Disclaimer: Whoever owns G Gundam owns G Gundam. It's obviously not me.
But I do own Nikita and her brother. The story takes place during 14th
Gundam Fight (and later the 15th). Nikita is about Princess Maria Louise's
age.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Amazing, for the first time in weeks I was able to leave Germaine's sight. He kept me under his constant surveillance all the time. When we reached Paris, I was able to steal away, although only for an hour or two. Enough time to sample the food and breathe for the first time in weeks.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a scarlet haired man with a suspicious resemblance to George de Sand of Neo-France. Stories flooded back of his bravery, honor and skill. I doubted the longhaired man drinking tea on the other side of the street had all that. Counting my Neo-Francs, I walked to the café. The closer I go to the red haired man, the more he looked like George de Sand.
Kindly, after I sat down at one of the open-air tables a waiter handed me a cup of tea. I could smell France, it wasn't like Andorra or Spain or anywhere else. Earth had a different smell than the colony. It had different sounds too, and my head didn't ring. Around Germaine my head always rattled and yelled at me and reprimanded me. Nothing I did was good enough for my head and unfinished things banged around my head like fish in a fishbowl.
"Hey, girlie your brother's really pissed off," a man three times my size told me. Anger ran circles in my head and I hid my clenched fists under the table. I could never take down that man. I wasn't big enough. The man clenched his fist and cracked his knuckles in warning while I cringed. With one hand he threw the table across the street and gripped my hand pulling me up. I could just weakly stand, much less fight back. And even if I could fight back, it would have been futile. The man's grip on my wrist was so tight it might have crushed my wrist.
"How dare you threaten a lady?" a voice said behind me. Turning, I noticed the man who resembled George had a sword upraised. So, he was really George de Sand! Awed, I watched my brother's thug pale in fear and run. My brother's thugs were really just drinking mates, but they were big. They also ran when there was anyone stronger than them.
"Are you well?" George asked me. Run! my mind told me but my legs were so weak that I couldn't move. If I responded immediately all that would have come out of my mouth would have been spit and pointless syllables. Slowly, the pandemonium in my mind slowed to quiet disorder and I could utter more than babble. All while George watched me.
"Yes, I think so," I replied while rubbing my sore, limp wrist. "Only my pride's hurt." My pride as a martial artist. Even such a poor martial artist like me could have easily knocked him out, but my thoughts started playing games and my legs turned to jelly. I flinched at the wreckage from my brother's thug. All that wreckage was because I disobeyed my brother. Tears ran unchecked down my checks. When I debated with my mind, I insisted that I never had a choice to become my brother's repairman. But more tears just came, because it wasn't true. I always have a choice. So when my brother became Neo-Andorra's Gundam fighter, I didn't have to be his repairman. I did though.
"Can I get you anything?" George wondered. I mused if my father's stories were true. A few years before, father would tell me the tale of his defeat under George de Sand's hand. Such honor George had! father said. Such valor! Until that moment I doubted all the stories.
When his question reached my mind, all my thoughts stopped. My eyes to the ground, I let his words saturate my tumultuous head. Until my entire mind decided to decline his offer, I was frozen. Even when I decided to decline his offer I couldn't, my body was numb. In my head, I was yelling, "No! No! No!" but my body wouldn't respond.
"Mademoiselle, let me help you up," George spoke again. Reaching a hand into the veil of my pink hair, he took my hand and helped me up from my crumpled position. When I finally looked up, my own eyes met mine.
When I was a little girl, I would look in the mirror at my reflection. I would touch my long pink hair, but then my gaze would fall to my eyes. Inside my eyes was this rage that I couldn't understand when I was so young. That rage would later become understandable, but then I thought that that was what I was. The longer I gazed at myself the more fearful I became of myself. Maybe I was that angry beast that looked out through my eyes, I thought. My lavender eyes entranced me.
George's eyes were so calm, so still, so trained. Automatically I smiled like I always did, trying to hide my true feelings. When a cup of tea was placed in front of me, I resisted the urge to drain the cup in one sip. Maybe the hot liquid would drown the chorus in my head. Each verse the chorus sang ordered me to do something different, each stanza a contradiction of the last.
"Merci," I squeaked. Words didn't seem to come out of my mouth, just sound. My squeaks were noise to add to the noisy café. "George de Sand." Slowly my legs gained feeling in them. Painstakingly standing, I leaned on the table so the fog and dizziness would clear. Starting to walk away, I remembered something. I spoke clearly.
"I am Nikita."
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Amazing, for the first time in weeks I was able to leave Germaine's sight. He kept me under his constant surveillance all the time. When we reached Paris, I was able to steal away, although only for an hour or two. Enough time to sample the food and breathe for the first time in weeks.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a scarlet haired man with a suspicious resemblance to George de Sand of Neo-France. Stories flooded back of his bravery, honor and skill. I doubted the longhaired man drinking tea on the other side of the street had all that. Counting my Neo-Francs, I walked to the café. The closer I go to the red haired man, the more he looked like George de Sand.
Kindly, after I sat down at one of the open-air tables a waiter handed me a cup of tea. I could smell France, it wasn't like Andorra or Spain or anywhere else. Earth had a different smell than the colony. It had different sounds too, and my head didn't ring. Around Germaine my head always rattled and yelled at me and reprimanded me. Nothing I did was good enough for my head and unfinished things banged around my head like fish in a fishbowl.
"Hey, girlie your brother's really pissed off," a man three times my size told me. Anger ran circles in my head and I hid my clenched fists under the table. I could never take down that man. I wasn't big enough. The man clenched his fist and cracked his knuckles in warning while I cringed. With one hand he threw the table across the street and gripped my hand pulling me up. I could just weakly stand, much less fight back. And even if I could fight back, it would have been futile. The man's grip on my wrist was so tight it might have crushed my wrist.
"How dare you threaten a lady?" a voice said behind me. Turning, I noticed the man who resembled George had a sword upraised. So, he was really George de Sand! Awed, I watched my brother's thug pale in fear and run. My brother's thugs were really just drinking mates, but they were big. They also ran when there was anyone stronger than them.
"Are you well?" George asked me. Run! my mind told me but my legs were so weak that I couldn't move. If I responded immediately all that would have come out of my mouth would have been spit and pointless syllables. Slowly, the pandemonium in my mind slowed to quiet disorder and I could utter more than babble. All while George watched me.
"Yes, I think so," I replied while rubbing my sore, limp wrist. "Only my pride's hurt." My pride as a martial artist. Even such a poor martial artist like me could have easily knocked him out, but my thoughts started playing games and my legs turned to jelly. I flinched at the wreckage from my brother's thug. All that wreckage was because I disobeyed my brother. Tears ran unchecked down my checks. When I debated with my mind, I insisted that I never had a choice to become my brother's repairman. But more tears just came, because it wasn't true. I always have a choice. So when my brother became Neo-Andorra's Gundam fighter, I didn't have to be his repairman. I did though.
"Can I get you anything?" George wondered. I mused if my father's stories were true. A few years before, father would tell me the tale of his defeat under George de Sand's hand. Such honor George had! father said. Such valor! Until that moment I doubted all the stories.
When his question reached my mind, all my thoughts stopped. My eyes to the ground, I let his words saturate my tumultuous head. Until my entire mind decided to decline his offer, I was frozen. Even when I decided to decline his offer I couldn't, my body was numb. In my head, I was yelling, "No! No! No!" but my body wouldn't respond.
"Mademoiselle, let me help you up," George spoke again. Reaching a hand into the veil of my pink hair, he took my hand and helped me up from my crumpled position. When I finally looked up, my own eyes met mine.
When I was a little girl, I would look in the mirror at my reflection. I would touch my long pink hair, but then my gaze would fall to my eyes. Inside my eyes was this rage that I couldn't understand when I was so young. That rage would later become understandable, but then I thought that that was what I was. The longer I gazed at myself the more fearful I became of myself. Maybe I was that angry beast that looked out through my eyes, I thought. My lavender eyes entranced me.
George's eyes were so calm, so still, so trained. Automatically I smiled like I always did, trying to hide my true feelings. When a cup of tea was placed in front of me, I resisted the urge to drain the cup in one sip. Maybe the hot liquid would drown the chorus in my head. Each verse the chorus sang ordered me to do something different, each stanza a contradiction of the last.
"Merci," I squeaked. Words didn't seem to come out of my mouth, just sound. My squeaks were noise to add to the noisy café. "George de Sand." Slowly my legs gained feeling in them. Painstakingly standing, I leaned on the table so the fog and dizziness would clear. Starting to walk away, I remembered something. I spoke clearly.
"I am Nikita."