In The End
Loki Weasley
Part Three: The Rescue Mission
Summary: War struck Peace with a wrath. Severing families- more particularly the ties of five certain Gundam pilots... Now, thirteen years after they sent their children to 'a better place', they find the very place those kids need to be is where they started in the first place. Funny how things work out...
Loki: ::swaying back and forth:: My name is Lo-ki, Lo-ki, Lo-ki! My name is Loki and who are you? ::points at audience::
Aubrie: My name is Au-brie, Au-brie, Au-brie! My name is Aubrie and who are you?
Tattoos were another way to express art. That, and painful. Art or not, tattoos were painful. So, he skipped that idea. Instead, he settled for long, auburn hair tied back in a ponytail, his right ear pierced, and green eyes that everyone at his high school said were creepy. Whatever. He wasn't popular. Who wanted to be? An artist wasn't popular until after they were dead. Nobody would care what he was like until after he died. Or left the school. Cool. He wasn't much of a people person. Or a 'clean clothes' person. His clothes were stained with various shades of paint and his left hand always had pencil rubbings or something along the edge where it rested on the paper. There was no avoiding any of this. Plus it gave the students at his school something to talk about. 'Look at his clothes.' At least they were keeping busy. His name was Sketch, informally speaking. Formally, it was Tristan Kim, an adopted child by a Korean family. Strange, didn't it normally go the other way around? Amazing how things work out.
"Little One." came Mom's voice from the hallway.
"It's open." Tristan turned over and hid his face in his pillow, muttering into it about how it was an injustice to wake an artist so early in the morning. especially after an amazing inspiration about a child with blue eyes. The base sketch, later to be painted, lay on the floor. A little girl, one he often drew, was sitting in the lap of a gigantic rabbit stuffed animal. What it meant, he wasn't sure.
"It's time to wake up, Tristan." his mother chided, sliding open the blinds. "Ahhhh!" Tristan shielded his face as torrential light poured into his room. Half-way to sitting up, the boy fell back onto his bed and groaned in agony. "Mooooooommmmaaaaaa. I'm blind now, are you happy?"
"You're not blind, Tristan." his mother's voice came from somewhere in the darkness. "It's time to rise and shine!..."
"It's time to get up and face the day." Tristan muttered along with her. "Become an individual in society."
Mom wasn't entertained. "Oh, very funny. Get up. You have ten minutes." And she marched from the bedroom.
Tristan rolled over and off his bed, landing with a nice thud, and sat there looking dazedly for his clothes. There were bluish jeans within arm's reach. ooh, and his purple tee shirt. ooh! And his favorite green plaid button up! Without having to move to far, the artist threw on his clothes and trudged sock-footed downstairs.
Momma and Papa were both eating breakfast. Three children came screaming through the room by one door and out another. A fourth came later and Tristan grabbed that one, throwing the giggling child over his shoulder. "So, what do I get to choke down today?" he asked, grinning at a ten-year-old girl at the kitchen stove.
"Shut up." The girl aimed precision spatula at him and Tristan ducked.
"Tristan, don't make fun of your sister." Papa said automatically.
"SueLynn, don't throw things at your brother." Said Momma automatically.
Neither had looked up from what they had been doing.
"Yes, ma'am." Came Suelynn's rehearsed reply, glaring at Tristan.
"Yes, sir." Tristan replied solemnly, sticking his tongue out at his younger sister and depositing the child he had been holding on his lap. The little girl giggled again and reached futilely for a salt shaker in the middle of the table. The girl, three and short-armed, was in no immediate danger of swallowing a whole thing of salt so Tristan ignored her.
"Where are you headed today, Tristan?" Momma asked.
"I dunno." The boy shrugged, looking at the eggs his sister had put in front of him. He craned his neck over the table to see if his parents had eaten theirs. Then looked up at his sister. "Didn't poison these, did you?"
"No more than usual." She shrugged and walked back into the kitchen.
"Cool beans!" Tristan cried and dug in.
That went pretty much ignored. But his little sister Cho started giggling again and yelling 'Cool beans' herself over and over. That too went pretty much ignored.
After breakfast Tristan hopped (literally) up to his room and started to search his non-existent floor for his sketch pad and pencil.
Ring.
It sounded sort of like Mozart.
Intrigued, and bewildered, Tristan started throwing things around his room in order to search for whatever it was making that noise. After about five minutes of some song in midi, Tristan shook out a sweatshirt half pink from a bad run in with his little siblings and a can of paint, and a small green phone fell onto his bed. Completely lost, Tristan pressed the answer button.
"How interesting, you could have gone 'boom' and yet you answer. Tactless." The voice on the other end said. It was simulated. It was also annoying.
"Excuse me?" Tristan asked, not even attempting the idea of standing up at the moment. He knelt somewhere near the middle of his room and stared at a sudden image of a pixilated man in a gym teacher's outfit. They image disturbing, he shook his head to clear it out.
"I'm your new best friend, Tristan. Tell me, you do understand you are adopted, correct?"
Tristan snorted. "Either that or an Albino Korean." He replied shortly.
"Makes my life easy. Do you have interest in meeting your true parents, Tristan?"
"Uh." Tristan stared out his window. The Kim's had always been his parents. Now that he thought about it, no, he didn't really. "Well, no, not really." He replied. "And who the heck are you?"
"A friend, as I told you. What about saving the world." The voice pressed in a tantalizing sort of way.
"What are you on?"
"Right now the world is in great danger of war. And you, young one, are the son of a pilot who stopped the wars that resulted in the Earth's Sphere Unified Nation. Something to be proud of. Now, do you wish to help the effort and find the object of so many of your art inspirations?"
"Wait- how did you know about my drawings? And IF I was said person's child, why was I given up?"
"Life moves in mysterious ways. But if you are interested. Go to the palace and ask for a man named Trowa Barton. Press redial on this phone and give it to him. Understand?"
"Chhh." Replied Tristan and he turned the phone off. This dude was nuts.
The rest of the day went uneventful. Tristan headed to the park to doodle the tree line. It was a beautiful day. Spring was coming. The only problem was Charli and her gang of blondes showed up.
Not that Charli wasn't pretty, but you know.
Tristan fought off the urge to go ga-ga as the 'popular girl's' walked by with Charli in the lead, giving him a disapproving look. So what if she hated him? She was cute.
After that, the thoughts of the little girl came back again. And then the words of the person on the phone.
Tristan could figure he would probably regret this, but..
"And you want to speak to Commander Barton why?" asked the girl behind the receptionist's desk at the palace. She gave him a strange look. It sort of said 'I hate teenagers' in a secretary sort of way. Her horn- rimmed glasses slipped down her nose.
"Because. I'm doing a report. in school. And I heard he was one of the high Preventers and I wanted. his. point of view." Tristan was so bad at lying. He smiled innocently (he hoped) and waited while she processed his request, all the while glaring at him.
She picked up the phone. Uh oh. "Commander? Yes, there's a boy who wishes to interview you for some school thing, should I send him up?" Silence. Tristan, still marveling that his lie worked, just stared in awe. "Yes, sir." She hung up and glared again at Tristan. "Hang on, someone will come get you. Sit over there." And she pointed to a chair in the corner far away from her.
Oh well. It worked! Tristan, the worst liar in the world, had just gotten the secretary to let him see this Trowa Barton! Yay! Go him!
Wait a minute! He wasn't even sure he wanted to go through with the simulated voice's instructions! But still! He got away with a lie!
Although, sitting bored for five minutes was a down side, too, but still! He lied! And it worked! He got away with it!
.Wait. He shouldn't be proud of that. Anyway.
"Yo. You must be 'the kid Commander Barton is being interviewed by'." Some kid with blue hair no older than him said. He grinned at Tristan and gestured to an elevator. "C'mon."
"Kay." Tristan replied.
The boy, Milo he called himself, shifted as they stood alone in the elevator. Tristan turned everything over in his mind for a few moments before Milo's voice interrupted. "You're not here for an interview, are you?" he asked cautiously. As if he was afraid to ask. Milo led him down a hall that looked no different from that of a museum.
"No." Tristan asked, walking into the open office and pulling the phone from his pocket. He pressed redial as told and slid it across the desk. "There. Now what?" he dropped into a chair and folded his arms on the desk, sighing and leaning his chin on them.
Trowa listened emotionlessly to the phone until the end. He looked mildly surprised, rather amused, and turned off the phone. He slid it back to Tristan. "Keep it. My name is Trowa Barton only by the fact I had no name growing up. You were led here by a simulated voice on the other end of a phone because the Doctors that trained the Gundam pilots feel the best remedy for an upcoming war is their children. You, Tristan." He said. Tristan met his eyes and it all clicked. Ahhhhhh.
"But I'm not so sure about this 'real family' thing yet, o' true father of mine." he muttered, staring back. The truth came as blow, yes, and as some sort of uplift, but it was still the fact he was facing a man he didn't know.
"Neither is Miles, the boy you just met, or Aubrie, who is in New York at the moment working out details. And it only matters that you want to help. The peace you live in is in danger." Trowa stood up and walked over to Tristan, watching him from his tall height. Tristan, who hadn't moved save his eyes, stared up at him. "Your mother will. be.very interested in your return. Though that in itself is a health hazard." Trowa cleared his throat. "She's been waiting for this since Aubrie was captured and found out."
"Captured?" Tristan asked, standing up and finding out where he got his height from.
"She's been following the orders of the simulated voice for a long time. Follow me." Trowa headed out of his office and Tristan followed because he figured he might as well. "I was told you most likely came here to find the object of what you draw. Not because you wanted to find us or help with the effort."
"Yeah. pretty much. Although, now that I'm here, those other ideas sound interesting too." Tristan shrugged. No sense lying, he was terrible at it anyway.
A smile played Trowa's face. "At least you're honest with it." Trowa nodded to a Monet on the wall. It was wonderful. "Your mother, Middi, recreated that. If you want to go home to explain what's going on to them."
"I was adopted by a Korean family here in Sanc-"
"Here? You've been here all this time?" Trowa looked interestingly surprised. Funny, when Tristan first saw him it looked like nothing got to this guy.
"Well. No. We moved her when I was ten. I've also got five siblings, too, that I'm leaving behind. But, you know, this whole save the world thing sounds more important."
Attention Special Forces, report to the Conference Room immediately! Came a very irritable voice from above. Tristan was staring at the intercom when his father started to run down the hall tossing 'Follow me' over his shoulder. Tristan took after him.
"What's going on?" Tristan asked, easily keeping up with the long strides of Trowa Barton.
"Probably has something to do with you." Said Trowa, leading Tristan to a hallway and down four flights of stairs. He passed a guarded station, having to glare at the guards who tried to stop Tristan and tell them to let him through, and then through a few other, automated, check stations before coming to the Conference Room.
The room was boring, Tristan thought to himself. It was primarily white, with a few accents in hopes to make it look interesting. The table in the room was round, much like King Arthur's, and there was a wall-sized screen in the front of the room in front of which a woman was pacing back and forth. Two men and Milo were sitting in chairs, looking bothered.
"Who's that?" the woman demanded of Trowa.
"My name's Tristan." Tristan cut in, rather annoyed the woman asked Trowa and not him, as if he had no say. Which he didn't in terms of being in this room, but anyway.
"Another lead by the Doctors, Noin." Trowa said, sitting down across from Heero Yuy.
"So why are WE here, again?" Milo asked impatiently, nodding to Tristan and himself.
A Chinese man and two blondes (walk into a bar. sorry, ahem. I'll continue now.) came into the room, all asked the same question about Tristan, heard the answer, and too seats.
"Heero was playing around with your computer that the doctor gave you, Milo." The man with the braid said. His badge read Maxwell.
"And this showed up." Noin tapped away at the computer at the head of the round table, at least the part closest to the screen, and an image showed.
A little pixel doctor that looked as though something had exploded on his head and the mushroom cloud was still hanging around.
Tristan stared. Wow, if his simulated voice person turned out to look like that, he'd run for the hills. That, or start laughing and never be able to stop.
"Before the little lamb could be led back to Bo Peep, the big bad wolf came along." Milo snorted with laughter. Heero Yuy reached over and smacked him upside the head. Maxwell started laughing too. "The Nightingale's busy in New York."
"This dude's nuts." Tristan muttered under his breath.
"But a genius." Trowa muttered himself.
"Riiiight."
"So that leaves the two little boys to rescue Bo Peep's lost little lamb."
"Is he going to get on with it?" the Chinese man demanded. His badge read Cheng.
Noin cleared her throat. "Basically, what he is saying is that one of the daughters has been taken prisoner by Seraphim, although we don't know why. It's either Katrina or JieLan, considering he openly said Aubrie was still in New York." Noin snapped at him.
Cheng folded his arms. "Katrina."
"What makes you so sure?" the man with long blonde hair asked. Marquis.
"Because no child of mine's going to get herself captured like some weakling."
Milo leaned closer to Maxwell. "S'he on something?"
"No, he's just very justificated." Maxwell replied, making a pouty face at Cheng. "In't that right, Wu-Wu?"
Cheng made a move to jump on Maxwell, but the man with the short blonde hair (Winner) grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him back into his seat.
"What we need to do," Noin was acting as if none of this was even happening, "is put these two through basic-basic training and send them along with one of you to find her. The message said she hadn't left the country she's been living in all these years. Which means she's in a base in England. somewhere." Noin cleared her throat. "We only know of this base, here, which is in Edinburgh." A map replaced the pixel man and Edinburgh showed up with the location of a 'base' on it.
"After that, we'll deal with Aubrie. She's the only one with training for this sort of thing. Plus she knows more than she's letting on." Heero said to Noin.
"What gives you that idea?" Cheng snorted.
"Because she infiltrated the Seraphim and killed their leader. She knows more than she's letting on if she hasn't told us anything beyond that and Jacobs." Heero shot back.
Summary: War struck Peace with a wrath. Severing families- more particularly the ties of five certain Gundam pilots... Now, thirteen years after they sent their children to 'a better place', they find the very place those kids need to be is where they started in the first place. Funny how things work out...
Loki: ::swaying back and forth:: My name is Lo-ki, Lo-ki, Lo-ki! My name is Loki and who are you? ::points at audience::
Aubrie: My name is Au-brie, Au-brie, Au-brie! My name is Aubrie and who are you?
Tattoos were another way to express art. That, and painful. Art or not, tattoos were painful. So, he skipped that idea. Instead, he settled for long, auburn hair tied back in a ponytail, his right ear pierced, and green eyes that everyone at his high school said were creepy. Whatever. He wasn't popular. Who wanted to be? An artist wasn't popular until after they were dead. Nobody would care what he was like until after he died. Or left the school. Cool. He wasn't much of a people person. Or a 'clean clothes' person. His clothes were stained with various shades of paint and his left hand always had pencil rubbings or something along the edge where it rested on the paper. There was no avoiding any of this. Plus it gave the students at his school something to talk about. 'Look at his clothes.' At least they were keeping busy. His name was Sketch, informally speaking. Formally, it was Tristan Kim, an adopted child by a Korean family. Strange, didn't it normally go the other way around? Amazing how things work out.
"Little One." came Mom's voice from the hallway.
"It's open." Tristan turned over and hid his face in his pillow, muttering into it about how it was an injustice to wake an artist so early in the morning. especially after an amazing inspiration about a child with blue eyes. The base sketch, later to be painted, lay on the floor. A little girl, one he often drew, was sitting in the lap of a gigantic rabbit stuffed animal. What it meant, he wasn't sure.
"It's time to wake up, Tristan." his mother chided, sliding open the blinds. "Ahhhh!" Tristan shielded his face as torrential light poured into his room. Half-way to sitting up, the boy fell back onto his bed and groaned in agony. "Mooooooommmmaaaaaa. I'm blind now, are you happy?"
"You're not blind, Tristan." his mother's voice came from somewhere in the darkness. "It's time to rise and shine!..."
"It's time to get up and face the day." Tristan muttered along with her. "Become an individual in society."
Mom wasn't entertained. "Oh, very funny. Get up. You have ten minutes." And she marched from the bedroom.
Tristan rolled over and off his bed, landing with a nice thud, and sat there looking dazedly for his clothes. There were bluish jeans within arm's reach. ooh, and his purple tee shirt. ooh! And his favorite green plaid button up! Without having to move to far, the artist threw on his clothes and trudged sock-footed downstairs.
Momma and Papa were both eating breakfast. Three children came screaming through the room by one door and out another. A fourth came later and Tristan grabbed that one, throwing the giggling child over his shoulder. "So, what do I get to choke down today?" he asked, grinning at a ten-year-old girl at the kitchen stove.
"Shut up." The girl aimed precision spatula at him and Tristan ducked.
"Tristan, don't make fun of your sister." Papa said automatically.
"SueLynn, don't throw things at your brother." Said Momma automatically.
Neither had looked up from what they had been doing.
"Yes, ma'am." Came Suelynn's rehearsed reply, glaring at Tristan.
"Yes, sir." Tristan replied solemnly, sticking his tongue out at his younger sister and depositing the child he had been holding on his lap. The little girl giggled again and reached futilely for a salt shaker in the middle of the table. The girl, three and short-armed, was in no immediate danger of swallowing a whole thing of salt so Tristan ignored her.
"Where are you headed today, Tristan?" Momma asked.
"I dunno." The boy shrugged, looking at the eggs his sister had put in front of him. He craned his neck over the table to see if his parents had eaten theirs. Then looked up at his sister. "Didn't poison these, did you?"
"No more than usual." She shrugged and walked back into the kitchen.
"Cool beans!" Tristan cried and dug in.
That went pretty much ignored. But his little sister Cho started giggling again and yelling 'Cool beans' herself over and over. That too went pretty much ignored.
After breakfast Tristan hopped (literally) up to his room and started to search his non-existent floor for his sketch pad and pencil.
Ring.
It sounded sort of like Mozart.
Intrigued, and bewildered, Tristan started throwing things around his room in order to search for whatever it was making that noise. After about five minutes of some song in midi, Tristan shook out a sweatshirt half pink from a bad run in with his little siblings and a can of paint, and a small green phone fell onto his bed. Completely lost, Tristan pressed the answer button.
"How interesting, you could have gone 'boom' and yet you answer. Tactless." The voice on the other end said. It was simulated. It was also annoying.
"Excuse me?" Tristan asked, not even attempting the idea of standing up at the moment. He knelt somewhere near the middle of his room and stared at a sudden image of a pixilated man in a gym teacher's outfit. They image disturbing, he shook his head to clear it out.
"I'm your new best friend, Tristan. Tell me, you do understand you are adopted, correct?"
Tristan snorted. "Either that or an Albino Korean." He replied shortly.
"Makes my life easy. Do you have interest in meeting your true parents, Tristan?"
"Uh." Tristan stared out his window. The Kim's had always been his parents. Now that he thought about it, no, he didn't really. "Well, no, not really." He replied. "And who the heck are you?"
"A friend, as I told you. What about saving the world." The voice pressed in a tantalizing sort of way.
"What are you on?"
"Right now the world is in great danger of war. And you, young one, are the son of a pilot who stopped the wars that resulted in the Earth's Sphere Unified Nation. Something to be proud of. Now, do you wish to help the effort and find the object of so many of your art inspirations?"
"Wait- how did you know about my drawings? And IF I was said person's child, why was I given up?"
"Life moves in mysterious ways. But if you are interested. Go to the palace and ask for a man named Trowa Barton. Press redial on this phone and give it to him. Understand?"
"Chhh." Replied Tristan and he turned the phone off. This dude was nuts.
The rest of the day went uneventful. Tristan headed to the park to doodle the tree line. It was a beautiful day. Spring was coming. The only problem was Charli and her gang of blondes showed up.
Not that Charli wasn't pretty, but you know.
Tristan fought off the urge to go ga-ga as the 'popular girl's' walked by with Charli in the lead, giving him a disapproving look. So what if she hated him? She was cute.
After that, the thoughts of the little girl came back again. And then the words of the person on the phone.
Tristan could figure he would probably regret this, but..
"And you want to speak to Commander Barton why?" asked the girl behind the receptionist's desk at the palace. She gave him a strange look. It sort of said 'I hate teenagers' in a secretary sort of way. Her horn- rimmed glasses slipped down her nose.
"Because. I'm doing a report. in school. And I heard he was one of the high Preventers and I wanted. his. point of view." Tristan was so bad at lying. He smiled innocently (he hoped) and waited while she processed his request, all the while glaring at him.
She picked up the phone. Uh oh. "Commander? Yes, there's a boy who wishes to interview you for some school thing, should I send him up?" Silence. Tristan, still marveling that his lie worked, just stared in awe. "Yes, sir." She hung up and glared again at Tristan. "Hang on, someone will come get you. Sit over there." And she pointed to a chair in the corner far away from her.
Oh well. It worked! Tristan, the worst liar in the world, had just gotten the secretary to let him see this Trowa Barton! Yay! Go him!
Wait a minute! He wasn't even sure he wanted to go through with the simulated voice's instructions! But still! He got away with a lie!
Although, sitting bored for five minutes was a down side, too, but still! He lied! And it worked! He got away with it!
.Wait. He shouldn't be proud of that. Anyway.
"Yo. You must be 'the kid Commander Barton is being interviewed by'." Some kid with blue hair no older than him said. He grinned at Tristan and gestured to an elevator. "C'mon."
"Kay." Tristan replied.
The boy, Milo he called himself, shifted as they stood alone in the elevator. Tristan turned everything over in his mind for a few moments before Milo's voice interrupted. "You're not here for an interview, are you?" he asked cautiously. As if he was afraid to ask. Milo led him down a hall that looked no different from that of a museum.
"No." Tristan asked, walking into the open office and pulling the phone from his pocket. He pressed redial as told and slid it across the desk. "There. Now what?" he dropped into a chair and folded his arms on the desk, sighing and leaning his chin on them.
Trowa listened emotionlessly to the phone until the end. He looked mildly surprised, rather amused, and turned off the phone. He slid it back to Tristan. "Keep it. My name is Trowa Barton only by the fact I had no name growing up. You were led here by a simulated voice on the other end of a phone because the Doctors that trained the Gundam pilots feel the best remedy for an upcoming war is their children. You, Tristan." He said. Tristan met his eyes and it all clicked. Ahhhhhh.
"But I'm not so sure about this 'real family' thing yet, o' true father of mine." he muttered, staring back. The truth came as blow, yes, and as some sort of uplift, but it was still the fact he was facing a man he didn't know.
"Neither is Miles, the boy you just met, or Aubrie, who is in New York at the moment working out details. And it only matters that you want to help. The peace you live in is in danger." Trowa stood up and walked over to Tristan, watching him from his tall height. Tristan, who hadn't moved save his eyes, stared up at him. "Your mother will. be.very interested in your return. Though that in itself is a health hazard." Trowa cleared his throat. "She's been waiting for this since Aubrie was captured and found out."
"Captured?" Tristan asked, standing up and finding out where he got his height from.
"She's been following the orders of the simulated voice for a long time. Follow me." Trowa headed out of his office and Tristan followed because he figured he might as well. "I was told you most likely came here to find the object of what you draw. Not because you wanted to find us or help with the effort."
"Yeah. pretty much. Although, now that I'm here, those other ideas sound interesting too." Tristan shrugged. No sense lying, he was terrible at it anyway.
A smile played Trowa's face. "At least you're honest with it." Trowa nodded to a Monet on the wall. It was wonderful. "Your mother, Middi, recreated that. If you want to go home to explain what's going on to them."
"I was adopted by a Korean family here in Sanc-"
"Here? You've been here all this time?" Trowa looked interestingly surprised. Funny, when Tristan first saw him it looked like nothing got to this guy.
"Well. No. We moved her when I was ten. I've also got five siblings, too, that I'm leaving behind. But, you know, this whole save the world thing sounds more important."
Attention Special Forces, report to the Conference Room immediately! Came a very irritable voice from above. Tristan was staring at the intercom when his father started to run down the hall tossing 'Follow me' over his shoulder. Tristan took after him.
"What's going on?" Tristan asked, easily keeping up with the long strides of Trowa Barton.
"Probably has something to do with you." Said Trowa, leading Tristan to a hallway and down four flights of stairs. He passed a guarded station, having to glare at the guards who tried to stop Tristan and tell them to let him through, and then through a few other, automated, check stations before coming to the Conference Room.
The room was boring, Tristan thought to himself. It was primarily white, with a few accents in hopes to make it look interesting. The table in the room was round, much like King Arthur's, and there was a wall-sized screen in the front of the room in front of which a woman was pacing back and forth. Two men and Milo were sitting in chairs, looking bothered.
"Who's that?" the woman demanded of Trowa.
"My name's Tristan." Tristan cut in, rather annoyed the woman asked Trowa and not him, as if he had no say. Which he didn't in terms of being in this room, but anyway.
"Another lead by the Doctors, Noin." Trowa said, sitting down across from Heero Yuy.
"So why are WE here, again?" Milo asked impatiently, nodding to Tristan and himself.
A Chinese man and two blondes (walk into a bar. sorry, ahem. I'll continue now.) came into the room, all asked the same question about Tristan, heard the answer, and too seats.
"Heero was playing around with your computer that the doctor gave you, Milo." The man with the braid said. His badge read Maxwell.
"And this showed up." Noin tapped away at the computer at the head of the round table, at least the part closest to the screen, and an image showed.
A little pixel doctor that looked as though something had exploded on his head and the mushroom cloud was still hanging around.
Tristan stared. Wow, if his simulated voice person turned out to look like that, he'd run for the hills. That, or start laughing and never be able to stop.
"Before the little lamb could be led back to Bo Peep, the big bad wolf came along." Milo snorted with laughter. Heero Yuy reached over and smacked him upside the head. Maxwell started laughing too. "The Nightingale's busy in New York."
"This dude's nuts." Tristan muttered under his breath.
"But a genius." Trowa muttered himself.
"Riiiight."
"So that leaves the two little boys to rescue Bo Peep's lost little lamb."
"Is he going to get on with it?" the Chinese man demanded. His badge read Cheng.
Noin cleared her throat. "Basically, what he is saying is that one of the daughters has been taken prisoner by Seraphim, although we don't know why. It's either Katrina or JieLan, considering he openly said Aubrie was still in New York." Noin snapped at him.
Cheng folded his arms. "Katrina."
"What makes you so sure?" the man with long blonde hair asked. Marquis.
"Because no child of mine's going to get herself captured like some weakling."
Milo leaned closer to Maxwell. "S'he on something?"
"No, he's just very justificated." Maxwell replied, making a pouty face at Cheng. "In't that right, Wu-Wu?"
Cheng made a move to jump on Maxwell, but the man with the short blonde hair (Winner) grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him back into his seat.
"What we need to do," Noin was acting as if none of this was even happening, "is put these two through basic-basic training and send them along with one of you to find her. The message said she hadn't left the country she's been living in all these years. Which means she's in a base in England. somewhere." Noin cleared her throat. "We only know of this base, here, which is in Edinburgh." A map replaced the pixel man and Edinburgh showed up with the location of a 'base' on it.
"After that, we'll deal with Aubrie. She's the only one with training for this sort of thing. Plus she knows more than she's letting on." Heero said to Noin.
"What gives you that idea?" Cheng snorted.
"Because she infiltrated the Seraphim and killed their leader. She knows more than she's letting on if she hasn't told us anything beyond that and Jacobs." Heero shot back.