Lingering smells of napalm hung in the air. Buildings where on fire, mobile suits and soldiers where all over the half destroyed city.
"Hey girl, get over here!" A drunken military type waved to her. She stuck her tough out at him.
Losers. The whole lot of them where.
"Daddy when are we going home?" She asks as she swings her hand in his much larger hand around. He looked away from the men he'd been talking to, "soon Dorothy." He patted her head and turned back to his conversation.
'Why bother!' she thought, yanking her hand out of his. She crossed her arms and began to walk over to, well she had no idea where she was heading, she just wanted to make her father miss her by leaving. He spent so much time talking about maps, plans, strategic maneuvers. What did those things matter any way? What did any thing matter?
She just wanted to go home and snuggle up in the parlor with a book on her father's knee and hear his melodious and deep voice read to her. Weaving tails of far away lands, of places long sense vanished, of handsome princess and knights in shiny armor.
She'd wandered quite away out of her father's site. A tall brick building stud before her. Looking up she saw a large plate of glass fall from a window. She had only time to gasp before it hit her, sending the girl toppling over. She fell on her butt and cut up her leg on the shattered glass in circling her. Tears welled up in her eyes, and the first drop was about to roll out of her eyes and down her cheeks when a boy came out from an ally beside the brick building.
He stared at the blood staining her once snow white tights and dress shoes. Even the himm of her ice blue dress was being ruined.
He sat down a duffel bag that he'd been caring on his back and started to help her up.
"Who are you?" She asks, holding back the tears with every ounce of her will power. She would not be reduced to a baby in front of a stranger.
"Ralph. Sorry about the glass." His says lamely.
"Is it your fault it fell on me?!" He nods at her, then turned to his bag to grab up a peace of cloth.
She glares at him, he ignores it and finishes wrapping her cut leg up in the cloth. He stud up and walks away.
"Be that way then. Leave like every one else." She mutters. Her mother walked out of her life. Cousin Trieze had joined the academy four years back and hadn't time for ten year old Dorothy any more. Mr.Milliardo was gone too. She had no play mates, the only one who cared was her grandfather. Yes he plaid with her quite often when father, the General of the Specials unit, wasn't dragging her though hell holes called battle zones.
She sat there having a self pity party for a while. The day light had long ago dwindled away and was over come by the darkness of night, but she still sat there. Waiting for some one to care enough to come looking for her.
"Father where are you?" She whispers, she'd hoped he would have come for her by now. Did he even care that she was missing?!
A sharp pain stabbed at her leg. Touching the make shift bandage she felt that it was soaking wet with blood. She felt dizzy, her eyes wouldn't stay open any longer.................
"Hey, look it here." Some one says,
"Do you know who the kid is?" Ask another voice.
"Do I?! Come'n, pick her up I have an idea."
--
"Wake up." A girls voice shouts.
"AAAAAAOOOOOW!!" Dorothy screams, her leg felt like it was on fire. Tears streamed down her face, her leg throbbed painfully. "Where am I?" She forced herself to stop crying, it was so hard, but she had her pride.
"Dorothy Catalonia?" The other girl held a gun on Dorothy. As her eyes adjusted and she became more awake she saw that she was in a little run down brick building. The girl with the gun was a little older then herself, but not by much.
"Who are you?" Dorothy glares.
"My name is Chris," Her light brown hair was pooled back in to a pig tail that hung between her shoulder blades, her pail blue eyes where sharp and fixed on Dorothy.
"How is your leg?" Chris asks gruffly, but her eye beetraid her, there was a slight hint of pity in those eyes.
Thump, thump, thump. Feet ran up a set of stars coming toured them.
Dorothy winced as another sharp pain ran through her whole body, and struggled not to show any weakness in front of her enemies. Who ever they where. "Fine." Dorothy lies.
"Chris, the Federation forces are moving out." The boy named Ralph states as he came storming in to the room. He glanced at Dorothy for only a secant before turning away and looked at Chris.
"What are we suppose to do with the hostage?" Chris asks.
Hostage? Dorothy looked around the room, she was the only one there. Was she talking about her?!
Why, this was the big question, would any one want to capture her, Dorothy Catalonia? She was just the daughter of a General. And not a very powerful General at that. 'Little Sylvia Noventa would make a better hostage, but then Sylvia wasn't on this battlefield,' Dorothy reminds herself.
Ralph tugged on Chris's sleeve and they went to a corner to talk in hushed whispers.
She waited patiently to see what fate they had thought up for her. She was slightly amused by the whole turn of advents. This could prove entrusting.
Her mind wandered about her father though. If the Federation forces where moving out that would mean he was leaving her behind, now didn't it? Her amusement quickly turned in to pain, far worse then that of her infected cuts.
"Can you walk?" Ralph asks.
"Yes." She glares at him, "but I have no intentions of going any where with you."
He laughed. Did he think she was stupid? Cause she was not, nor was she joking.
Dorothy started to take the old bandage off slowly, taking her sweet time.
Chris turned to Ralph, "Why not just leave her to take care of herself? That infection is pretty bad, if she would like to take her chances with it then us-"
"Pardon me, do you have any clean bandages?" Dorothy interrupted Chris. Her tone was nothing but cynical.
Chris frowns at Ralph, "we hadn't plained on taking a hostage on this mission, we don't have supplies for an extra person."
"Anasten is our captain, he said take the Catalonia girl with us." He shrugs, "she might be useful to us."
Some thing in Chris's eyes said she disagreed, but she didn't argue any further. Ralph threw Dorothy over his shoulder, fire fighter style.
"Put me down!" She pounded on his back, that didn't work so she kicked with her good leg, slamming her foot in to his stomach, that did not aper to have any effect on him either.
Some time later she was in the back of a truck tide so that she couldn't move her arms or legs. A blanket was draped over her and every once and a while some one, either Ralph or an eight teen year old named Stan, would uncover her head and ask if she was all right.
Stan had lifted her dark vail and smiled at her. He was ugly, or so she thought. A large burn scar was below his left ear and ran down to his jaw. Smaller scars where on his forehead and nose. Dorothy studied his face and eyes a while longer. His eyes where a shade of light brown, and his nose was long and narow.
"We're going to stop soon and you can use the ladies room." He informed her.
"Where are we?" She asked back, she tried to keep poised and her chin in the air, to give her self an air of grace, how ever it was quite difficult with her hands tied be hind her back and little stabs of pain shutting up her leg.
Stan had given her a pain killer when they'd loaded her up in to the truck, but the effect was wearing off.
He didn't answer her and started to put the blanket back over her head.
She looked up and saw the stars shining brightly over head, Mr.Milliardo's voice rang in her ears from three eyes back. He'd been telling her some of the things he'd learned in the Academy, like survival and how to tell where you are. If Stan wouldn't give her an answer she'd just have to figure it out for herself. "Don't do that yet. I want some fresh air."
He looked around for a few minutes before nodding his head, " we can't have any one see you with us yet." He explains.
"Sorry about your leg." Stand adds nervously. "Is it giving you any problems?"
"No." She lied as she saw the big dipper, now that means that the Milky way is over.... They hit a bump in the road and she bounced up a little, her head slammed in to the bed of the truck hard.
"Hey watch your driving!" Stan yells to who ever was driving. Chris was seating in the cab with the driver, so was another man. He turns around in his seat to face Stan, "Cover her back up! We're taking a huge risk just having her around. Do you want to actually be caught?!"
"She needs fresh air, it will be more dangers to have her dead body with us!" Stan argues back.
"She's not going to die with a blanket on her head." The man snorts.
Dorothy hadn't caught this other man's name yet, but she kept her ears open to every thing. She wasn't going to let these people get off easy when she got free. She also hoped to find out what they wanted with her. It was a question that bothered Dorothy very much.
"That's enough. The both of you need to calm down." The driver orders, looking over his shoulder momentarily at Stan.
But Dorothy caught a glimpse of his face. It was just a brief look, but she'd never forget it. Black hair in a crew cut, an earring in his right ear, and pail gray eyes. His eyes reminded her of the eyes of a dead fish. "I know what I'm doing Patrick, I wouldn't put any of you in unnecessary danger. Trust me." He smirked, Dorothy couldn't see him smirk cause he'd turned back around to face the road, but she knew he was smirking.
They stopped only momentarily in the woods. Ralph climbed up a tree with binoculars, Dorothy could see him from her place on the ground where she was waiting for Chris to take her in the woods to go and relieve her self.
"Do you see the Federation troupes?" Stan yells up to Ralph.
"They're to the north of us, looks like they're making their way to Marcels." Ralph began to clime back down from the tree.
"Chris, take a picture of little Dorothy and give her a pin and paper to write to her daddy," the man with black hair orders tossing a camera at Chris. "Patrick get resins, and cooking utensils out of the truck, we have to eat and leave."
"Yes Anasten." Patrick mumbles before getting to work.
'Anasten. Anasten, Anasten.....' Dorothy said his name in her mind over and over, she wouldn't for get him. Not ever.
"It's been 10 minutes are you done with your letter yet?" Chris asks tapping Dorothy on the shoulder.
Dorothy looked at the blank writing paper in her hands. She couldn't think of any thing to say to him. How could he have left her back there? She half want to tell him that she was in better hands. And yet she didn't want to stay with these people, they might be planing to kill her after all.
"If she won't write the letter, write it for her." Ralph sagest.
"That won't do," Anasten placed a stamp on an envelope addressed for General Catalonia. "Now Dorothy don't you want your daddy to know wether you're alright or not?" He smirked at Dorothy,
She stuck her pointed chin out, "I'm not going to do any thing you order me to. I don't give in to my enemies."
"Such bold words for a little girl. I should have expected that from you." He smiled with some satisfaction.
"What do you know about me?" She asks with real curiosity.
"You're the daughter of a great soldier, but he happens to be on the wrong side of this war. Unfortunately that places you on the wrong side too." He sounded sympathetic, was it real or mock sympathy, Dorothy couldn't be to sure.
"You're Dorothy Catalonia, my enemy. But I'm guessing you're as formable a foe as your father. Am I right?" He smiled, Dorothy smirked, "you'll regret being right all the time."
-------------
Setting across the table from her was Trowa Barton, he looked charming in that tux. Annaleen was setting to her right, dressed in a turquois dress that looked fabulist with her black hair.
Dorothy's finger went around the rim of her wine glass as she gazed at her companions. Sadly some one was messing. She half wanted to tell Annaleen where Heero had run off too, but then he might make an aperients any moment and be able to tell all of them himself about his delicious adventure.
"I..." Annaleen halted she was obviously agitated. "Please excuse me."
Trowa stud up and scouted her chair back. He was always a the gentleman.
"Hey girl, get over here!" A drunken military type waved to her. She stuck her tough out at him.
Losers. The whole lot of them where.
"Daddy when are we going home?" She asks as she swings her hand in his much larger hand around. He looked away from the men he'd been talking to, "soon Dorothy." He patted her head and turned back to his conversation.
'Why bother!' she thought, yanking her hand out of his. She crossed her arms and began to walk over to, well she had no idea where she was heading, she just wanted to make her father miss her by leaving. He spent so much time talking about maps, plans, strategic maneuvers. What did those things matter any way? What did any thing matter?
She just wanted to go home and snuggle up in the parlor with a book on her father's knee and hear his melodious and deep voice read to her. Weaving tails of far away lands, of places long sense vanished, of handsome princess and knights in shiny armor.
She'd wandered quite away out of her father's site. A tall brick building stud before her. Looking up she saw a large plate of glass fall from a window. She had only time to gasp before it hit her, sending the girl toppling over. She fell on her butt and cut up her leg on the shattered glass in circling her. Tears welled up in her eyes, and the first drop was about to roll out of her eyes and down her cheeks when a boy came out from an ally beside the brick building.
He stared at the blood staining her once snow white tights and dress shoes. Even the himm of her ice blue dress was being ruined.
He sat down a duffel bag that he'd been caring on his back and started to help her up.
"Who are you?" She asks, holding back the tears with every ounce of her will power. She would not be reduced to a baby in front of a stranger.
"Ralph. Sorry about the glass." His says lamely.
"Is it your fault it fell on me?!" He nods at her, then turned to his bag to grab up a peace of cloth.
She glares at him, he ignores it and finishes wrapping her cut leg up in the cloth. He stud up and walks away.
"Be that way then. Leave like every one else." She mutters. Her mother walked out of her life. Cousin Trieze had joined the academy four years back and hadn't time for ten year old Dorothy any more. Mr.Milliardo was gone too. She had no play mates, the only one who cared was her grandfather. Yes he plaid with her quite often when father, the General of the Specials unit, wasn't dragging her though hell holes called battle zones.
She sat there having a self pity party for a while. The day light had long ago dwindled away and was over come by the darkness of night, but she still sat there. Waiting for some one to care enough to come looking for her.
"Father where are you?" She whispers, she'd hoped he would have come for her by now. Did he even care that she was missing?!
A sharp pain stabbed at her leg. Touching the make shift bandage she felt that it was soaking wet with blood. She felt dizzy, her eyes wouldn't stay open any longer.................
"Hey, look it here." Some one says,
"Do you know who the kid is?" Ask another voice.
"Do I?! Come'n, pick her up I have an idea."
--
"Wake up." A girls voice shouts.
"AAAAAAOOOOOW!!" Dorothy screams, her leg felt like it was on fire. Tears streamed down her face, her leg throbbed painfully. "Where am I?" She forced herself to stop crying, it was so hard, but she had her pride.
"Dorothy Catalonia?" The other girl held a gun on Dorothy. As her eyes adjusted and she became more awake she saw that she was in a little run down brick building. The girl with the gun was a little older then herself, but not by much.
"Who are you?" Dorothy glares.
"My name is Chris," Her light brown hair was pooled back in to a pig tail that hung between her shoulder blades, her pail blue eyes where sharp and fixed on Dorothy.
"How is your leg?" Chris asks gruffly, but her eye beetraid her, there was a slight hint of pity in those eyes.
Thump, thump, thump. Feet ran up a set of stars coming toured them.
Dorothy winced as another sharp pain ran through her whole body, and struggled not to show any weakness in front of her enemies. Who ever they where. "Fine." Dorothy lies.
"Chris, the Federation forces are moving out." The boy named Ralph states as he came storming in to the room. He glanced at Dorothy for only a secant before turning away and looked at Chris.
"What are we suppose to do with the hostage?" Chris asks.
Hostage? Dorothy looked around the room, she was the only one there. Was she talking about her?!
Why, this was the big question, would any one want to capture her, Dorothy Catalonia? She was just the daughter of a General. And not a very powerful General at that. 'Little Sylvia Noventa would make a better hostage, but then Sylvia wasn't on this battlefield,' Dorothy reminds herself.
Ralph tugged on Chris's sleeve and they went to a corner to talk in hushed whispers.
She waited patiently to see what fate they had thought up for her. She was slightly amused by the whole turn of advents. This could prove entrusting.
Her mind wandered about her father though. If the Federation forces where moving out that would mean he was leaving her behind, now didn't it? Her amusement quickly turned in to pain, far worse then that of her infected cuts.
"Can you walk?" Ralph asks.
"Yes." She glares at him, "but I have no intentions of going any where with you."
He laughed. Did he think she was stupid? Cause she was not, nor was she joking.
Dorothy started to take the old bandage off slowly, taking her sweet time.
Chris turned to Ralph, "Why not just leave her to take care of herself? That infection is pretty bad, if she would like to take her chances with it then us-"
"Pardon me, do you have any clean bandages?" Dorothy interrupted Chris. Her tone was nothing but cynical.
Chris frowns at Ralph, "we hadn't plained on taking a hostage on this mission, we don't have supplies for an extra person."
"Anasten is our captain, he said take the Catalonia girl with us." He shrugs, "she might be useful to us."
Some thing in Chris's eyes said she disagreed, but she didn't argue any further. Ralph threw Dorothy over his shoulder, fire fighter style.
"Put me down!" She pounded on his back, that didn't work so she kicked with her good leg, slamming her foot in to his stomach, that did not aper to have any effect on him either.
Some time later she was in the back of a truck tide so that she couldn't move her arms or legs. A blanket was draped over her and every once and a while some one, either Ralph or an eight teen year old named Stan, would uncover her head and ask if she was all right.
Stan had lifted her dark vail and smiled at her. He was ugly, or so she thought. A large burn scar was below his left ear and ran down to his jaw. Smaller scars where on his forehead and nose. Dorothy studied his face and eyes a while longer. His eyes where a shade of light brown, and his nose was long and narow.
"We're going to stop soon and you can use the ladies room." He informed her.
"Where are we?" She asked back, she tried to keep poised and her chin in the air, to give her self an air of grace, how ever it was quite difficult with her hands tied be hind her back and little stabs of pain shutting up her leg.
Stan had given her a pain killer when they'd loaded her up in to the truck, but the effect was wearing off.
He didn't answer her and started to put the blanket back over her head.
She looked up and saw the stars shining brightly over head, Mr.Milliardo's voice rang in her ears from three eyes back. He'd been telling her some of the things he'd learned in the Academy, like survival and how to tell where you are. If Stan wouldn't give her an answer she'd just have to figure it out for herself. "Don't do that yet. I want some fresh air."
He looked around for a few minutes before nodding his head, " we can't have any one see you with us yet." He explains.
"Sorry about your leg." Stand adds nervously. "Is it giving you any problems?"
"No." She lied as she saw the big dipper, now that means that the Milky way is over.... They hit a bump in the road and she bounced up a little, her head slammed in to the bed of the truck hard.
"Hey watch your driving!" Stan yells to who ever was driving. Chris was seating in the cab with the driver, so was another man. He turns around in his seat to face Stan, "Cover her back up! We're taking a huge risk just having her around. Do you want to actually be caught?!"
"She needs fresh air, it will be more dangers to have her dead body with us!" Stan argues back.
"She's not going to die with a blanket on her head." The man snorts.
Dorothy hadn't caught this other man's name yet, but she kept her ears open to every thing. She wasn't going to let these people get off easy when she got free. She also hoped to find out what they wanted with her. It was a question that bothered Dorothy very much.
"That's enough. The both of you need to calm down." The driver orders, looking over his shoulder momentarily at Stan.
But Dorothy caught a glimpse of his face. It was just a brief look, but she'd never forget it. Black hair in a crew cut, an earring in his right ear, and pail gray eyes. His eyes reminded her of the eyes of a dead fish. "I know what I'm doing Patrick, I wouldn't put any of you in unnecessary danger. Trust me." He smirked, Dorothy couldn't see him smirk cause he'd turned back around to face the road, but she knew he was smirking.
They stopped only momentarily in the woods. Ralph climbed up a tree with binoculars, Dorothy could see him from her place on the ground where she was waiting for Chris to take her in the woods to go and relieve her self.
"Do you see the Federation troupes?" Stan yells up to Ralph.
"They're to the north of us, looks like they're making their way to Marcels." Ralph began to clime back down from the tree.
"Chris, take a picture of little Dorothy and give her a pin and paper to write to her daddy," the man with black hair orders tossing a camera at Chris. "Patrick get resins, and cooking utensils out of the truck, we have to eat and leave."
"Yes Anasten." Patrick mumbles before getting to work.
'Anasten. Anasten, Anasten.....' Dorothy said his name in her mind over and over, she wouldn't for get him. Not ever.
"It's been 10 minutes are you done with your letter yet?" Chris asks tapping Dorothy on the shoulder.
Dorothy looked at the blank writing paper in her hands. She couldn't think of any thing to say to him. How could he have left her back there? She half want to tell him that she was in better hands. And yet she didn't want to stay with these people, they might be planing to kill her after all.
"If she won't write the letter, write it for her." Ralph sagest.
"That won't do," Anasten placed a stamp on an envelope addressed for General Catalonia. "Now Dorothy don't you want your daddy to know wether you're alright or not?" He smirked at Dorothy,
She stuck her pointed chin out, "I'm not going to do any thing you order me to. I don't give in to my enemies."
"Such bold words for a little girl. I should have expected that from you." He smiled with some satisfaction.
"What do you know about me?" She asks with real curiosity.
"You're the daughter of a great soldier, but he happens to be on the wrong side of this war. Unfortunately that places you on the wrong side too." He sounded sympathetic, was it real or mock sympathy, Dorothy couldn't be to sure.
"You're Dorothy Catalonia, my enemy. But I'm guessing you're as formable a foe as your father. Am I right?" He smiled, Dorothy smirked, "you'll regret being right all the time."
-------------
Setting across the table from her was Trowa Barton, he looked charming in that tux. Annaleen was setting to her right, dressed in a turquois dress that looked fabulist with her black hair.
Dorothy's finger went around the rim of her wine glass as she gazed at her companions. Sadly some one was messing. She half wanted to tell Annaleen where Heero had run off too, but then he might make an aperients any moment and be able to tell all of them himself about his delicious adventure.
"I..." Annaleen halted she was obviously agitated. "Please excuse me."
Trowa stud up and scouted her chair back. He was always a the gentleman.