Title: Web of Time 3/?
By Hana-chan
Category: AU, yaoi, angst, occasional lemon
Pairings: eventual 1x4, 2x3x2, 5xOC
Ratings: Varies. This part is PG.
Spoiler: None really, takes place about one year after EW
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Gundam Wing. This is for fun, not profit, so don't sue me. The story, and any characters that do not belong to GW belong to me.
thoughts ::telepathy:: ~emphasis~ *** scene change
Web of Time
Chapter 3
Duo Maxwell groaned faintly, rolling onto his back. "Anyone get the number of that bus?" he mumbled, trying to cope with the throbbing in his skull. Opening his eyes, he frowned in confusion and closed them again. He repeated the process several more times, with his hand in front of his face, seeing the exact same thing each time.
Nothing whatsoever.
"Okay, Maxwell," he told himself. "Do what the book says and 'Don't Panic'[1]. So you can't see, there're a lot of explanations - you're blind, it's dark, you're dreaming, you're crazy. I am hoping for the darkness one though; the others sound very un-fun."
Closing his eyes, the pilot touched the lids, rolling his eyeballs around under his fingers. "Well, eyeballs are present and accounted for, and seem to be working to some extent," he babbled. "It's looking good for the darkness option. Though I guess that dreaming or being crazy might have the same results."
Rolling over, he pushed himself to his knees and sat back on his heels. He seemed intact - clothing, hair, eyeballs, limbs - all seemed to be in their proper places. "Well, except for the whole seeing thing, I seem to be in one piece. In the dark, on a cold -- and damp -- stone floor somewhere." Frowning in thought, he tried to remember what had happened to get him here.
"Hmmm," he said. "I finally got that old mobile suit moving when. . . when what?" Scratching his head, Duo reached around and caught hold of his braid and began flicking the tail of it against his lips and nose. "The suit moved, I decided to celebrate, and. . ." His eyes widened in shock. "I was attacked!" he exclaimed. "Those green-haired gray bastards attacked me and nearly ripped my braid off." Growling he leapt to his face and began pacing only to be stopped abruptly when he crashed into a stone wall.
Cursing, he rubbed his sore nose and rocked back and forth on his feet. "Owww," he complained. "Who put a stupid wall there?"
Glaring at the unseen wall, he grumbled to himself. "I said," he shouted. "Who put a stupid wall there!"
There was no response, not even the echoing of his voice.
"He-llo-o," he called out in a sing-song voice. "A-ny-bo-dy ho-ome?"
Still no response.
"HEY," he yelled. "You can't just kidnap me then ignore me! What about my rights? My phone call? My attorney? The right to be tortured and killed? Don't you know what you're doing? You don't go through all that trouble and ignore your prisoner. What about ransom?"
The silence was so loud it was almost deafening.
Sighing, he reached out and touched the wall before quickly jerking his hands back. "Ewww," he he said, rubbing his hands on his pants. "Slimy." Taking a deep breath, he put his right hand delicately on the wall, left one outstretched before him and blindly shuffled around the perimeter of the room.
"Wall, wall, more wall, more -- huh?" he stopped his ramblings, reaching out one foot to touch, or rather not touch, the hole in the floor in front of him. He sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. "Toilet," he said in disgust, before continuing. "Wall, Wall, more -- steel?" Groping around with both hands, the pilot felt what he assumed was a metal door. There were, however, no hinges, keyholes, knobs or anything else that he might normally associate with a door. At the bottom of it was a small covered indentation that he assumed was a slot for food to be passed through.
"Oh goodie, dungeon food," he said, clapping his hands before resuming his circuit around the cell. When he reached the toilet hole again he paced across the room, arms outstretched before him. "One, two, three, four, slime. Hmm, that makes about six feet or so. Not much room." He reached out his right hand, touched the other wall then paced the cell again. "One, two, three, four, five, door. Almost seven feet. Drat, that isn't very big; not at all."
Staring at the blackness, Duo began to fidget. He rocked back and forth on his feet, swinging his arms slightly. The darkness was oppressive though so he grabbed his braid and began to play with the tail of it.
"Come on, Maxwell," he told himself. "Don't freak out. Someone will come by soon. I mean, why bother taking a prisoner then locking him somewhere in the dark forever. . ."
Tugging his braid, he squeezed his eyes closed, taking deep breaths. "Someone will come, you won't be left here alone. Someone always comes." Pulling on his hair hard enough to make his eyes water, Duo began pacing his cell.
"One, two, three, four, turn, one, two, three, four, turn," he muttered as he walked. He held the center of his braid in his left hand, tail in his right, twisting and untwisting the rope of hair.
"Look on the bright side - Ha, as if there's a bright side in pitch darkness - at least it doesn't sound like there's buggies, or rats or anything skittering around. . . but then, there might be spiders, they don't really skitter. . ." The teen froze in the middle of the cell, mind conjuring up images of giant spiders lurking unseen in the corners. Breathing rapidly, he crushed his eyes closed trying to banish the pictures from his mind. He could almost feel their webs brushing lightly against his skin. Jumping he rubbed wildly at his face trying to be rid of the imaginary spider webs.
"Deep breaths, baka, deep breaths. There are no spiders. No bugs for food equals no spiders. The cell is also too small for Shilob [2] to live here, so nothing can eat me. Think of something else. Anything else. Hmmm, your friends. Think about them."
Duo began to pace again brushing his face with the end of his braid, trying to picture his friends. Heero, in his tank top and spandex, typing away at his laptop. Those dark blue eyes were mezmerizing, peering out from under his thatch of dark hair. He could almost hear him grunt "Hn," and call him a baka. Wufei was dark, silent, practicing his forms on the morning grass dressed in blue and white. That beautiful hair was drawn back in a tight ponytail, black eyes seeming both sad and mysterious at the same time. He'd probably just say "Maxwell" in such a way that conveyed exasperation. Actually, his own mental voice sounded something like that when he was irritated with himself. Quatre was easy - blond and sunny with seablue eyes and a gentle smile - you couldn't help but want to protect him, silly pink shirt and all. And lastly was Trowa. That unibang was fascinating, always managing to mask his face. Those body hugging clothes, his deep green eyes - he definitely qualified as the strong silent type.
As the images grew clearer in his mind, Duo slowed his pacing then sat in the center of the floor.
He played around with the details until they were just right. When he could see them clearly with his eyes open he settled back to admire them. This trick always worked better in darkness because there was nothing to confuse his eyes, but even he was somewhat surprised at the results this time. He hadn't realized how many little things he knew about them. But then again, he had had a crush on each one of them at some point during the war.
Examining the images again, he sighed a bit in disappointment - they looked quite lifelike in his mind, but they were still lifeless eye-candy. It just wasn't the same as having them here for real, or having his ghost friends around. Solo-ghost had been almost as realistic as Solo himself, except that no one else could see or hear him, but then, he'd never wanted anyone else to see him or hear him.
Frowning slightly, he sighed. He hadn't thought of Solo-ghost for quite a while now; he missed him, imaginary friend or no. Actually, he missed all of his ghost friends, but they seemed to have come and gone as he got older. Solo-ghost was the only one who stayed for any length of time - for years actually, from the death of the real Solo until some time during the war. Almost half of his life really.
The teenager shook his head. He was a bit upset that he hadn't thought of Solo-ghost in such a long time. Unfortunately, thinking of his old friend, caused the images of his new friends to waver and begin to fade.
"Wait," he cried out. "Don't go. Don't leave me alone in the dark." He clutched his braid in a death grip as the visions began to fade. "Don't leave me alone," he wailed, curling into a tight ball as they vanished completely. "I'll be good, I promise," he whimpered. "Please don't lock me in the dark, don't leave me alone."
::I won't leave you alone,:: said a very faint voice. ::Duo, you aren't alone::
Blinking tears away, the long-haired boy looked up. Trowa's image flickered alone, translucent in the darkness. "Trowa?" he called out hopefully.
::I'm here,:: said the voice. Concentrating, the image resolved itself until it seemed as if Trowa was in the room with him.
Duo relaxed at the sound of the voice in his head. "You'll stay with me?"
::We'll stay with each other,:: was the response.
"Thank you, Trowa-ghost,: whispered the braided pilot, slowly relaxing from his tight curl. He wasn't sure why Trowa was showing up as a ghost friend, but he wasn't going to argue. He'd never figured out what made his ghost friends different from his regular image-pictures, but right now all he cared about was the fact that he wasn't going to be alone in the dark. With that thought, and the warm presence of his friend in his mind, he fell into an exhausted sleep.
* * *
Trowa blinked, staring blindly into the inky darkness trying to understand what exactly was going on. That he was a prisoner somewhere he had no doubt. His last clear memory was of being attacked shortly after he'd returned Duchess to her stall at the circus. The gray skinned, green haired creatures had obviously not been human, but what they actually were, he had no idea. Their armor and swords suggested a more medieval setting, though how ~that~ was possible Trowa didn't want to guess at until he'd gathered more facts. He remembered killing at least two of them with his throwing knives - the others had been so enraged that they had nearly killed him. In fact, he was sure that the only reason his head was still attached to his neck was the leader's angry order to take him ~alive~.
Judging by the pain in his torso, limbs, and head, beating him had obviously fallen within the range of ~alive~. As it was, he didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, or locked in this cell, but the blood that matted his hair was dry, and his muscles were stiff. He'd managed to work out most of the kinks when he'd first awoken, but the cold dampness of the cell wasn't helping.
Beginning a new series of stretches, Trowa watched the darkness. The absolute lack of light didn't bother him - in fact it was oddly relaxing. His other senses had heightened and, despite the cold and pain, he had the strange sensation of disembodiment, as if he were simply a mind floating in the darkness.
The silence, however, was unnerving. Ever since he'd spent those days drifting in space with absolutely no sound, and only the stars for company, he'd hated absolute silence. Though he himself didn't find it necessary to speak much, he always surrounded himself with sound - people talking, animals moving, the hum of machinery - he didn't care what type of sound it was, as long as it broke the silence.
Actually, it was one of the reasons he'd been drawn to Duo near the end of the war. That boy never had trouble filling the silence, and expected nothing in return other than the odd grunt or comment.
That was also why, he suspected, when his mind conjured up a voice to break the silence it was Duo's voice that he heard. He could vividly remember the plea for help -- to not be left alone - for it mirrored his own need. His mind had known exactly what was necessary to survive this ordeal and had provided it in the form of Duo Maxwell's voice.
As if thinking about it had conjured it, the Duo-voice spoke to him again.
::Trowa-ghost?:: it asked. ::Are you still there?::
::Of course I am,:: he assured it, wondering briefly where the name Trowa-ghost came from. It fit the strangely disembodied feeling he'd been experiencing so far, so he didn't question it much.
Something else he didn't really question was why the Duo-voice sounded so scared and insecure when he'd always thought of the American as being confident, and generally happy. Shrugging in the darkness, he assumed it was something his mind needed, much like the amnesia he'd suffered before. The Duo-voice was a lot more like him than the real Duo that he was used to, making it easier to relate to. Both Duos talked incessantly to be sure, but the voice seemed more approachable.
::So, what do you want to do today?:: asked the Duo-voice.
Trowa smiled slightly, typical Duo. ::I'd like to go for a picnic in a field of wildflowers with the sun shining brightly in the deep blue sky,:: he responded, closing his eyes and trying to picture the scene.
::With clouds like mounds of marshmallow fluff just begging to be eaten,:: added the voice.
The HeavyArms pilot found himself smiling again at the appetizing picture that the words conjured for him. The scene came together in his mind, crystallizing until it stood there more vividly than anything he'd ever imagined before.
"Perfect," he whispered in wonder.
::Almost,:: said the Duo-voice. ::I wish I could see ~you~ there instead of just hearing you.::
::I wish I could see ~both~ of us there,:: he told the voice, amused that it acted as if it were independent of him.
::I'll work on it,:: it responded with a laugh. ::For now, at least I'm not in the dark.::
The quiet scrape of metal on metal caused Trowa to sit up, startled, eyes flying open. He was surprised to see the field of flowers with his real eyes before it faded to blackness. ::What was that?:: he asked.
::I don't know,:: responded the Duo-voice. ::The food slot?::
There was a slight scraping on the floor somewhere in front of him, then the metallic scraping again, then there was nothing. Trowa waited a few moments then crawled forward cautiously, one hand feeling the way tentatively as he moved. He hadn't gone far when he encountered what appeared to be a tray with something wet on it.
::Eeewww,:: said the Duo-voice. ::Dungeon food.::
Trowa's mouth quirked up a bit on the side. ::Probably,:: he replied. ::If you can call it food that is.::
::Anything that is remotely edible is food,:: came the subdued response.
The green-eyed pilot winced, but had to agree.
::So do we eat this and hope that it isn't poisoned?:: asked the voice.
Trowa thought for a moment then nodded to himself. ::It's probably safe,:: he said. ::Or at least it probably isn't lethal,:: he amended. ::They were under orders to keep me alive earlier, so I doubt that they'd kill me now.::
::Well then, here's to us, and the hope that this isn't poison.::
The pilot took a deep breath and scooped some of the almost scentless substance onto his fingers before tentatively putting it in his mouth.
::Yumm, gruel,:: commented the Duo-voice.
::I'm just glad it's almost tasteless,:: commented Trowa, trying not to make a face as he continued to eat.
::Very true. Bland wins over gross in my books any day.::
The green-eyed pilot nodded into the darkness and continued to eat. There wasn't much, but at least his stomach had something in it.
::Now what?:: asked the Duo-voice. ::Do we sit here forever? Simply wait for our next meal such as it was? Or do we wait to be executed or go mad or something?::
Trowa was about to respond when a wave of dizziness swept over him. Though he couldn't see, he felt as if the room was spinning.
::Drugged,:: he thought frantically before he lost consciousness.
TBC.
[1] This is from Douglas Adam's 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy'. It seems like a book Duo would enjoy ::grins::
[2] Shelob is that giant spider in 'The Lord of the Rings' by JRR Tolkien. So, Duo likes "old" books! Hn.
--Hana-chan
By Hana-chan
Category: AU, yaoi, angst, occasional lemon
Pairings: eventual 1x4, 2x3x2, 5xOC
Ratings: Varies. This part is PG.
Spoiler: None really, takes place about one year after EW
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Gundam Wing. This is for fun, not profit, so don't sue me. The story, and any characters that do not belong to GW belong to me.
thoughts ::telepathy:: ~emphasis~ *** scene change
Web of Time
Chapter 3
Duo Maxwell groaned faintly, rolling onto his back. "Anyone get the number of that bus?" he mumbled, trying to cope with the throbbing in his skull. Opening his eyes, he frowned in confusion and closed them again. He repeated the process several more times, with his hand in front of his face, seeing the exact same thing each time.
Nothing whatsoever.
"Okay, Maxwell," he told himself. "Do what the book says and 'Don't Panic'[1]. So you can't see, there're a lot of explanations - you're blind, it's dark, you're dreaming, you're crazy. I am hoping for the darkness one though; the others sound very un-fun."
Closing his eyes, the pilot touched the lids, rolling his eyeballs around under his fingers. "Well, eyeballs are present and accounted for, and seem to be working to some extent," he babbled. "It's looking good for the darkness option. Though I guess that dreaming or being crazy might have the same results."
Rolling over, he pushed himself to his knees and sat back on his heels. He seemed intact - clothing, hair, eyeballs, limbs - all seemed to be in their proper places. "Well, except for the whole seeing thing, I seem to be in one piece. In the dark, on a cold -- and damp -- stone floor somewhere." Frowning in thought, he tried to remember what had happened to get him here.
"Hmmm," he said. "I finally got that old mobile suit moving when. . . when what?" Scratching his head, Duo reached around and caught hold of his braid and began flicking the tail of it against his lips and nose. "The suit moved, I decided to celebrate, and. . ." His eyes widened in shock. "I was attacked!" he exclaimed. "Those green-haired gray bastards attacked me and nearly ripped my braid off." Growling he leapt to his face and began pacing only to be stopped abruptly when he crashed into a stone wall.
Cursing, he rubbed his sore nose and rocked back and forth on his feet. "Owww," he complained. "Who put a stupid wall there?"
Glaring at the unseen wall, he grumbled to himself. "I said," he shouted. "Who put a stupid wall there!"
There was no response, not even the echoing of his voice.
"He-llo-o," he called out in a sing-song voice. "A-ny-bo-dy ho-ome?"
Still no response.
"HEY," he yelled. "You can't just kidnap me then ignore me! What about my rights? My phone call? My attorney? The right to be tortured and killed? Don't you know what you're doing? You don't go through all that trouble and ignore your prisoner. What about ransom?"
The silence was so loud it was almost deafening.
Sighing, he reached out and touched the wall before quickly jerking his hands back. "Ewww," he he said, rubbing his hands on his pants. "Slimy." Taking a deep breath, he put his right hand delicately on the wall, left one outstretched before him and blindly shuffled around the perimeter of the room.
"Wall, wall, more wall, more -- huh?" he stopped his ramblings, reaching out one foot to touch, or rather not touch, the hole in the floor in front of him. He sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. "Toilet," he said in disgust, before continuing. "Wall, Wall, more -- steel?" Groping around with both hands, the pilot felt what he assumed was a metal door. There were, however, no hinges, keyholes, knobs or anything else that he might normally associate with a door. At the bottom of it was a small covered indentation that he assumed was a slot for food to be passed through.
"Oh goodie, dungeon food," he said, clapping his hands before resuming his circuit around the cell. When he reached the toilet hole again he paced across the room, arms outstretched before him. "One, two, three, four, slime. Hmm, that makes about six feet or so. Not much room." He reached out his right hand, touched the other wall then paced the cell again. "One, two, three, four, five, door. Almost seven feet. Drat, that isn't very big; not at all."
Staring at the blackness, Duo began to fidget. He rocked back and forth on his feet, swinging his arms slightly. The darkness was oppressive though so he grabbed his braid and began to play with the tail of it.
"Come on, Maxwell," he told himself. "Don't freak out. Someone will come by soon. I mean, why bother taking a prisoner then locking him somewhere in the dark forever. . ."
Tugging his braid, he squeezed his eyes closed, taking deep breaths. "Someone will come, you won't be left here alone. Someone always comes." Pulling on his hair hard enough to make his eyes water, Duo began pacing his cell.
"One, two, three, four, turn, one, two, three, four, turn," he muttered as he walked. He held the center of his braid in his left hand, tail in his right, twisting and untwisting the rope of hair.
"Look on the bright side - Ha, as if there's a bright side in pitch darkness - at least it doesn't sound like there's buggies, or rats or anything skittering around. . . but then, there might be spiders, they don't really skitter. . ." The teen froze in the middle of the cell, mind conjuring up images of giant spiders lurking unseen in the corners. Breathing rapidly, he crushed his eyes closed trying to banish the pictures from his mind. He could almost feel their webs brushing lightly against his skin. Jumping he rubbed wildly at his face trying to be rid of the imaginary spider webs.
"Deep breaths, baka, deep breaths. There are no spiders. No bugs for food equals no spiders. The cell is also too small for Shilob [2] to live here, so nothing can eat me. Think of something else. Anything else. Hmmm, your friends. Think about them."
Duo began to pace again brushing his face with the end of his braid, trying to picture his friends. Heero, in his tank top and spandex, typing away at his laptop. Those dark blue eyes were mezmerizing, peering out from under his thatch of dark hair. He could almost hear him grunt "Hn," and call him a baka. Wufei was dark, silent, practicing his forms on the morning grass dressed in blue and white. That beautiful hair was drawn back in a tight ponytail, black eyes seeming both sad and mysterious at the same time. He'd probably just say "Maxwell" in such a way that conveyed exasperation. Actually, his own mental voice sounded something like that when he was irritated with himself. Quatre was easy - blond and sunny with seablue eyes and a gentle smile - you couldn't help but want to protect him, silly pink shirt and all. And lastly was Trowa. That unibang was fascinating, always managing to mask his face. Those body hugging clothes, his deep green eyes - he definitely qualified as the strong silent type.
As the images grew clearer in his mind, Duo slowed his pacing then sat in the center of the floor.
He played around with the details until they were just right. When he could see them clearly with his eyes open he settled back to admire them. This trick always worked better in darkness because there was nothing to confuse his eyes, but even he was somewhat surprised at the results this time. He hadn't realized how many little things he knew about them. But then again, he had had a crush on each one of them at some point during the war.
Examining the images again, he sighed a bit in disappointment - they looked quite lifelike in his mind, but they were still lifeless eye-candy. It just wasn't the same as having them here for real, or having his ghost friends around. Solo-ghost had been almost as realistic as Solo himself, except that no one else could see or hear him, but then, he'd never wanted anyone else to see him or hear him.
Frowning slightly, he sighed. He hadn't thought of Solo-ghost for quite a while now; he missed him, imaginary friend or no. Actually, he missed all of his ghost friends, but they seemed to have come and gone as he got older. Solo-ghost was the only one who stayed for any length of time - for years actually, from the death of the real Solo until some time during the war. Almost half of his life really.
The teenager shook his head. He was a bit upset that he hadn't thought of Solo-ghost in such a long time. Unfortunately, thinking of his old friend, caused the images of his new friends to waver and begin to fade.
"Wait," he cried out. "Don't go. Don't leave me alone in the dark." He clutched his braid in a death grip as the visions began to fade. "Don't leave me alone," he wailed, curling into a tight ball as they vanished completely. "I'll be good, I promise," he whimpered. "Please don't lock me in the dark, don't leave me alone."
::I won't leave you alone,:: said a very faint voice. ::Duo, you aren't alone::
Blinking tears away, the long-haired boy looked up. Trowa's image flickered alone, translucent in the darkness. "Trowa?" he called out hopefully.
::I'm here,:: said the voice. Concentrating, the image resolved itself until it seemed as if Trowa was in the room with him.
Duo relaxed at the sound of the voice in his head. "You'll stay with me?"
::We'll stay with each other,:: was the response.
"Thank you, Trowa-ghost,: whispered the braided pilot, slowly relaxing from his tight curl. He wasn't sure why Trowa was showing up as a ghost friend, but he wasn't going to argue. He'd never figured out what made his ghost friends different from his regular image-pictures, but right now all he cared about was the fact that he wasn't going to be alone in the dark. With that thought, and the warm presence of his friend in his mind, he fell into an exhausted sleep.
* * *
Trowa blinked, staring blindly into the inky darkness trying to understand what exactly was going on. That he was a prisoner somewhere he had no doubt. His last clear memory was of being attacked shortly after he'd returned Duchess to her stall at the circus. The gray skinned, green haired creatures had obviously not been human, but what they actually were, he had no idea. Their armor and swords suggested a more medieval setting, though how ~that~ was possible Trowa didn't want to guess at until he'd gathered more facts. He remembered killing at least two of them with his throwing knives - the others had been so enraged that they had nearly killed him. In fact, he was sure that the only reason his head was still attached to his neck was the leader's angry order to take him ~alive~.
Judging by the pain in his torso, limbs, and head, beating him had obviously fallen within the range of ~alive~. As it was, he didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, or locked in this cell, but the blood that matted his hair was dry, and his muscles were stiff. He'd managed to work out most of the kinks when he'd first awoken, but the cold dampness of the cell wasn't helping.
Beginning a new series of stretches, Trowa watched the darkness. The absolute lack of light didn't bother him - in fact it was oddly relaxing. His other senses had heightened and, despite the cold and pain, he had the strange sensation of disembodiment, as if he were simply a mind floating in the darkness.
The silence, however, was unnerving. Ever since he'd spent those days drifting in space with absolutely no sound, and only the stars for company, he'd hated absolute silence. Though he himself didn't find it necessary to speak much, he always surrounded himself with sound - people talking, animals moving, the hum of machinery - he didn't care what type of sound it was, as long as it broke the silence.
Actually, it was one of the reasons he'd been drawn to Duo near the end of the war. That boy never had trouble filling the silence, and expected nothing in return other than the odd grunt or comment.
That was also why, he suspected, when his mind conjured up a voice to break the silence it was Duo's voice that he heard. He could vividly remember the plea for help -- to not be left alone - for it mirrored his own need. His mind had known exactly what was necessary to survive this ordeal and had provided it in the form of Duo Maxwell's voice.
As if thinking about it had conjured it, the Duo-voice spoke to him again.
::Trowa-ghost?:: it asked. ::Are you still there?::
::Of course I am,:: he assured it, wondering briefly where the name Trowa-ghost came from. It fit the strangely disembodied feeling he'd been experiencing so far, so he didn't question it much.
Something else he didn't really question was why the Duo-voice sounded so scared and insecure when he'd always thought of the American as being confident, and generally happy. Shrugging in the darkness, he assumed it was something his mind needed, much like the amnesia he'd suffered before. The Duo-voice was a lot more like him than the real Duo that he was used to, making it easier to relate to. Both Duos talked incessantly to be sure, but the voice seemed more approachable.
::So, what do you want to do today?:: asked the Duo-voice.
Trowa smiled slightly, typical Duo. ::I'd like to go for a picnic in a field of wildflowers with the sun shining brightly in the deep blue sky,:: he responded, closing his eyes and trying to picture the scene.
::With clouds like mounds of marshmallow fluff just begging to be eaten,:: added the voice.
The HeavyArms pilot found himself smiling again at the appetizing picture that the words conjured for him. The scene came together in his mind, crystallizing until it stood there more vividly than anything he'd ever imagined before.
"Perfect," he whispered in wonder.
::Almost,:: said the Duo-voice. ::I wish I could see ~you~ there instead of just hearing you.::
::I wish I could see ~both~ of us there,:: he told the voice, amused that it acted as if it were independent of him.
::I'll work on it,:: it responded with a laugh. ::For now, at least I'm not in the dark.::
The quiet scrape of metal on metal caused Trowa to sit up, startled, eyes flying open. He was surprised to see the field of flowers with his real eyes before it faded to blackness. ::What was that?:: he asked.
::I don't know,:: responded the Duo-voice. ::The food slot?::
There was a slight scraping on the floor somewhere in front of him, then the metallic scraping again, then there was nothing. Trowa waited a few moments then crawled forward cautiously, one hand feeling the way tentatively as he moved. He hadn't gone far when he encountered what appeared to be a tray with something wet on it.
::Eeewww,:: said the Duo-voice. ::Dungeon food.::
Trowa's mouth quirked up a bit on the side. ::Probably,:: he replied. ::If you can call it food that is.::
::Anything that is remotely edible is food,:: came the subdued response.
The green-eyed pilot winced, but had to agree.
::So do we eat this and hope that it isn't poisoned?:: asked the voice.
Trowa thought for a moment then nodded to himself. ::It's probably safe,:: he said. ::Or at least it probably isn't lethal,:: he amended. ::They were under orders to keep me alive earlier, so I doubt that they'd kill me now.::
::Well then, here's to us, and the hope that this isn't poison.::
The pilot took a deep breath and scooped some of the almost scentless substance onto his fingers before tentatively putting it in his mouth.
::Yumm, gruel,:: commented the Duo-voice.
::I'm just glad it's almost tasteless,:: commented Trowa, trying not to make a face as he continued to eat.
::Very true. Bland wins over gross in my books any day.::
The green-eyed pilot nodded into the darkness and continued to eat. There wasn't much, but at least his stomach had something in it.
::Now what?:: asked the Duo-voice. ::Do we sit here forever? Simply wait for our next meal such as it was? Or do we wait to be executed or go mad or something?::
Trowa was about to respond when a wave of dizziness swept over him. Though he couldn't see, he felt as if the room was spinning.
::Drugged,:: he thought frantically before he lost consciousness.
TBC.
[1] This is from Douglas Adam's 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy'. It seems like a book Duo would enjoy ::grins::
[2] Shelob is that giant spider in 'The Lord of the Rings' by JRR Tolkien. So, Duo likes "old" books! Hn.
--Hana-chan