But if he *was* serious... I felt a grin tug at the corners of my mouth. 'This could be a hell of a lot of fun.'
"Students! If you'd like to know the rules of the game, please be *quiet*." Treize's voice, backed up by a screech of feedback, rose above the crowd, but it took a few minutes for it to penetrate. Slowly, though, the shouted questions and chatter died off, leaving us in eager silence. Treize nodded once to himself, then spoke.
"Before you all think that this is a license to run wild, let me assure you that there *are* rules to be followed. Breaking any of these rules will result in instant expulsion, no second chances." He sighed, "We at Timberlake realize just how unusual a task we are setting you, and want to assure you that we are *not* 'trying to get you killed' as the lady in the front row so vigorously opined." The girl in question, a carrot-top from what I could see, sank into her seat until nothing showed but the top of her hair. Some of the other students snickered, but I resisted the urge. Never pays to piss off the girls, you know?
Treize didn't appear to notice her discomfort, and he continued, "We are dedicated to your safety, our safety, and to the general well-being of school property. So we have the rules. Although these rules will be printed in your student handbook, I will go over them now.
"Rule one: Although you are expected to plan and prepare your assault all year, *no* attempts at takeover are to be made until after finals. We have set the last two and a half weeks aside for the war games, and *that* is when it will take place. No exceptions or excuses. Rule Two: Alliances are allowed, but under no circumstances will there be more than 10 winners. No penalty will be given for backstabbing... at least of the figurative sort. Rule Three: If any team causes physical or mental harm to any member of the staff or student body, accidental or not, that team is disqualified. For this purpose, harm is defined as anything that leaves a significant mark on the person's mental or physical state. So... a scratch or bruise is not harm, but an allergic reaction to a tranquilizer, a broken bone or sprained joint, or an act of terror such as threatening someone with torture or using a phobia against them ... these are all considered acts of harm. And regardless of who specifically is responsible, *all* the team will be disqualified. So I suggest you exercise some self-discipline when planning your attack.
"Rule Four: No explosives! And nothing that involves fire. The purpose here is to *take* the school, not reduce it to a smoking hole in the ground. And last, but not least, you may not go outside the school for any of the materials you use. In fact, we expect you to log anything you take out of the labs without exception." He smiled thinly, "Considering that we faculty are outnumbered almost 10 to 1, I don't believe that that's asking too much. Also, if you wish to know if a certain plan or apparatus would have a high probability of violating the harm rule, there will be a box up outside the faculty dining room soon. Put an identifying word, *not* your name, at the top of a note containing the question, place it in the box. Within a day, an answer will be put up on the bulletin board. Speaking of which," He checked his watch, then glanced at Une. She nodded curtly, and smiled. "I believe your dorm assignments are up on that same board. Speech over, have fun. You are dismissed." With that, he and the other faculty just got up and left out the back, leaving the students to their confusion.
Quatre, his old guy, and I stood up, passing a dubious look between ourselves. Nobody made a move for the aisle, as it was already clogged with kids pushing and shoving to get to the bulletin board at the back of the room. Quatre grimaced, and said tentatively, "I'm not really sure about this... I mean, it doesn't seem very nice to try to take over the school..." He trailed off, looking uncertainly at his companion.
"Master Quatre, I'm sure your father would understand if you wished to withdraw."
"Hey, Quatre!" I broke in, "C'mon, it'll be fun. No need to leave ... nobody's going to get hurt or anything. Do you really think this place would be so prestigious if it made a practice of killing its students?" Besides, I added mentally, Quatre seemed to be pretty good guy and I knew too few of those to just let one slip away. The older man looked disapprovingly at me, which I promptly ignored to crane my head towards the board.
"Hey, it looks like they're clearing out. Why don't we go see what dorms we've got? Then you can meet your team mates, and if you can't stand them, *then* leave. Otherwise, you'd just be quitting, and the Q I know is not a quitter!"
He blinked. "Q?" He repeated faintly, but followed me as I put my elbow to good use getting up the aisle. Exactly as I'd planned ... the second rule in the Maxwell Code of Conduct: Distraction is our friend.
--------
"Yes! See, Q, you can't leave now that we're roomies, right?" I peered at him, an exaggerated look of anxiety on my face. He grinned back.
"Well, I guess not. At least, not if you promise me something?"
"What? Anything! I don't snore, if that's what you want to know..."
He shook his head. "Nope. But it's a definite condition of me staying..."
"What, already?"
He hooked his arm in mine, and dragged me towards the exit. "Never, ever, call me 'Q' again, okay?"
As we made our way around the main building to the dorms, I finally got tired of the large, frowning shadow behind us and nudged Quatre. "Hey, who *is* that guy, anyway?" I whispered with a backward gesture of my head.
He started, then blushed slightly and waved Tall, Dark, and Quiet over. "Sorry for not introducing you earlier. My Father would be ashamed of my manners. This is Rashid ... he's the family's retainer."
Rashid bowed. "I was asked to accompany young Master Quatre and see him well settled." I blinked, and mouthed at Quatre, '...master?' His blush deepened and he shrugged uncomfortably. In a fit of nobility, I resisted the urge to snicker, contenting myself with looking Rashid over critically and saying with a wink at Quatre,
"Well, if he needs to share a room with someone..." I twitched my eyebrows and let the statement trail off suggestively.
After a moment of stunned silence, Quatre burst out laughing as Rashid's already swarthy complexion took on a reddish tone. As his young charge giggled helplessly, he replied with admirable dignity, "I am not staying. As soon as Master Quatre is comfortable, I will return to the Colony." I thought I saw relief lurking in those dark eyes at the prospect, and I felt a little sorry for picking on him. In a halfhearted attempt to reassure him, I patted his shoulder heartily and leaned closer to say, "Don't worry too much, Rashid, you're not really my type."
He replied gravely, "I'm sorry to hear that. Perhaps if I stayed for a few days, you would reconsider?" As one of the Sisters used to say, you could have knocked me over with a feather. My face flooded with heat and uncharacteristically speechless, I heard Quatre howling with laughter as if from a long way away. Rashid smirked as I tried to regain my composure. "Never mind, Mr. Maxwell. You are not my ... type, either. Now, shall we continue to the dorm, or would you like to try again?"
I could only nod, my face (I was sure) a bright, cherry red. Rashid nodded graciously and waited for Quatre, who by this point was trying to catch his breath. I glared at him, but he was studiously avoiding my eyes. I sighed philosophically. Everybody has to play the straight man occasionally, right? Eventually, the blond got himself under some kind of control, and we continued to the dorm.
We walked in silence, except for Quatre's quiet chuckle whenever he looked in my direction.
*******
Needless to say, by the time we got to our dorm building, 7A according to the small wooden sign on the door, I was restraining the impulse to strangle my new friend. Okay, yes, I started it and the joke ended up on me, but... sheesh, it wasn't that funny. I shot Quatre another glare, setting off a fresh round of chuckling, and shoved open the door to the building, intending to stomp angrily therein. But instead of the flat bang of wood against wall, there was a heavy thump and a muffled, but no less furious, yell as the door only made it halfway open, then bounced back.
"Shit," I swore, as the door was yanked open from the inside and I met a pair of raging, almond shaped black eyes. They raked over me with a scathing dismissal that made my teeth clench around my instinctive apology.
"What the hell do you think you were doing, you clumsy idiot?" The belligerent, condescending, and haughty tone of the rebuke (however well deserved) reminded me of every one of the rich bastards that had tormented me at my last school, and any shred of repentance I had evaporated in the heat of memory and indignation.
I felt my lips curl into a sneer, as I shot back, "What, you never seen anybody open a door, before? Maybe if you had the common sense of a turnip, you'd know not to stand behind the damn thing!"
His gaze roamed contemptuously over my somewhat threadbare clothes, and the smile that touched his thin lips was hard and mocking. "I'm sorry, I should have realized that every school has a charity case. Until you've gotten some lessons in how civilized people behave, I'll be sure to make ... exceptions for your obvious ignorance and lack of proper upbringing."
My fist shot out with a will of its own, and the other boy's nose almost seemed to explode. The next thing I remember clearly, Quatre and Rashid had grabbed both of our squirming, bleeding forms and had dragged us into the dorm's main room.
The other boy stopped struggling about the same time that I did, and irritably gestured for Rashid to release him. At Quatre's nod, Rashid let go, but hovered well within arm's reach. It would have been gratifying, if Quatre hadn't been doing the same to me. I scowled at everyone indiscriminately, and sucked my split lip between my teeth, where the copperpenny taste of blood gave me something other than pounding that guy into the dirt to think about.
Both of our shirts were splattered with each other's blood, but I got some small satisfaction out of the fact that my preferred black t-shirt was handling it better than the other guy's pure white, almost knee-length tunic. My lips twitched with smug humor, and I saw his eyes narrow. He took a step forward. My fists clenched.
"Stop it!" Quatre hissed, placing himself between us, arms outstretched. "You're going to get kicked out if you keep this up. Just calm down, Duo." He said, with a level stare in my direction. I felt resentment bubble, even as my stance relaxed. He said it like it was *my* fault. I should have known, though. They always stick together... I should have know that he was just hanging with me until somebody better came along... I slipped deeper into my sudden pity attack, and almost missed Quatre whirling to face the other participant in the fight.
"And you!" The blond glared at at the Chinese boy, who topped him by two inches easy, "How dare you say such things about my friend? And how do your think Headmaster Treize would like it, after what he said at orientation?"
The boy's black gaze narrowed, "I don't respond to threats." But uneasiness lurked behind the obsidian of his eyes. I snorted, knowing that I wasn't helping but unable to resist. Since Quatre's unexpected defense, I was kind of operating on auto, the part of me that wasn't basking in the word 'friend', anyway. And on yours truly, that meant that I was being a smart-ass.
"Duo, stop it!" Quatre said warningly, as he headed off another attempt to reach me. I smiled thinly, and felt a fresh trickle of blood slide down my chin. I ignored it and laced my hands behind my back to show my willingness to cooperate, but not trusting my voice not to ruin it by showing off. He flashed me a smile, although his eyes were grave. Quatre turned back to the other, stuck out a hand and said, "I'm Quatre, and this is Duo, and that's Rashid. What's your name?"
"Chang Wufei," he said, ignoring the hand but unbending enough to bow gravely. His voice was painfully nasal from the injury to his nose, and I squirmed uncomfortably. I knew how much a broken nose hurt, but Wufei was handling it a bit better than I had. Of course, I'd been around eight at the time.
"Pleased to meet you, Wufei." Quatre bowed back, and shot a significant look in my direction. I sighed.
"Yeah, sure. Me too." I did not bow. From the small sigh that escaped Quatre, I think he'd expected better, but I'd be damned if I was going to welcome with open arms the guy who'd insulted Father Maxwell and Sister Helen, even if hadn't been on purpose.
For a moment, nobody spoke, then I cleared my throat. "Uh, what do we do now? I mean, Wufei and I could probably get each other kicked out. Or we could just forget about it." I shifted uncomfortably. "I'd kinda prefer the latter. What about you?"
Wufei crossed his arms over his chest, and looked away. He shrugged, "I can always find another school. But Timberlake has an unmatched reputation. I believe that *I* could restrain myself from any further outbursts."
My teeth clenched, but I managed to keep my voice neutral, "So can I." Mentally, I added, as long as he stays the hell out of my way.
Quatre smiled at both of us, doing a Captain Carrot-esque job of ignoring the razor-edge tension in the room. "Well, that's settled then. I'm sure we'll get along just fine once we get to know each other."
Mine and Wufei's eyes met in a moment of perfect understanding. 'Not damn likely.'
From behind the four of us, near the door, there came a soft cough. We turned as one to see another kid about our age, standing rather uncertainly at the threshold. He took in our appearance with one wide, forest-green eye. The other was hidden behind an improbable arrangement of glossy black bangs. He carried two battered suitcases, and one dufflebag like my own slung around his right shoulder.
The visible corner of his mouth attempted a smile as he took us in. "Am I interrupting something?"
"No, not at all!" said Quatre. His relief wasn't blatantly obvious. As long as you were blind, deaf, and had the empathic ability of celery, that was. The green-eyed boy seemed to be the polite sort though, as he ignored the disheveled state of his new dormmates and gravely offered his hand.
"My name is Trowa Bloom. A pleasure."
Quatre strode forward and enthusiastically shook hands with Trowa. As he did so, he shot me a look that seemed to say, '*This* is how we greet people where I come from'. Or maybe he was just making sure I wasn't going to jump this guy, too. I'm not the greatest at reading all those significant glances. At any rate, the lopsided shrug I gave in return seemed to pacify him.
When he retrieved his hand, Trowa picked up the two suitcases and asked gravely, "Where is my bed?" I was beginning to think that he did everything gravely. Still, it was a distraction, and I was happy for it.
"Good question!" I said, with a nod towards my own battered piece of luggage. "I'd kinda like to get settled in, too."
Quatre addressed Wufei, "You've been here longest, do you know where the bedrooms are?" He'd moved over to the little 'mini-kitchen' in one corner of the common room, and had a wet rag pressed to his nose. With his free hand, he waved to a closed door a few feet away.
With difficulty, he said, "Hallway goes to some rooms and the bath. I've already unpacked. Another guy's here, but he's locked himself in his room. Heard typing, haven't seen him. Three rooms free." It was barely intelligible, but we got the gist. I retrieved my bag, while Quatre and Rashid grabbed his collection of stuff. As I slung the bag over my shoulder, Quatre seemed to notice for the first time that it was all I was carrying. He frowned.
"Duo, where's the rest of your stuff?"
I spread my hands wide and faked a disgruntled expression. "Damned if I know. The shuttle said they couldn't find it, so I'll have to do with my carryon until they managed to pull their head out of their ass. On the bright side," I said and winked, "I wrangled an upgrade to first class on my next flight out of it!" He chuckled and I felt myself relax. It was a lie I'd been practicing for a few days, and I was glad it went over so well. With Quatre at least. Rashid gave me a look that could have been pity, but I ignored it, and took the lead through the door ... with a little more caution, this time.
The hall was narrow, but well carpeted and it smelled clean. I moved aside to let Quatre and Rashid in, and they in turn made room for Trowa. Our heads turned in unison as we surveyed the six doors in the hallway. The one on the far right bore a small plaque that read "Bathroom". It was a little too early in the semester for practical jokes, so it was probably safe to assume that that was, in fact, the bathroom. The two doors to the left were closed, and from one, we could hear an irregular tapping sound. Quatre and I exchanged a look. "Whadya wanna bet that's the Computer Science major?" I whispered.
He shook his head at me, but smiled. "So, what room do you guys want?" he asked, including Trowa with an expansive glance.
Trowa shrugged. "I'll take whatever's left."
"No preference at all?" I said in disbelief. Here I was preparing to have to fight tooth and nail. He shook his head, and Quatre seconded the motion.
"I don't really care, either. I imagine they're all the same."
I gaped at them. These guys had absolutely no concept of the "social status" theory of school rooming. Well, hell, who was I knock a good thing? With studied nonchalance, I said, "Well, then. Why don't I take the one next to the Mad Tapper, here?" I almost yelled with glee as both the other guys shrugged and squeezed past me to get at the two remaining rooms. Now I was the one third closest to the bathroom, and in a perfect position for slipping into the common room at odd hours of the night. Hello midnight snacks!
I surveyed my new home for the next year with a critical eye. It was tiny, with a high, wood-frame bed in the corner by the slit of a window and a cedar wardrobe that topped my height by a good three or four inches. Bland white walls went perfectly with the short, pale carpet. At least it wasn't that weird vomit-brown that a lot of Colony schools and civil buildings preferred. I tossed the duffle next to the bed, and opened the wardrobe door. Three changes of bedclothes were shoved into the top shelf, but other than that it was completely empty. I took one of the sets and made the bed with the true disinterest of the healthy adolescent male. A couple of sheets, with a blanket unrolled haphazardly on the top, and I was done. Yes, it looked terrible, but I wanted to sleep on the damn thing, not photograph it. I unpacked the rest of my meager belongings, and that was the extent of my home decoration.
Poking my head out of the door, I caught the sounds of Quatre and Rashid's voices arguing over where to put the television (TV! I thought with no small amount of glee), and of some indeterminate sounds from Trowa's room at the end of the hall that might have been unpacking. My oh-so-friendly neighbor hadn't seen fit to introduce himself yet, and I really wasn't in the mood for more of Chang Wu-Fang's idea of male bonding, so I flopped onto the bed and decided to wait for somebody to come get me. After a few moments, the rhythmic sound of typing that penetrated the wall had lulled me into a stupor, and from there, to sleep.