Authors Note: Ok, this chapter contains ethnicity jokes. They are meant in fun, so please know, I dont mean to offend anyone. ^_^ Please Read and Reply!!
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Me and the guys had been friends for as long as I can remember.
Wufei Chang was the son of two Chinese immigrants that had been forced to come to L2 eighteen years ago when their colony was arranged to be dismantled. He was my height although he was almost a year older than me. He was fourteen at the time of that baseball game and despite the fact that he always became absorbed in whatever game he played, he hated baseball. His parents were still married, albeit unhappily and his father the family and their small apartment by working at the butchery downtown. He was a drunkard who rarely spent time with his family. Wufei's mother was a small woman who pretended not to notice her husband's bad habits. She buried herself in her work as a seamstress and usually left Wufei's older sister, Myonghi (Myhi for short), to watch over their two younger siblings, Lhushi and Kimhi. Wufei helped Myhi take care of the two younger girls as often as needed, but spent the vast majority of his time focusing on us and his general topics of interest, including wrestling, motorcycles and comic books. He had a kind heart and always made it a point to stand up for those who couldn't defend themselves.
Quatre Winner wasn't the youngest of the five of us, but he was the smallest. Only slightly younger than Wufei, Quatre's sandy blonde hair and light blue eyes often made people doubt that he actually was Arabian. His parents were married, though also unhappily. His father worked almost constantly at the company he owned on the other side of the colony. His mother, while she was a caring and gentle woman, often cheated on her husband, usually bringing home men that felt they knew just how to *deal* with a kid like Quatre. My blonde friend often emerged from his small house in the morning with bruises from said men. Although he was technically Muslim, he was like the most of the neighborhood - not very religious. He went to temple with his mother on occasion, but only when he couldn't get out of it. Quatre loved to read and liked to draw; he was the most talented kid in our school's poor art department. He liked wrestling like the rest of us and because his was the only home with cable, he often invited us over to watch Monday and Thursday night wrestling shows. Despite his love of the violent sport, Quatre was by far the most peaceful of our group, preferring to talk rather then throw punches.
Trowa Barton, as the tallest of our group, was a Latin Catholic who never knew his father. His mother remarried when he was young and his stepfather never took the time to get to know him. He had brown hair that hung with heavy bangs over the front of his face, usually covering one of his green eyes. Being Latin, Trowa's mother was the best cook Seneca had ever seen. She was a kind, tall and plump woman who liked being around us kids more than she liked the company of any of the adults in the neighborhood. They lived in a small tenement on 42nd Street where Trowa had to learn to defend himself at an early age. Like Quatre, Trowa loved to read. His bedroom held multiple shelves of books, most bought from flea markets or stolen from the corner book shop. He was quiet and thoughtful and never raised his voice. He was determined not to turn out like his father had; broken and beaten in a jail cell on L3. It wasn't as if he didn't care for his father, the man *was* his father, but it was hard for Trowa to have very strong feelings toward someone he'd never met. Trowa hated fish with a passion and like Wufei, didn't care much for baseball. With his height, he was more of a basketball man.
Heero Yuy was the leader of our group. He wasn't the tallest, or the strongest, but he was the oldest and as it seemed, the most street-wise kid I ever knew. At 15, he was no taller than I was at 13, with messy dark hair and intense blue eyes. He was Japanese and had moved to L2 when he was three years old with his father. His mother had left the two when Heero was only a baby and neither Heero nor his father had seen her again. His father was a hardworking man with a steady job at a salvage plant on McKingsly Road. He did his best to provide Heero with everything he needed, but the man hardly made minimum wage and had to get money from the local loan sharks to pay the rent sometimes. Heero rarely talked about his father, just like most of us barely spoke of our families, but I knew that Heero held a strong respect for his dad. A respect that few of us had towards our own fathers. Heero was strong-willed and determined. If there was a way to get something, Heero figured it out and made a plan to get it. He was always at the center of our scams and always made sure everything went alright and everyone got out alive. He liked comics, but loved manga more. The Japanese comic books he had gotten from his father were the basis of his collection that filled the small bedroom in his west 37th Street tenement.
Then there was me. I was the youngest of our group, but not by far the weakest. I made it a point to be as tough as everyone else in the group; there was no fun in being the weak link. I'm not exactly sure what I am: I'm American, but most people just called me Duo. My family was full of strict Catholics who went to church every Sunday morning, every Wednesday night and often in between. I always wore a cross around my neck in remembrance of my Grandma Helen. She had taken care of me when my parents had fights, making sure that I was safe and comforted. She had lived with us before she died at seventy-two of lung cancer. I was always the loud mouth of our group, always the most outspoken. I had indigo eyes - a combination of my father's and mother's eyes - and long brown hair that was kept in a tight braid that hung far down my back. I loved to read and Quatre and I often had deep discussions concerning our favorite book - The Count of Monte Cristo. Heero got me into manga, though I still held a strong passion for the American classic comics. I hated pepperoni - would gladly eat sausage pizza everyday if I could - and country music. I was more into the punk rock that was played out of a window near the field.
There were five of us and the whole neighborhood as our backyard.
Quatre, Wufei and I sat on the front stoop of a tenement across the street from Charlie's Steakery. Trowa was leaning against the fire hydrant and Heero was sitting on the brick wall next to the steps, his feet dangling below him. Baseball, basketball and various collecting card were strewn across the ground in front of us.
"I'll give you a 187 Duke Marion for your '89 Max Deering," Wufei said to Quatre, the collectable card in his hand.
Quatre thought for a moment and then spoke. "Throw in a Mystic Card and you got a deal."
"No way!' Wufei protested, "Not worth it."
"Fine then," Quatre replied, "Anyone else?"
"Not into it today," I said, "S'too hot."
The temperature had topped 90 degrees that afternoon and even though it was artificial, the sunlight only added to the heat.
"Let's go get an Ice," Trowa suggested.
"Don't have any money," I said.
"We could put it on our tab," Quatre smirked.
"No," Heero replied, "Mr. Phillips is pissed as it is. He says we go in there one more time without intendin' to pay, we're in deep shit."
"Then let's go swimming," Wufei said, "It's too hot to just sit here bakin' on the sidewalk."
"The river?" I asked. The colony contractors had put in an artificial river in a small unused corner of the colony. It made it easier to harvest food on the colony and saved money on imports.
"Nah, let's go to the pool. I don't feel like having fish swim up my ass today."
"Then let's go," Heero said, standing up.
"Hey, won't Relena be there?" I asked Heero as we walked, "She's always at the pool ain't she?"
"Yeah," he answered, "So what? S'long as she stays away from me, she can do whatever the hell she wants."
"Yeah," Wufei began, "She's got it bad for you, man. She's hot too. Nice piece of ass."
"Annoying piece of ass," Quatre added.
"She's Jewish," Trowa joked, "What do you expect?"
Heero and Quatre laughed. "Yeah," I said, initiating one of my favorite games, "Why is Italy shaped like a boot? You think they could fit all that shit into a tennis shoe?"
Everyone burst into laughter.
"What did the American say when he found out that the USA was the leading country with obesity?" Trowa responded, "'Yeah! We're number one!'"
More laughter erupted.
I turned to Heero and Wufei. "What happens to an Asian man who runs into a wall and has a full erection? He breaks his nose."
Yet more laughter.
"Hey," Wufei started, "If a person who speaks three languages is called 'tri-lingual,' and a person who speaks two languages is called 'bi-lingual,' what do you call a person who only speaks one language? American!"
More laughter came from our group as we turned the corner and continued down Jackson Avenue.
"Why are there no Disneyland's in China? No one's tall enough to ride the good rides."
We all laughed and made our way across a yard towards the pool. I smiled at my friends and made an impression in my mind to remember this moment. You never know when the good times will end.
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Me and the guys had been friends for as long as I can remember.
Wufei Chang was the son of two Chinese immigrants that had been forced to come to L2 eighteen years ago when their colony was arranged to be dismantled. He was my height although he was almost a year older than me. He was fourteen at the time of that baseball game and despite the fact that he always became absorbed in whatever game he played, he hated baseball. His parents were still married, albeit unhappily and his father the family and their small apartment by working at the butchery downtown. He was a drunkard who rarely spent time with his family. Wufei's mother was a small woman who pretended not to notice her husband's bad habits. She buried herself in her work as a seamstress and usually left Wufei's older sister, Myonghi (Myhi for short), to watch over their two younger siblings, Lhushi and Kimhi. Wufei helped Myhi take care of the two younger girls as often as needed, but spent the vast majority of his time focusing on us and his general topics of interest, including wrestling, motorcycles and comic books. He had a kind heart and always made it a point to stand up for those who couldn't defend themselves.
Quatre Winner wasn't the youngest of the five of us, but he was the smallest. Only slightly younger than Wufei, Quatre's sandy blonde hair and light blue eyes often made people doubt that he actually was Arabian. His parents were married, though also unhappily. His father worked almost constantly at the company he owned on the other side of the colony. His mother, while she was a caring and gentle woman, often cheated on her husband, usually bringing home men that felt they knew just how to *deal* with a kid like Quatre. My blonde friend often emerged from his small house in the morning with bruises from said men. Although he was technically Muslim, he was like the most of the neighborhood - not very religious. He went to temple with his mother on occasion, but only when he couldn't get out of it. Quatre loved to read and liked to draw; he was the most talented kid in our school's poor art department. He liked wrestling like the rest of us and because his was the only home with cable, he often invited us over to watch Monday and Thursday night wrestling shows. Despite his love of the violent sport, Quatre was by far the most peaceful of our group, preferring to talk rather then throw punches.
Trowa Barton, as the tallest of our group, was a Latin Catholic who never knew his father. His mother remarried when he was young and his stepfather never took the time to get to know him. He had brown hair that hung with heavy bangs over the front of his face, usually covering one of his green eyes. Being Latin, Trowa's mother was the best cook Seneca had ever seen. She was a kind, tall and plump woman who liked being around us kids more than she liked the company of any of the adults in the neighborhood. They lived in a small tenement on 42nd Street where Trowa had to learn to defend himself at an early age. Like Quatre, Trowa loved to read. His bedroom held multiple shelves of books, most bought from flea markets or stolen from the corner book shop. He was quiet and thoughtful and never raised his voice. He was determined not to turn out like his father had; broken and beaten in a jail cell on L3. It wasn't as if he didn't care for his father, the man *was* his father, but it was hard for Trowa to have very strong feelings toward someone he'd never met. Trowa hated fish with a passion and like Wufei, didn't care much for baseball. With his height, he was more of a basketball man.
Heero Yuy was the leader of our group. He wasn't the tallest, or the strongest, but he was the oldest and as it seemed, the most street-wise kid I ever knew. At 15, he was no taller than I was at 13, with messy dark hair and intense blue eyes. He was Japanese and had moved to L2 when he was three years old with his father. His mother had left the two when Heero was only a baby and neither Heero nor his father had seen her again. His father was a hardworking man with a steady job at a salvage plant on McKingsly Road. He did his best to provide Heero with everything he needed, but the man hardly made minimum wage and had to get money from the local loan sharks to pay the rent sometimes. Heero rarely talked about his father, just like most of us barely spoke of our families, but I knew that Heero held a strong respect for his dad. A respect that few of us had towards our own fathers. Heero was strong-willed and determined. If there was a way to get something, Heero figured it out and made a plan to get it. He was always at the center of our scams and always made sure everything went alright and everyone got out alive. He liked comics, but loved manga more. The Japanese comic books he had gotten from his father were the basis of his collection that filled the small bedroom in his west 37th Street tenement.
Then there was me. I was the youngest of our group, but not by far the weakest. I made it a point to be as tough as everyone else in the group; there was no fun in being the weak link. I'm not exactly sure what I am: I'm American, but most people just called me Duo. My family was full of strict Catholics who went to church every Sunday morning, every Wednesday night and often in between. I always wore a cross around my neck in remembrance of my Grandma Helen. She had taken care of me when my parents had fights, making sure that I was safe and comforted. She had lived with us before she died at seventy-two of lung cancer. I was always the loud mouth of our group, always the most outspoken. I had indigo eyes - a combination of my father's and mother's eyes - and long brown hair that was kept in a tight braid that hung far down my back. I loved to read and Quatre and I often had deep discussions concerning our favorite book - The Count of Monte Cristo. Heero got me into manga, though I still held a strong passion for the American classic comics. I hated pepperoni - would gladly eat sausage pizza everyday if I could - and country music. I was more into the punk rock that was played out of a window near the field.
There were five of us and the whole neighborhood as our backyard.
Quatre, Wufei and I sat on the front stoop of a tenement across the street from Charlie's Steakery. Trowa was leaning against the fire hydrant and Heero was sitting on the brick wall next to the steps, his feet dangling below him. Baseball, basketball and various collecting card were strewn across the ground in front of us.
"I'll give you a 187 Duke Marion for your '89 Max Deering," Wufei said to Quatre, the collectable card in his hand.
Quatre thought for a moment and then spoke. "Throw in a Mystic Card and you got a deal."
"No way!' Wufei protested, "Not worth it."
"Fine then," Quatre replied, "Anyone else?"
"Not into it today," I said, "S'too hot."
The temperature had topped 90 degrees that afternoon and even though it was artificial, the sunlight only added to the heat.
"Let's go get an Ice," Trowa suggested.
"Don't have any money," I said.
"We could put it on our tab," Quatre smirked.
"No," Heero replied, "Mr. Phillips is pissed as it is. He says we go in there one more time without intendin' to pay, we're in deep shit."
"Then let's go swimming," Wufei said, "It's too hot to just sit here bakin' on the sidewalk."
"The river?" I asked. The colony contractors had put in an artificial river in a small unused corner of the colony. It made it easier to harvest food on the colony and saved money on imports.
"Nah, let's go to the pool. I don't feel like having fish swim up my ass today."
"Then let's go," Heero said, standing up.
"Hey, won't Relena be there?" I asked Heero as we walked, "She's always at the pool ain't she?"
"Yeah," he answered, "So what? S'long as she stays away from me, she can do whatever the hell she wants."
"Yeah," Wufei began, "She's got it bad for you, man. She's hot too. Nice piece of ass."
"Annoying piece of ass," Quatre added.
"She's Jewish," Trowa joked, "What do you expect?"
Heero and Quatre laughed. "Yeah," I said, initiating one of my favorite games, "Why is Italy shaped like a boot? You think they could fit all that shit into a tennis shoe?"
Everyone burst into laughter.
"What did the American say when he found out that the USA was the leading country with obesity?" Trowa responded, "'Yeah! We're number one!'"
More laughter erupted.
I turned to Heero and Wufei. "What happens to an Asian man who runs into a wall and has a full erection? He breaks his nose."
Yet more laughter.
"Hey," Wufei started, "If a person who speaks three languages is called 'tri-lingual,' and a person who speaks two languages is called 'bi-lingual,' what do you call a person who only speaks one language? American!"
More laughter came from our group as we turned the corner and continued down Jackson Avenue.
"Why are there no Disneyland's in China? No one's tall enough to ride the good rides."
We all laughed and made our way across a yard towards the pool. I smiled at my friends and made an impression in my mind to remember this moment. You never know when the good times will end.
