atmosphere; and, for a change (that surprised even himself), soon enough he found himself placing his scant belongings on an ancient wooden chair, in a pretty triangular room. 3-pm light filtered through the layers of curtains, and the window offered a delightful view to a plaza that looked like a courtyard. The walls and furniture were wooden, the draperies and carpets and bed-covers in deep mahoganies and pleasant creams and ambers; and, as a whole, the place was scented like a place not meant to be ever left by its occupants. Well, occupant.
After doing a bit of routine inspecting the room, engrained in his character after years of military life (and training, eventually, too), he allowed himself a moment of weakness to fall, tall as he was, on the inviting mattress.
And he didn't even notice how or when he fell asleep.
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The owl on his t-shirt felt a little like a guardian. Though one could not see it now, tucked under many layers of warm clothing, Trowa felt calm when having the image so close to his skin. It might have felt silly to some (to Sam, for example, when he'd first tried it on, despite the bird's supposed "cuteness")… even to some of his former Gundam fellow-pilots, but when Quatre narrated to them the symbolic meanings of some animals, one night after the Even Wars when they were Preventers, on a routine mission, carefree and around a campfire, Trowa was paying attention. He remembered Heero was pretending to listen while he observed a group of fireflies, and Duo was texting Hilde on-and-off. But Wufei would now and then make an observation or a comment –always interesting, like most what Wufei said –and Trowa was just plain listening.
He'd always loved stories, although he hardly had stories to tell himself. And, he was a good listener, anyway.
In wonder of Quatre's narration and Wufei's knowledge, he'd tried to soak in all the new information about animals; which made him think of them in a completely different light. Even if he was really intelligent, Trowa rarely delved into the meaning of things. He thought it easier to take them as they came, and then let them go when they passed. But, sometimes, he found himself in silent awe of those that could see beyond the surface, or explain the root of things. Somehow, it was fascinating to him. And, although Quatre didn't particularly like owls, owing to their apparent connection with death, he said they could also represent transition or change, and he was far gentler in his description than Wufei, who explained that according to Chinese traditions, it was as bad an omen as it could be, its sighting supposedly announcing the death of a loved one and general misfortune. Wufei seemed to generally agree with the view of his people.
For his part, Trowa liked what he'd kept about Quatre's words about the owl: a guide through a moment of transition.
He wasn't sure if he felt guided as he ambled through the broad streets in downtown Vienna, but he felt a warmth in his chest that may or may not have come from the thought of the owl, that led him to nice memories of Budapest, the brothers he'd been sorry to have to leave (and, well, maybe that steamy night with Virág-Laura too, but he'd rather not get distracted in the middle of the street…)
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The following day he visited a palace with a beautiful garden and took a guided tour of the city, directed by a lady who probably said very interesting things, but spoke with such an impenetrable accent that Trowa eventually stopped listening and tailed the group, following them without paying much attention to where he was going.
That day went by too soon, and when he was returning to the cozy inn, a couple of gypsy children accosted him, trying to get him to buy something from them- flowers, trinkets, even cigarettes. Although he declined (he had yet to draw out actual cash- Laura had taken all he had, and he'd been paying everything with his credit card anyway), as soon as the kids saw his friendly demeanor, they began to forget their purpose of making money and began inviting him to play with them.
Now, Trowa wasn't great with children- if any, he was a little awkward –but he liked them; so he indulged in some of their games. It cheered him to bring a smile to their round face, stained with dirt and snot and formerly so serious, even threatening.
They ran and played tags; and Trowa was 'it' more than he'd ever been in all his life (if he'd ever been, he could not remember). And when he said he was going to leave, they sang him a goodbye song and wished him well, so he found a place where he could use his card and bought them sweets.
Had he changed, since he'd set out?
This he could not answer as he, later, lay on the amazingly soft and homely bed of the inn. He thought he hadn't. But he felt that he, maybe, had.
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To cross out the next item on The Task, he had to go to Luxembourg.
He wasn't completely sure that he'd find there what he sought, but he had a reasonable certainty and a hunch, which was probably just as good.
His hunches were of the reliable kind.
It was the morning of his third day in Vienna, and, as he was having breakfast, looking out at the face of the buildings across the street, darkened by the passage of time, he absentmindedly flickered his finger over the map he'd downloaded on his phone, trying to set a convenient course. Whichever way he chose to go, either straightly or taking leisurely detours, he could see no way in which he could avoid the mountains that seemed to enclose Austria more effectively.
It goes without saying that he was in no greater hurry –his bank account was very healthy, and he had not set himself a deadline to return to his (by now, rather missed) troupe. So, as he was contemplating whether to traverse the Alps into Switzerland, or cross into Germany, he got a text message.
The number was unknown to him, and he didn't remember what country the code was from. It was short, rather cryptic, and very enticing.
It said, simply, 'Call me'.
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Trowa did call, though not immediately.
He finished his coffee first, followed by one or two samples of the very fine Viennese patisserie. He then decided he felt like having a refill. And he finished his second cup of coffee, and then, he called.
The voice on the other side of the line was probably the last voice on Earth that Trowa thought he'd be hearing that morning.
'Morning, Trowa,' the deep, unmistakably solemn voice of Heero greeted.
Trowa's brows shot up, but he did not let his tone betray anything but… well, surprise. Honest surprise.
'I wouldn't have thought you were one for riddles, Heero,' he commented, good-naturedly, in reference to the text, 'Good morning to you too.'
He heard Heero snort, on the other end of the call, 'I've got my days,' the former-01 pilot replied, lightly, maybe amused, 'As must you, if you're really on a crazy roadtrip around Europe…'
Trowa laughed under his breath, shaking his head privately.
'I wouldn't exactly call it crazy,' he observed, 'How do you know, anyway?'
'I found out,' said Heero, mysteriously.
'You're a man with odd ideas of what makes up leisure time, aren't you?'
'It's sheer force of habit, don't make much of it.'
Trowa smiled mildly: 'I won't.'
'You're not entertaining funny thoughts about death this time, are you?' Heero inquired, as one who asks about the weather. But Trowa suddenly put two and two together and realized that, as far-fetched as that would sound, Heero had probably learnt that he'd suddenly left the circus, and worried for his mental health.
Well, he couldn't blame him. It was a reasonable conclusion.
'No, not really,' he replied, vaguely, and rather unprepared for what Heero said next:
'Good. Then, you have to come and visit. I guess it'll be on the way for you, anyway.'
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Author's Note:
Oh, where will Trowa end up now?
*suspense music...*
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To Guest: Every comment you leave, it's like you're inside my head. Are you sure you're not me?
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I think I've said this before, but Trowa is 28 in this story. My sister and I agree that he's probably the oldest of the pilots, probably a good 3 years older than the rest, for all he's seen (he had to be at least 15 when he started working with the Barton Foundation, otherwise it would make little sense…)
Oh, and as I promised, here's the whole text of (in my opinion, the deepest) Trowa's image song:
Love is a Shooting Star (Ai wa Ryuusei)
I do not make excuses, nor do I need solace,
I only believe.
A heart that's bound to false liberties,
cannot grasp the truth.
I want to keep on using these blood-imbued hands to defend-
a life like mine is a shooting star that fades.
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With sad eyes, I observe the distant sky,
I'm forever searching.
I turn into a bird,
flying above a too-wide world with wounded wings.
I've got no need for sympathy now:
in the midst of battle, I am a shooting star that burns,
lonely...
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Present and future are engulfed in the flames of battle,
and everything is a dream.
And that's why our lives and the smiles that vanish
will surely create a new world.
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You, who hide your heart 'till the end,
behold the truth.
So, become the legendary bird,
that can fly everywhere in the blue sky, free.
Hope is born from sorrow.
Entrusted with those dreams, I am a shooting star that fades,
lonely...
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Friendship and memories drift with the fate of battle,
and everything is a dream.
But now, the courage to brave storms,
becomes the light to give rise to a new era.
Present and future are engulfed in the flames of battle,
and everything is a dream.
And that's why our lives and the smiles that vanish
will surely create a new world.
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Read you next chapter! :)