All I Need is Everything
by Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: This is a companion piece to the Zechs/Noin fic "Seahorse." I was intrigued by
the alternate reality potential between hotel-cleaning girl, Une, and tavern-piano playing
Treize. The song belongs to Over the Rhine--another super band, classy and mature enough
to inspire fanfics for the older generation of Gundam Wing characters. Again, I advise you,
alternate reality follows . . . )
"Slow down. Hold still. It's not as if it's a matter of will. Someone's circling. Someone's
moving a little lower than the angels and it's got nothing to do with me."
She pulled the strands of sticky-honey colored hair back from her forehead--the hair which
tried not to let the heat find her. But right then, she wanted to be seen. She wanted to be
noticed. She quickly stepped up from the dirt road and set her dust-covered shoes onto the
wooden sidewalk that skirted the edges of the mainstreet buildings. She wrapped her hair
around itself and secured it into the image of a bun. Then she took a step forward, very
slowly. She was going to walk past the tavern.
The sidewalk was darkly covered with the building's own shadow. The sun had long passed
over to the other side of the horizon, but the heat, the flies, still lingered. She took another
step forward, setting her foot down softly, so she could hear the music.
It was the same melody that she caught herself humming while she scrubbed the hotel
sheets. The tune that reminded her of him. It was the very song of his being and she loved
it more than any other in the entire universe. She wanted to be the harmony, she wanted to
be his lady.
The clatter of glasses, a few coarse phrases rising above the general chatter, the dark
smoke a haze over the swinging door's way. If she turned, and looked inside as she walked
by on the sidewalk. And if the men were sitting hunched over their poker games. And if the
bargirls weren't draped over him already (that thought made her pause with dark jealousy)
then she might see him. She might see her Lord Treize.
He wasn't a lord. He was a simple musician who had come to their small, outpost town one
day. The way he curled his fingers over the piano keys was magical and maintained enough
of a sense of rowdiness so that Howard, the tavern owner, hired him on the spot. No one
else played the piano in town except the minister's wife, and she would have nothing to do
with the unruly sort who passed their days in the murk of the tavern.
Une knew that the minister's wife had no business being there. No lady went into the tavern.
But however was she to meet him?
The music blew over the doors, and she turned. Casually. As if she were going to stretch
her neck. To turn the muscles in order to free the tension. Her eyes squinted into the haze.
Was he there?
***
"The wind blows through the trees, but if I look for it, it won't come. I tense up. My mind
goes numb. There's nothing harder than learning how to receive."
Une sat along the sidewalk, in front of the hotel where she cleaned the linens. She had
finished her work for the day. She was more than ready to go home, but she sat on the edge
of the splintery wood, recklessly swinging her legs and, every once and a while, glancing to
the tavern doors. She would watch them swing open, examine the dirty, drunk men that the
tavern would spew out, and wait some more.
She had seen him come out once. When she had sat in a similar spot, listening to the tavern
music. Enjoying it incredibly, intoxicated by it, and unable to un-hypnotized herself enough to
walk away. When it had stopped she was almost asleep, drunk on contentedness, unsure of
the time or if she were even on the same planet that she had started on. And she had seen
him. Framed against the glow of the inner tavern.
He might have looked her way, but she was uncertain if he saw her. His eyes, they were
incredibly far seeing. He might have looked right through her and seen her spirit, shivering a
little in the evening breeze of insecurity.
"Calm down. Be still. We've got plenty of time to kill. No hand writing on the wall. Just
the voice that's in us all. And you're whispering to me, time to get up off my hands and
knees, 'cause if I beg for it, it won't come. I find nothing but table crumbs."
"How are you, lady?"
She had been distracted by the memory of seeing him, so she looked up almost expecting him
to be watching her. Standing over her, watching her with those piercingly beautiful eyes.
"Nichol? What is it?" She shades her eyes from the setting sun, setting over the tavern roof.
Shading her eyes in order that he would not see her disappointment.
"Une, ma'am, you've simply been sitting out here for some time and I wondered if you were
waiting for someone." He coughed into his fist bashfully, "Or if I could walk you home."
She had tried not to mislead Nichol as to her intentions since they were children. He had
pursued her loyally nonetheless. Tonight she was too tired and too disappointed to bother.
"Alright, Nichol. You may walk me home."
If only she didn't need to live so properly. If only she could walk into the tavern and see him
again. If only she could be that sort of woman for Lord Treize.
"My hands are empty. God, I've been naive. All I need is everything. Inside, outside, feel
new skin. All I need is everything. Feel the slip and the grip of grace again."
She sat on the bed in her room, expressionless. Inside she felt a tearing confusion. After
Nichol had walked her home, he had kissed her hand. She had watched, distantly, and failed to
smile when he had met her eyes.
When she thought back on the event, somehow, Nichol's workman hands had become the
gentle, long fingers of a pianist. His wiry, dark curls had become styled, brown locks. His
lips had become the lips of Treize. She had met the piano player outside the tavern and he
had walked her home. He had given her one gentle kiss. He had smelled of roses.
But to go into the tavern. To meet him there.
"Slow down. Hold still. It's not as if it's a matter of will. Someone's circling. Someone's
moving a little lower than the angels. This voice calling me to you: It's just barely coming
through. Still, I clearly hear my name."
"Isn't that the hotel girl?"
"What's her name, Eunice? What's she doing in here?"
The men at the poker table craned their necks to see who the dame was entering their sacred
ground. The barkeeper stopped drying another glass and set it upside down on a dark colored
towel. The circulating smoke that hovered beneath the ceiling to the height of a man's
shoulders became still and thickened as everyone in the tavern held their breath.
Une stood silhouetted in the doorway. One arm casually draped over the half door. Her
eyes, large and white peered into the darkness surveyed her surroundings, analytically taking
everything in the location of the bar, the gambling tables, the back stairs to the upper rooms,
and finally, the piano. It stood silent under a low hanging light. The light touched her dark,
long skirts and was absorbed by them.
After she dreamed that he had kissed her, she knew that she must return to him. That she
could never leave Treize's side. She belonged to him. She became the woman who could
command a man's territory.
"Jack, isn't it?" She said in a deep, womanly voice. She walked confidently toward the bar
and fixed her gaze on the slender barkeeper. "I've come at Mr. Treize's command. Tell me
where he is"
"You . . . *ahem* . . . don't say?" The barkeeper, undoubtably Jack, picked up the clean
glass and vigorously wiped it's insides clean. "Well, he's . . . um, upstairs, y'know."
"Thank you." She glided toward back stairs. It felt to her as if she had done this before, or
as if she had dreamed of doing it, somewhere in the back of her mind. Some part of her that
had now come forward and was directing her movements, her voice, her thoughts.
"Room six." Jack called after her, his voice pitched to obligated helpfulness.
"I know." Une answered in a low, threatening voice.
"I've been fingering the flame like tomorrow's martyr. It gets harder to believe. All I need is
everything. Inside, outside, feel new skin. All I need is everything. Feel the slip and the
grip of grace again."
She went up each stair individually with military precision. Her skirts coming behind her, but
one arm rested over her hip as if balanced on the hilt of a sword.
Oblivious to the sounds coming from the doorways as she passed she followed the long
hallway to the far end with one window facing the evening sky. Door six was on her left.
She knocked without hesitation.
After a moment it opened. Slightly rumpled, the piano player stood in the door way,
darkness behind him, the hall light giving dimension to his features. Two wisps of hair
tangled themselves in front of one eye.
"And you are?" His voice was thoughtful.
"So from now till kingdom come, taste the words on the tip of my tongue. 'Cause we can't
run truth out of town, only force it underground. The roots grow deeper in ways we can't
conceive."
Before long the men stopped craning their necks to see the lady cross the tavern, deliberately
walk past the bar and go up the stairs to room six. She only came after nightfall and left
before dawn.
During the day, Une, the hotel girl, would wash the sheets and during her breaks sit where
she could hear the piano music. Wistfully wishing that she could meet the player of such
lovely melodies.
"All I need is everything. Inside, outside feel new skin. All I need is everything. Feel the
slip and the grip of grace again."
"All I need is all I need."
the end.
by Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: This is a companion piece to the Zechs/Noin fic "Seahorse." I was intrigued by
the alternate reality potential between hotel-cleaning girl, Une, and tavern-piano playing
Treize. The song belongs to Over the Rhine--another super band, classy and mature enough
to inspire fanfics for the older generation of Gundam Wing characters. Again, I advise you,
alternate reality follows . . . )
"Slow down. Hold still. It's not as if it's a matter of will. Someone's circling. Someone's
moving a little lower than the angels and it's got nothing to do with me."
She pulled the strands of sticky-honey colored hair back from her forehead--the hair which
tried not to let the heat find her. But right then, she wanted to be seen. She wanted to be
noticed. She quickly stepped up from the dirt road and set her dust-covered shoes onto the
wooden sidewalk that skirted the edges of the mainstreet buildings. She wrapped her hair
around itself and secured it into the image of a bun. Then she took a step forward, very
slowly. She was going to walk past the tavern.
The sidewalk was darkly covered with the building's own shadow. The sun had long passed
over to the other side of the horizon, but the heat, the flies, still lingered. She took another
step forward, setting her foot down softly, so she could hear the music.
It was the same melody that she caught herself humming while she scrubbed the hotel
sheets. The tune that reminded her of him. It was the very song of his being and she loved
it more than any other in the entire universe. She wanted to be the harmony, she wanted to
be his lady.
The clatter of glasses, a few coarse phrases rising above the general chatter, the dark
smoke a haze over the swinging door's way. If she turned, and looked inside as she walked
by on the sidewalk. And if the men were sitting hunched over their poker games. And if the
bargirls weren't draped over him already (that thought made her pause with dark jealousy)
then she might see him. She might see her Lord Treize.
He wasn't a lord. He was a simple musician who had come to their small, outpost town one
day. The way he curled his fingers over the piano keys was magical and maintained enough
of a sense of rowdiness so that Howard, the tavern owner, hired him on the spot. No one
else played the piano in town except the minister's wife, and she would have nothing to do
with the unruly sort who passed their days in the murk of the tavern.
Une knew that the minister's wife had no business being there. No lady went into the tavern.
But however was she to meet him?
The music blew over the doors, and she turned. Casually. As if she were going to stretch
her neck. To turn the muscles in order to free the tension. Her eyes squinted into the haze.
Was he there?
***
"The wind blows through the trees, but if I look for it, it won't come. I tense up. My mind
goes numb. There's nothing harder than learning how to receive."
Une sat along the sidewalk, in front of the hotel where she cleaned the linens. She had
finished her work for the day. She was more than ready to go home, but she sat on the edge
of the splintery wood, recklessly swinging her legs and, every once and a while, glancing to
the tavern doors. She would watch them swing open, examine the dirty, drunk men that the
tavern would spew out, and wait some more.
She had seen him come out once. When she had sat in a similar spot, listening to the tavern
music. Enjoying it incredibly, intoxicated by it, and unable to un-hypnotized herself enough to
walk away. When it had stopped she was almost asleep, drunk on contentedness, unsure of
the time or if she were even on the same planet that she had started on. And she had seen
him. Framed against the glow of the inner tavern.
He might have looked her way, but she was uncertain if he saw her. His eyes, they were
incredibly far seeing. He might have looked right through her and seen her spirit, shivering a
little in the evening breeze of insecurity.
"Calm down. Be still. We've got plenty of time to kill. No hand writing on the wall. Just
the voice that's in us all. And you're whispering to me, time to get up off my hands and
knees, 'cause if I beg for it, it won't come. I find nothing but table crumbs."
"How are you, lady?"
She had been distracted by the memory of seeing him, so she looked up almost expecting him
to be watching her. Standing over her, watching her with those piercingly beautiful eyes.
"Nichol? What is it?" She shades her eyes from the setting sun, setting over the tavern roof.
Shading her eyes in order that he would not see her disappointment.
"Une, ma'am, you've simply been sitting out here for some time and I wondered if you were
waiting for someone." He coughed into his fist bashfully, "Or if I could walk you home."
She had tried not to mislead Nichol as to her intentions since they were children. He had
pursued her loyally nonetheless. Tonight she was too tired and too disappointed to bother.
"Alright, Nichol. You may walk me home."
If only she didn't need to live so properly. If only she could walk into the tavern and see him
again. If only she could be that sort of woman for Lord Treize.
"My hands are empty. God, I've been naive. All I need is everything. Inside, outside, feel
new skin. All I need is everything. Feel the slip and the grip of grace again."
She sat on the bed in her room, expressionless. Inside she felt a tearing confusion. After
Nichol had walked her home, he had kissed her hand. She had watched, distantly, and failed to
smile when he had met her eyes.
When she thought back on the event, somehow, Nichol's workman hands had become the
gentle, long fingers of a pianist. His wiry, dark curls had become styled, brown locks. His
lips had become the lips of Treize. She had met the piano player outside the tavern and he
had walked her home. He had given her one gentle kiss. He had smelled of roses.
But to go into the tavern. To meet him there.
"Slow down. Hold still. It's not as if it's a matter of will. Someone's circling. Someone's
moving a little lower than the angels. This voice calling me to you: It's just barely coming
through. Still, I clearly hear my name."
"Isn't that the hotel girl?"
"What's her name, Eunice? What's she doing in here?"
The men at the poker table craned their necks to see who the dame was entering their sacred
ground. The barkeeper stopped drying another glass and set it upside down on a dark colored
towel. The circulating smoke that hovered beneath the ceiling to the height of a man's
shoulders became still and thickened as everyone in the tavern held their breath.
Une stood silhouetted in the doorway. One arm casually draped over the half door. Her
eyes, large and white peered into the darkness surveyed her surroundings, analytically taking
everything in the location of the bar, the gambling tables, the back stairs to the upper rooms,
and finally, the piano. It stood silent under a low hanging light. The light touched her dark,
long skirts and was absorbed by them.
After she dreamed that he had kissed her, she knew that she must return to him. That she
could never leave Treize's side. She belonged to him. She became the woman who could
command a man's territory.
"Jack, isn't it?" She said in a deep, womanly voice. She walked confidently toward the bar
and fixed her gaze on the slender barkeeper. "I've come at Mr. Treize's command. Tell me
where he is"
"You . . . *ahem* . . . don't say?" The barkeeper, undoubtably Jack, picked up the clean
glass and vigorously wiped it's insides clean. "Well, he's . . . um, upstairs, y'know."
"Thank you." She glided toward back stairs. It felt to her as if she had done this before, or
as if she had dreamed of doing it, somewhere in the back of her mind. Some part of her that
had now come forward and was directing her movements, her voice, her thoughts.
"Room six." Jack called after her, his voice pitched to obligated helpfulness.
"I know." Une answered in a low, threatening voice.
"I've been fingering the flame like tomorrow's martyr. It gets harder to believe. All I need is
everything. Inside, outside, feel new skin. All I need is everything. Feel the slip and the
grip of grace again."
She went up each stair individually with military precision. Her skirts coming behind her, but
one arm rested over her hip as if balanced on the hilt of a sword.
Oblivious to the sounds coming from the doorways as she passed she followed the long
hallway to the far end with one window facing the evening sky. Door six was on her left.
She knocked without hesitation.
After a moment it opened. Slightly rumpled, the piano player stood in the door way,
darkness behind him, the hall light giving dimension to his features. Two wisps of hair
tangled themselves in front of one eye.
"And you are?" His voice was thoughtful.
"So from now till kingdom come, taste the words on the tip of my tongue. 'Cause we can't
run truth out of town, only force it underground. The roots grow deeper in ways we can't
conceive."
Before long the men stopped craning their necks to see the lady cross the tavern, deliberately
walk past the bar and go up the stairs to room six. She only came after nightfall and left
before dawn.
During the day, Une, the hotel girl, would wash the sheets and during her breaks sit where
she could hear the piano music. Wistfully wishing that she could meet the player of such
lovely melodies.
"All I need is everything. Inside, outside feel new skin. All I need is everything. Feel the
slip and the grip of grace again."
"All I need is all I need."
the end.