Make way for Episode Two! It pained me greatly to make you wait, but I had to see exactly how fast I could write this stuff, maintain the website ABOUT this stuff, and still do other things in life BESIDES this stuff without going even more insane. As before, check my website for the companion notes to this episode, as well as the first. =^_~=
Disclaimer #1: I had three dozen of those damn "Roll Up the Rim to Win" cups from Tim Hortons over the last two months, and not ONE of them said "You win ultimate control over Gundam Wing and all the characters therein." I did, however, win two coffees, a bagel, a couple of donuts, and a cookie. I don't have them anymore *burp* so you can't sue me for them. =P
Disclaimer #2: I was an English major, so when I write, I write wordy. You have been warned. Muahahahahaaaa....Suggested font: Times New Roman
~~~~~~~~~~
|
Episode Two: Veiled and Blackmailed "Great truths are generally bought, not found by chance." --Milton June 3rd, 1901 Before the sun rose that morning, Heero had collected his paltry belongings into two suitcases and was brushing the lint off his best suit. For whatever reason, he hadn't slept very well the night before, but he hoped it was just the commotion in the kitchen downstairs and not a case of nerves. The room he had been renting for the past month was upstairs at the back of a local pub, the Muddy Nag, managed by a young red-headed woman named Catherine. It was a tiny room with no decoration to speak of, the plainest and smallest room she had; he insisted on it. The only real downside in Heero's eyes was that it was directly over the kitchen, and since the pub grub left much to be desired, Catherine was often up long after closing, sometimes straight through till dawn, trying to improve her cooking. The clanking of pots and pans, and the strange aromas filtering up through the floor kept Heero awake most of the night, the result of which being he wasn't fully alert when he heard a woman's scream coming from the kitchen. It took him two seconds to identify the scream as belonging to Catherine, and another three to find his gun. By that time, the reason for the yell was self-evident. "You no good, freak-haired, sticky-fingered pie-bandit! You miserable little toe-rag! When I catch up with you, I'll knock you silly! And then you're gonna work off every last bite scrubbing my basement! You moocher!!" Catherine sounded unharmed and in good voice. Heero sighed. The phantom pie thief had struck again. He collected himself and his belongings, took a final look around the room, and headed downstairs to meet with his hot-tempered landlady. She had been struggling for several months against a fleet-footed youth living in the alleyways, with an appetite on par with the Black Hole of Calcutta and a penchant for swiping fresh pies off Catherine's windowsill. The thief had never been caught. By the time Heero made it to the kitchen, she was throwing things in anger, and was lucky she missed smacking him in the face with a wet teatowel by about six inches. "Honestly! You'd think somebody would do something about those rotten little beggars! But no, they let them roam the streets and take advantage of helpless ladies trying to earn an honest living!" Heero raised an eyebrow at the word 'helpless'. "I don't know what else to do," she whined, dropping her hands at her sides. "I've tried varying the times I cook, I've tried stacking crates across the alley out back...I've tried cooling pies on the second floor windowsill, and he still gets them! They could be hanging in mid-air thirty feet up and it wouldn't matter!" "Why not just keep the food indoors?" Heero suggested. Catherine shook her head. "Oh, I couldn't do that, the competition might be sitting out there in the bar smelling it for hours, and they'll figure out all my best recipes and copy them!" As soon as her back was turned, Heero cringed. Not much danger of that, he thought, having himself been a victim of her culinary skills, or lack thereof. "I'm just on my way out," he said. "Ohhhh, so soon? Gee, I'll be sorry to see you go, you were a model tenant," she answered sadly. Heero set his cases down and took out an envelope. "Actually, I'd like to keep that room for the time being. I might still need it occasionally," he said, handing it to her. "That covers the next two months plus any incidental expenses." Catherine looked surprised, but extremely pleased. "Oh, alright! I'll keep it in good shape for you." Nodding, Heero picked up his cases and left, grateful to escape the clutches of Hell's Kitchen. **********The doorbell rang at quarter past eight, and Otto dreaded being the nearest available person to answer it. Today, that conniving little weasel was coming to stay. Otto's stomach turned as he opened the door, but mercifully, it was only the postman. Breathing a sigh of relief, he took the morning mail and distributed it around the house. After giving Relena the lion's share at the breakfast table, he found there was one letter left. He frowned storm clouds at the name printed on the envelope. c/o Bridlewood Manor 145 Whittington Place Regent's Park, London He hasn't even arrived yet, and already he's having his mail sent here. Bloody cheek... The doorbell rang a second time, and Otto quietly hoped the postman had returned. He had half a mind to give the offending letter back to him. Elsie got to the door first this time. Otto listened as the thirty-year-old cockney housemaid greeted the man on the front step. "Oh, it's you. You're the young lad what's been 'ired as lord an' master over us poor, lowly servants, eh?" She didn't sound impressed. "Right in 'ere." She stepped aside and showed Heero in without enthusiasm. Otto walked up, holding the letter, just as Heero set his suitcases down next to the umbrella stand. "Her ladyship is taking breakfast in the conservatory, if you'd care to wai--" Before he could finish, Heero walked briskly past him, snatched the letter out of his hands, put it in his inside jacket pocket, and continued down the hall, all without uttering a sound or making eye contact. Elsie nodded her head in the direction he left and clucked her tongue. "...he's friendly, innit he?" "Not to worry," Otto said with an angry glare. "If I have my way, we won't have to put up with him for long." As soon as he spoke, Relena poked her sunny face out into the hall, practically glowing with joy. "Elsie, would you take the bags up to the attic please?" Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared back into the conservatory to enjoy the rest of her breakfast with the object of her fixation. Elsie snorted and walked over to the suitcases. "Won't 'ave to put up with 'im for long? Faint 'ope of that, she seems to like 'im well enough." She attempted to pick up the cases, then dropped them with a moan, clutching her back melodramatically. "Oh, I say...'ere, couldn't give us a'hand with these, could you?" Wickedly pleased at the invitation, Otto scooped up the bags and started towards the servants' stairwell. "With pleasure." He climbed three flights of stairs with the suspiciously heavy luggage, itching to view the contents. The attic was finished and divided into servants' quarters, but in the absence of the usual compliment of staff, many rooms had fallen prey to overflow storage. Otto dumped the suitcases in the only available room and set to work. He saw right away that the locks on the cases were brand new and looked very sophisticated. He crept into the housemaids' room, took a hatpin off the dresser, and tried to jimmy the locks open. Ten minutes later, he had a host of intersting scratches on his hands and a bent hatpin, and was no closer to seeing inside Heero's luggage. Swearing under his breath, he went back downstairs; maybe another opportunity would present itself later. When Otto reached the conservatory, Relena barely acknowledged him enough to ask him to clear away the breakfast dishes and bring Quatre in from the gardens. Seconds later, the four of them were standing together in the conservatory, some smiling, some not. "Now then, Heero, there's someone I'd like you to meet," Relena said cheerfully, steering him about by the shoulders. She stood him in front of the fair-haired boy who had just been called inside from tending the garden. "This is Quatre Sagheer, my gardener. Quatre, this is Heero Yuy. He's to be our new butler." Quatre smiled and held out a friendly hand. "Pleased to meet you." Heero hesitated, studying the boy's face; Quatre began to look a bit nervous. The stranger was looking straight through him, as if dissecting his soul and calculating it to be a threat of some kind. Keeping his stern expression in place, Heero shocked him by clasping his hand firmly and addressing him in his native tongue. "Kaif halak?" Quatre paled considerably, if such a thing were possible. He swallowed and gave the expected response. "Ana bekhair." He had the distinct, uneasy feeling that Heero was testing him. There's something frightening about this one, he knows my language and he seems to know I'm hiding something. Maybe I'll just try to avoid him as much as I can... As they unclasped hands, Relena barely batted an eyelash at her butler's unexpected talent, chalking it up as one more thing to impress her friends with at dinner parties. "I'm sure you're going to get along splendidly with one another, and you can both start by going into town this morning." Quatre blinked. "Both of us? But doesn't Elsie do all the shopping?" "You're not buying groceries, I want you to help Heero choose some new clothes for his tenure here." She opened her purse and gave Quatre a plain white card with dignified writing that would identify them as servants of Lady Peacecraft and allow them to make purchases on credit. The truly well-to-do never paid cash. "You know the sorts of things I like to see." Quatre bristled nervously at the thought of spending more time with Heero instead of less, but he'd never let her ladyship down once yet. "Yes, miss." "I want him back here, properly attired, in time to serve tea this afternoon. Do you think you can manage that?" she asked, smiling sweetly. "Yes, miss," he repeated, nodding. And with that, Otto shuffled the pair of them out the front door. For awhile, they just stood on the porch, staring at each other. Quatre was frozen to the spot, paralyzed by the other boy's glare that was still boring two holes into his skull. After only knowing Heero for a scant few minutes, he was becoming desperately afraid of those icy blue eyes. Eventually, Heero grew impatient with his new acquaintance standing there looking for all the world like he wanted to hide behind the hedge. He sighed faintly, took the gardener by the arm, and marched him down the front walk. It was going to be a long day. **********By lunchtime, Heero and Quatre had done most of the shopping they had set out to do, and their purchases would be tallied, billed, and delivered later that day. Heero was very much aware of the fact that Quatre hardly spoke two words to him, except to ask how various garments fit and what size shoes he took. All other communication had taken place between Quatre and various salesclerks, as they twirled Heero around in front of full-length mirrors. Even if he did get the silent treatment, Heero was grateful for the company; clothes shopping wasn't his favourite pasttime by a longshot, and besides, Quatre was handling the financial end of things like a pro. That made him think; Quatre's math was better than half the shopkeepers they visited--so why was he working as a gardener? He thought it over while they pondered where to have lunch. The question hung in the air silently, and Quatre was still too freaked out by Heero in general to mention that he was getting hungry. Wordlessly, Heero led him down east to his old neighbourhood in Peckham, around this corner and that, to the only place he really knew, the Muddy Nag. They wove their way through the tables filled with workmen gobbling down their food noisily, and chose a table in the farthest corner from the kitchen...Heero's regular table, as it happened. Catherine spotted him on her way down from the upper level and sauntered over. "Heero!" she cackled gleefully. "Did they kick you out already?" He ignored her attempt to be insolent. "Catherine, this is Quatre, my new co-worker." She looked the blond boy over several times, giving him a sly, seductive smile of appreciation just for being in her pub. Quatre blushed instantly. "H-how do you do?" he asked shakily. "Oh, much better now that you're here, thank you," she squealed. Heero decided he'd better give her something to do quick before she started tying the meek lad to the table with her apron strings. "Kibba mousel, twice, with Turkish coffee please, Catherine." Quatre's face lit up when he heard the lunch order. Catherine's eyes brightened by the same degree. "Ah, so you're giving in and trying the international menu after all, eh? See, it pays to innovate, that's how I stay competitive!" She skipped happily off to the kitchen as Heero rolled his eyes for the second time that day. Appeasing his former landlady had nothing to do with it, he was more interested in choosing something Quatre might appreciate better than egg and chips. It was an added bonus that the dish came primarily out of a packet and was reasonably edible. Quatre leaned back in his chair and seemed genuinely relaxed. Pity, Heero thought, I have to un-relax him if I'm going to get anywhere. He sat up straight and fastened his eyes on the boy. "You don't particularly like me, do you?" Not that he cared about being popular, but all information had value. Quatre looked down at his hands and sputtered, startled by the boldness of the question. "Well...I mean...y'see, it's like this...it's not that I don't like you, I just don't know you very well, that's all." He couldn't meet Heero's eyes. "But you're afraid of me." Heero liked it when people were afraid of him. It made him feel powerful. He liked feeling powerful. The humble gardener was looking more uncomfortable by the second. "When you s-spoke to me in m-my language," he said, quivering, "I thought someone had sent you to...I mean, I thought you'd come to collect me...I mean..." He sighed and lowered his head into his shaking hands. "I don't know what I mean..." Heero watched him squirm without sympathy or contempt. This boy not only seemed to keep dangerous secrets but was emotionally vulnerable; he would be much easier to manipulate than Otto or Elsie. "Listen to me," Heero ordered quietly. Quatre pulled his head up and forced himself to look him in the eye. "It's obvious to me that you don't belong in that house, as least not in service. You're educated, you're cultured, and you don't look as though you've worked a day in your life, before arriving there." To emphasize his point, he took one of Quatre's pale hands and gently turned it palm-facing-up. The soft skin was marred by blisters and scratches, as if completely unaccustomed to the work they were made to do daily. If he had been a gardener for years, his hands would be gnarled and rough from a lifetime of manual labour, however short. Quatre looked at his hand and bit his lip. "You're also intelligent enough to realize on your own, sooner or later, that I don't belong there either." Heero released the quivering hand and it disappeared swiftly below the table. "But we both have our reasons for being in that house. So long as you don't interfere with my work, I don't need to know yours and you don't need to know mine." Quatre looked up again, slight traces of relief crossing his face. Heero wasn't trying to expose him or blackmail him, necessarily, he was just making sure they both knew where they stood with each other. "I understand...thank you." "You have nothing to thank me for," Heero said flatly. "I might want your help from time to time, and if I don't get it, I will discover whatever secrets you're hiding, and you don't want that to happen." Quatre shuddered and gripped the tabletop in fright, but he slowly accepted that it was the best offer he was going to get from this boy. Now he was desperate to please him, for his own safety. "Is there anything I can do?" Heero nodded. "For now...stay out of my way." The subject was closed only seconds before Catherine brought their lunch, a traditional middle-eastern lamb stew of sorts, in a pastry shell. Not being something she practised often, it didn't hold it's shape very well, and it tended to fall to pieces all over the plate, but it still smelled delicious. The aroma it gave off brightened the gardener's face substantially, prompting Heero to guess that he hadn't eaten what he might consider a home-cooked meal in a long time. "...and here's the coffee," Catherine sang as she set the cups down. "Will you be having anything else?" Heero was already on his first forkful of stuffing and raised his eyebrows at Quatre, offering him first choice. "No thank you, miss," the fair-haired boy said, raising his fork and smiling. "But I am going to enjoy this." "I'm glad." She leaned deeply over him, mirroring his smile plus some. "And do call me Catherine," she purred. "We'll call someone to haul you away if you don't get back to your kitchen," Heero said without looking up from his plate. Catherine stiffened and shot him a nasty glance. "That'll be sixpence three farthings," she spat. "Catherine..." he chimed, almost sweetly, through a mouthful of stew. "What?" "...'incidental expenses'." A wave of shock hit her, followed by extreme annoyance that by overpaying her when he left, Heero had committed her to feeding him and his friends whenever, whatever, and however often he liked. She clenched her fists and tried to say something really vile to chop him down to size, but the sheer depth of his cunning kept her tongue in knots. Without so much as a smile goodbye for Quatre, she went back to the kitchen, defeated. Heero allowed himself a tiny, self-satisfied smirk before moving on to the next bite. Quatre couldn't help but smile at the exchange, and at the way Heero seemed to level the woman with two words. He was a scary person to be around, but Quatre felt it was only on the surface. His mysterious sixth sense told him that this dark stranger was tough, but fair, and eventually they might become allies in their secret struggles. "Is she always so...personal...with her customers?" Quatre asked timidly. "Only with the men," Heero said with slight exapseration in his voice. "They call her 'Clingy Cathy' outside in the marketplace." With a shiver, Quatre looked in the direction of the kitchen, suddenly worried that she might return. He studied Heero for a few seconds and marvelled at how he seemed immune to her sugary smile. "Is she ever like that with you?" Heero stopped eating to look directly at him, eyes flashing. A hint of a grin revealed that for her to do so would mean instant death. "No." Quatre smiled, widely this time, and dove into his kibba mousel with new enthusiasm. Scary as this boy was, as long as other people found him scarier than Quatre did, Quatre was somewhat safe. He mentally tripped over that thought, several times, before giving up and concentrating on how much he was enjoying his lunch, and the company. **********The shopping trip was finished well before tea time, as promised. Quatre went back to his gardens, prepared to put in sufficient overtime to keep from falling behind. Relena had something planned for the two of them that coming weekend, and the last thing he wanted was a pile of unplanted begonias waiting for him when he got back. Heero's new clothes were waiting in the hall, assembled into a tidy stack of packages wrapped in brown paper. After being greeted at the door by a bubbly Relena, he was sent up to his attic quarters to arrange himself and his attire before serving tea. The servants' stairs were narrow and badly kept, with creaky stairs and peeling wallpaper, where there was wallpaper to peel. In other places, the plaster was coming off the walls one little chunk at a time. The climb was treacherous enough on one's own, but carrying a half-dozen parcels made it quite a trial. When he reached the top, he located his suitcases in the only available room, definitely the poorest of the lot. There were two beds, a twin-size with a rickety cast-iron frame, and a double with a more stately-looking, but still very worn, wooden frame. The servants were apparently treated to the best that the family downstairs had worn out over the years, not the best that money could buy. Heero chose the twin for himself and dropped the packages onto it. Somehow I expected better than this, judging by the rest of the house, he thought, looking around in dismay. This room was in worse shape than the stairwell, and in much worse shape than the room he used to have over the pub. There was nothing but a dingy whitewash on the walls, the scraps of wooden furniture looked like they might fall apart at the slightest touch, a strong smell of kerosene hung in the air around the single table lamp, and half the floorboards were loose. Still, it had four walls and a roof, therefore it would suffice. A second shock came when he saw the pinscratches on the locks to his suitcases. Kisama! I know exactly who did this... He opened them both and confirmed that the contents were untouched, then began making plans for Otto's untimely and very painful demise as he changed clothes. The moment Heero set foot on the ground floor in one of his new suits, the doorbell rang. He winced again at the superfluous chimes and opened the door to reveal a very panicky postman, humiliated to be back on the same front porch at 3:45pm. "I...I can't understand 'ow it 'appened, sir!" the cockney postman exclaimed in a serious dither. He was clutching an envelope, which shouldn't have been that unusual. "I finished me route, an' I was just about to go 'ome, and there it was in the bottom o' me bag!" Shaking, he held the letter out. Heero took it without ceremony. A simple mistake, he'd just forgotten to deliver it that morning. No harm done. So why was the poor man so terrified? "Thank you," Heero said plainly. The postman blinked, inhaled, blinked again, and thanked the Almighty. "Cor, I'm glad I got you today, sir! That big fellow woulda snapped me 'ead off for this!" He took off down the front walk before 'that big fellow' decided to make a surprise appearance. Heero understood the postman's apprehension, but he didn't share it. Otto would be taken care of in his own good time; for now, there was a late letter to deliver. Heero looked it over on his way to the study, where Relena would be taking tea later. It was postmarked from Warsaw. He strode into the study and handed her the letter crisply. "Late delivery for you, miss." "Oh!" She took it, identified the handwriting immediately, and smiled. "Thank you, Heero. You may go now." She turned away and opened the envelope as Heero left. As he went out one doorway, Otto entered the study through another. Heero flattened himself against the wall just outside the room and listened intently. "Otto! It's a letter from my uncle!" "Which one, miss?" Otto asked, taking a chair opposite her. Relena dropped her hands in her lap and grinned. "I only have one, silly...Uncle Treize!" Heero bristled, but remained still and quiet. "Ah, yes, the Count...what does he say?" "He's coming here to manage the estate for us! He says he'll be here in a few weeks, to take over father's responsibilities, and he's bringing a guest as well...a duchess, or a marchesa from the sound of things...oh, won't it be wonderful to have guests in the house again? It'll be just like the old days!" Otto smiled wistfully at her glee. "Shall I inform the staff that we'll be expecting his visit?" "...no, I'd like to wait until we have more staff to inform. We should fill a few more positions first. I want this house to be exactly perfect...I want to make a good impression on him, so he can see how well I've been coping here on my own." "Of course, Miss Relena." From there the conversation shifted to less interesting topics, and Heero slunk away towards the dining room. We'll do better than just make a good impression...we'll make a lasting one, and it's going to stick with you for a long time. Heero took a chair in the dining room and began polishing the silver, preparing it for afternoon tea. Outside, a slow rain began to fall, beating a rhythm on the window pane at the precise speed of his thoughts, as his mind began the reflexive task of making plans for the visitor's arrival. I'll be waiting for you...Count Khushrenada... |
~~~~~~~~~~
Next, in Episode Three: Relena treats Quatre to some country air and recreation, but they are bound to be surprised by what they really find there; and while the cat's away, the kittens will play, and Heero suddenly becomes the mouse in the servants' sadistic power games. Will he survive his first weekend alone with Taskmaster Otto?
That was *TOO* long a wait for Episode Two! =@_@= I'll try really hard not to do that again. Luckily, we won't have long to wait for Episode Three; mark June 6th on your calendars! It's finished already, so there's no way it'll be late! =^_^= What did Heero and Quatre say to each other in Arabic? "How are you?" "Fine, thanks." Wow. Riveting conversation, that. *grinz* My apologies to anyone who speaks Arabic and feels my transliteration isn't what it should be, I swear it came from another website. You know how difficult it is finding an English-Arabic dictionary online that gives you transliterations instead of inline images? Pretty freakin' hard, I can tell you! And the pastry with lamb stuffing...well, Catherine tries, bless her, but she doesn't always get it right. The recipe she used can be found on my webpage, along with the companion notes for this episode. Until the 6th, ja ne!