Notes: It was 3.AM last night when I was attempting to get more of EarthQuakes done. But something happened and I started to write something totally deferent. I ran with it. I don't know where this is going at all. I'd love any feel back you have about it.
Tones of Reds 1/??
By R-chan (reveena)
The candles had burned low.
Every one had left.
The food and drink had been discreetly put away in the kitchen and the
plain vases with their dull colored flowers had disappeared in much the
same manner.
But she was still there. Still sitting silent and as unmoving as stone on
the window ledge, eyes focused on something no one else could see and lost
in thoughts only she could read.
Uncharacteristically without words and without action she'd been there all
day. She'd nodded her thanks to those who approached her and had spilled
but few words for the people who knew her beyond the political arena.
Unusual was the description that he'd taken to. But then he didn't know her
at all really, and he'd never considered her before. He could have been
very wrong in his assumption of her natural behavior. He'd never had a
reason to question it anyway. He'd always been too busy to stop and
consider her. He suspected it was the same in her case.
Which may have had something to do with why neither felt compelled to shake
the thick silence that had tightly webbed around them.
The candles were nearly out.
The twilight of dusk had begun to creep into the large hall of the temple.
Trowa took a moment to gaze at the sun as it dipped below the horizon in a
brilliant death of purple, red, yellow and orange. Moments that felt like
sand running from his hands passed before the bright star completed its
journey and he and his company were cast into a dim darkness.
Only then did Relena move from her perch, and only then did he take note of
the red tones in her hair, brought out by the odd angle in which in the
light hit her. In the back of his mind he wondered dully what else he'd
failed to take notice of in the last five years. And those before it.
Much, his mind replied. Too much.
The twenty-two year old woman walked silently down the dark blue carpet and
stopped when she reached one of two large photos. Silently he pushed off
the wall and stepped beside her, not really seeing the smiling blue eyes
that stared back at him.
"Why do you suppose they insisted we go through with this pointless
ceremony?" she asked, and the quiet shattered.
Trowa slid his hands in the pockets of his slacks. Quatre had picked them
out years ago. This was the first time he'd ever worn them. "They were
trying to get the matter over with quickly." He answered truthfully.
She turned-there that red was again-and hugged her arms around her waist.
"As if saying 'Now-you're-time-is-up-and-the-game-is-over'? "
Trowa favored her with a detached shrug. "I imagine you'd know better than
I. I don't have much use for the motive of politics Minister."
The Not So Obvious redhead answered him with an expression of coyness. " I
suppose not," then her face shifted to something that resembled admiration
and anger as she looked back at the photo.
"My dear Dorothy, what ever will the council think when they realize the
trick you've pulled on them?"
Trowa's interest perked inwardly "A trick?" he inquired. The brown haired
young man had the impression he was venturing into deep water with his
question, but part of him was more preoccupied with the want to obtain the
information than questioning his limits as a mere acquaintance.
The blue eyed woman half turned and looked upon him with ill concealed
skepticism.
"The bodies were never found Mr. Barton. What makes you know for sure they
are dead? The plane that crash landed over the Atlantic was carrying my
lover." she started "A resourceful woman who enjoys ruffling the council's
tail feathers whenever and however she can and causing conflict in the
World Nation's circles when the opportunity presents it's self. She also
had a need of *him*. You should know that. Tell me in perfect honesty that
they are dead, Sir and I will tell you with perfect sincerity that you are
full of shit."
Inside he was slightly taken aback. But it never registered on his face. It
remained passive and without emotion. He forced a look at the picture of
his lover, the lover he'd married, the one he'd ever let near him and the
man he'd taken to as his soul for a time. The lover the world recognized as
dead.
"Hn." was the only response she received.
The silence then began to craw along the skin of his arms and for the first
time in a while he felt awkward in his own skin and unsure of what was
called of him next.
Dorothy and Quatre's untimely death to the blue of the sea held a
corrupting feel to it. Quatre was not dead. But rather, quite alive. It was
an instinct that pulsed in his blood like thick rivers of lava. Yet somehow
the heat of it didn't penetrate the icy rock around his heart. Just severe
disappointment in himself and Quatre...and overwhelming loss. For both of them.
You worked so hard at showing me humanity and the strength of emotion
Quatre. Fed me you're love on a silver spoon even when I didn't think I was
hungry for it. Yet in the end, it was Dorothy who'd called you're
compassion and not much later you're misplaced affection. Trowa wondered
was there something in the woman who couldn't cry that drew you like it
does mouths to the flames? It that why you felt the need to have death fool
every one? To be with her?
Too many questions to be answered too soon and with little hope of finding
them. He pushed himself away from the train of thought. There was no use in
getting involved with that inner quarrel. Their last few years should have
been enough of a warning. The silence. The eyes. The disagreements and
forgiveness. The signs had been clear; he'd just chosen to ignore them.
Trowa allowed himself to question Relena's situation. She'd been married to
the woman his past lover had vanished into the mist with no good bye. Did
she feel her spouse slowly fall away from her over the last two years as he
had?
He lingered on that thought; it was a good reason not to ponder his own
perspective.
Minister Dorlain had been wedded to the person the world and Council had
thought of as her nemesis. Two very different women, from outward
appearance to operation of thinking had fallen hard for each other, from
what the shocked and entertained world had seen anyway. The news that the
former Queen of the
World had fallen in love with another woman, a woman who was her enemy no
less, had sent the Nations into a frenzy as Trowa recalled. Almost as much
as Quatre's intention to marry him had been.
Now the late Dorothy "Cat" Dorlain was 'dead' and with *his* husband.
"Did you love her Minister?"
Relena turned a bit, unsure of how to answer. Love Dorothy? Their
relationship had been based on conquest. A battle with just the two of them.
A battle that had one day stated in her office and ended in her chambers.
Dorothy showed her things she'd never considered before and she in return
had given Dorothy her challenge and defiance.
Relena stared into the picture in deep thought. There had been affection.
Great affection, but love? No. She really didn't think so. There had been a
dark attraction between them and need. There was nothing so pure as love in
their courtship or marriage. That had been the irony of her life as the
dove of peace.
"Love, Mr. Barton, had little to do with us, " her gaze shifted over to the
photo her tall companion faced. Quatre Winner. "Now, I think I may know why."
Trowa turned to face her then, he leaned down close to where she could
nearly feel his lips brush the skin of her ear.
"You're lying Minister."
Relena turned her head so she could look him in the eye, her own gaze
narrowing in challenge.
"So...are you."
With a graceful twist and step she widened the physical distance between
them, putting the sleek curve of her back to him. A hand on her hip she
stared out into the velvet night with its diamond stars blinking
mysteriously at her. The analogy reminded her of Dorothy's own sly ways.
Relena turned back around to face Trowa.
He hadn't moved. The brown haired man was still facing her from the side,
the graceful curve of his back casting low flickering shadows on the
whitish stone walls, long willowy arms at his sides with their white
sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up to the elbows, hands still carelessly
resting inside the pockets of the black slacks that clothed his long legs.
It was his eyes that gave him away she mused. Dark green and shadowed with
deep emotion that almost glowed in the unusual atmosphere that they had
created.
Relena looked at him thoughtfully from across the shadowed meeting hall of
the temple they'd chosen a week ago. You're angry aren't you Trowa? She
thought. And you don't like it.
"So what will you do now Mr. Barton?"
Trowa shifted positions to look at her fully and considered his next words
carefully.
"I'll be taking over Quatre's diplomatic duties."
The minister raised a slender eyebrow at him and looked at him serenely.
"Good luck Mr. Barton."
Trowa nodded slowly at the blond woman wondering what that she could be
thinking. His eyes followed her form as she made her way back across the
hall to the door. Her pale hands closed around the bar like handles.
Pausing she turned her head and Trowa tipped his head slightly in inquiry.
"Don't be like Dorothy, Trowa. Don't die inside because Quatre stopped
loving you. "
She opened the doors and slipped out as quietly as a ghost.
The candles finally went out.
"Too late."
muffins make every thing okay
-jay-
Guess it wouldn't be so bad if we WERE making money doing what we love cause
we'd be loving what we do, ne?
`~Myheartfortrowa
________________________________________________________________
R-chan
Chief Officer of the UHA's FFF (FanFictionForce)
Keeper of the
Official Hentai Rule Book,
Serving under the United Hentai
Alliance blessed under the Hee-chan,
sworn to serve Shinigami, shaded by
Tro-chan's Unibang, protected by
Q-Man's Maguanacs on High, and
beloved of the Wu-pie
R-chan's Gw Fanfiction
Tones of Reds 1/??
By R-chan (reveena)
The candles had burned low.
Every one had left.
The food and drink had been discreetly put away in the kitchen and the
plain vases with their dull colored flowers had disappeared in much the
same manner.
But she was still there. Still sitting silent and as unmoving as stone on
the window ledge, eyes focused on something no one else could see and lost
in thoughts only she could read.
Uncharacteristically without words and without action she'd been there all
day. She'd nodded her thanks to those who approached her and had spilled
but few words for the people who knew her beyond the political arena.
Unusual was the description that he'd taken to. But then he didn't know her
at all really, and he'd never considered her before. He could have been
very wrong in his assumption of her natural behavior. He'd never had a
reason to question it anyway. He'd always been too busy to stop and
consider her. He suspected it was the same in her case.
Which may have had something to do with why neither felt compelled to shake
the thick silence that had tightly webbed around them.
The candles were nearly out.
The twilight of dusk had begun to creep into the large hall of the temple.
Trowa took a moment to gaze at the sun as it dipped below the horizon in a
brilliant death of purple, red, yellow and orange. Moments that felt like
sand running from his hands passed before the bright star completed its
journey and he and his company were cast into a dim darkness.
Only then did Relena move from her perch, and only then did he take note of
the red tones in her hair, brought out by the odd angle in which in the
light hit her. In the back of his mind he wondered dully what else he'd
failed to take notice of in the last five years. And those before it.
Much, his mind replied. Too much.
The twenty-two year old woman walked silently down the dark blue carpet and
stopped when she reached one of two large photos. Silently he pushed off
the wall and stepped beside her, not really seeing the smiling blue eyes
that stared back at him.
"Why do you suppose they insisted we go through with this pointless
ceremony?" she asked, and the quiet shattered.
Trowa slid his hands in the pockets of his slacks. Quatre had picked them
out years ago. This was the first time he'd ever worn them. "They were
trying to get the matter over with quickly." He answered truthfully.
She turned-there that red was again-and hugged her arms around her waist.
"As if saying 'Now-you're-time-is-up-and-the-game-is-over'? "
Trowa favored her with a detached shrug. "I imagine you'd know better than
I. I don't have much use for the motive of politics Minister."
The Not So Obvious redhead answered him with an expression of coyness. " I
suppose not," then her face shifted to something that resembled admiration
and anger as she looked back at the photo.
"My dear Dorothy, what ever will the council think when they realize the
trick you've pulled on them?"
Trowa's interest perked inwardly "A trick?" he inquired. The brown haired
young man had the impression he was venturing into deep water with his
question, but part of him was more preoccupied with the want to obtain the
information than questioning his limits as a mere acquaintance.
The blue eyed woman half turned and looked upon him with ill concealed
skepticism.
"The bodies were never found Mr. Barton. What makes you know for sure they
are dead? The plane that crash landed over the Atlantic was carrying my
lover." she started "A resourceful woman who enjoys ruffling the council's
tail feathers whenever and however she can and causing conflict in the
World Nation's circles when the opportunity presents it's self. She also
had a need of *him*. You should know that. Tell me in perfect honesty that
they are dead, Sir and I will tell you with perfect sincerity that you are
full of shit."
Inside he was slightly taken aback. But it never registered on his face. It
remained passive and without emotion. He forced a look at the picture of
his lover, the lover he'd married, the one he'd ever let near him and the
man he'd taken to as his soul for a time. The lover the world recognized as
dead.
"Hn." was the only response she received.
The silence then began to craw along the skin of his arms and for the first
time in a while he felt awkward in his own skin and unsure of what was
called of him next.
Dorothy and Quatre's untimely death to the blue of the sea held a
corrupting feel to it. Quatre was not dead. But rather, quite alive. It was
an instinct that pulsed in his blood like thick rivers of lava. Yet somehow
the heat of it didn't penetrate the icy rock around his heart. Just severe
disappointment in himself and Quatre...and overwhelming loss. For both of them.
You worked so hard at showing me humanity and the strength of emotion
Quatre. Fed me you're love on a silver spoon even when I didn't think I was
hungry for it. Yet in the end, it was Dorothy who'd called you're
compassion and not much later you're misplaced affection. Trowa wondered
was there something in the woman who couldn't cry that drew you like it
does mouths to the flames? It that why you felt the need to have death fool
every one? To be with her?
Too many questions to be answered too soon and with little hope of finding
them. He pushed himself away from the train of thought. There was no use in
getting involved with that inner quarrel. Their last few years should have
been enough of a warning. The silence. The eyes. The disagreements and
forgiveness. The signs had been clear; he'd just chosen to ignore them.
Trowa allowed himself to question Relena's situation. She'd been married to
the woman his past lover had vanished into the mist with no good bye. Did
she feel her spouse slowly fall away from her over the last two years as he
had?
He lingered on that thought; it was a good reason not to ponder his own
perspective.
Minister Dorlain had been wedded to the person the world and Council had
thought of as her nemesis. Two very different women, from outward
appearance to operation of thinking had fallen hard for each other, from
what the shocked and entertained world had seen anyway. The news that the
former Queen of the
World had fallen in love with another woman, a woman who was her enemy no
less, had sent the Nations into a frenzy as Trowa recalled. Almost as much
as Quatre's intention to marry him had been.
Now the late Dorothy "Cat" Dorlain was 'dead' and with *his* husband.
"Did you love her Minister?"
Relena turned a bit, unsure of how to answer. Love Dorothy? Their
relationship had been based on conquest. A battle with just the two of them.
A battle that had one day stated in her office and ended in her chambers.
Dorothy showed her things she'd never considered before and she in return
had given Dorothy her challenge and defiance.
Relena stared into the picture in deep thought. There had been affection.
Great affection, but love? No. She really didn't think so. There had been a
dark attraction between them and need. There was nothing so pure as love in
their courtship or marriage. That had been the irony of her life as the
dove of peace.
"Love, Mr. Barton, had little to do with us, " her gaze shifted over to the
photo her tall companion faced. Quatre Winner. "Now, I think I may know why."
Trowa turned to face her then, he leaned down close to where she could
nearly feel his lips brush the skin of her ear.
"You're lying Minister."
Relena turned her head so she could look him in the eye, her own gaze
narrowing in challenge.
"So...are you."
With a graceful twist and step she widened the physical distance between
them, putting the sleek curve of her back to him. A hand on her hip she
stared out into the velvet night with its diamond stars blinking
mysteriously at her. The analogy reminded her of Dorothy's own sly ways.
Relena turned back around to face Trowa.
He hadn't moved. The brown haired man was still facing her from the side,
the graceful curve of his back casting low flickering shadows on the
whitish stone walls, long willowy arms at his sides with their white
sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up to the elbows, hands still carelessly
resting inside the pockets of the black slacks that clothed his long legs.
It was his eyes that gave him away she mused. Dark green and shadowed with
deep emotion that almost glowed in the unusual atmosphere that they had
created.
Relena looked at him thoughtfully from across the shadowed meeting hall of
the temple they'd chosen a week ago. You're angry aren't you Trowa? She
thought. And you don't like it.
"So what will you do now Mr. Barton?"
Trowa shifted positions to look at her fully and considered his next words
carefully.
"I'll be taking over Quatre's diplomatic duties."
The minister raised a slender eyebrow at him and looked at him serenely.
"Good luck Mr. Barton."
Trowa nodded slowly at the blond woman wondering what that she could be
thinking. His eyes followed her form as she made her way back across the
hall to the door. Her pale hands closed around the bar like handles.
Pausing she turned her head and Trowa tipped his head slightly in inquiry.
"Don't be like Dorothy, Trowa. Don't die inside because Quatre stopped
loving you. "
She opened the doors and slipped out as quietly as a ghost.
The candles finally went out.
"Too late."
muffins make every thing okay
-jay-
Guess it wouldn't be so bad if we WERE making money doing what we love cause
we'd be loving what we do, ne?
`~Myheartfortrowa
________________________________________________________________
R-chan
Chief Officer of the UHA's FFF (FanFictionForce)
Keeper of the
Official Hentai Rule Book,
Serving under the United Hentai
Alliance blessed under the Hee-chan,
sworn to serve Shinigami, shaded by
Tro-chan's Unibang, protected by
Q-Man's Maguanacs on High, and
beloved of the Wu-pie
R-chan's Gw Fanfiction