=^-^= My little heart's about to bust wide open, so I had to take a minute out to thank all you wonderful people for reviewing and letting me know how much you enjoy my work. It really makes it all worthwhile, and I don't think it'd be half as much fun without all you great guys and gals supporting me. =D *hugs you all* Arigato!
Disclaimer: This year, for my birthday, I asked for omnipotent control over the five Gundam pilots contained herein, which I didn't think was too extravagant or outlandish. What did I get? A set of green plastic see-thru picnicware from Zellers. I hope my now-ex-boyfriend puts a little more thought into his next girlfriend's birthday gift. If you want to sue me for control of the picnicware, well, whatever floats yer boat, I guess... =P
Suggested Font: Times New Roman~~~~~~~~~~
|
Episode Ten: Reverse Psychology "Alliance: In international politics, the union of two thieves who have their hands so deeply inserted in each other's pockets that they cannot separately plunder a third ." ~Ambrose Bierce July 18th, 1901 An overcast sky threatened the early morning hours with a light sprinkle, but so far the rain was holding off. A lone figure wearing an inexpensive suit with a leather bag slung over his shoulder was glad of that, because for some inexplicable reason, an umbrella wasn't a standard issue component of the British postman's uniform. The figure was a slender boy, dressed as a carrier of the royal post, skillfully avoiding the genuine carriers of the royal post, who might have suspected that he was a phony. He darted through light traffic on his way to an address on the paper in his pocket, shielding his bright purple eyes from the early morning sun. He reached what he thought was the right house and pulled out the neatly-written address, doublechecking it. Heero's writing looks so perfect...kinda like what I imagined schoolteachers' handwriting must be like. He smiled warmly at the paper, recognizing and interpreting the symbols with little difficulty. Only a few weeks previous, he couldn't have done that. With renewed confidence, he strode bravely up to the front door of the massive estate sprawled before him, and pulled on the equally massive knob for the doorbell with both hands. Moments after hearing the booming chimes, a short, spectacled man appeared. "Y-yes?" the ferret-like man stammered? "Good morning!" the phony postman said cheerily. "I hope you can help me, see, I've got a letter here for an address across town, but the addressee seems to have moved on." He held out the prefabricated letter written in the same tidy handwriting as the note in his pocket. "They were of the impression that someone here might know where he is now." The short man took the letter, adjusted his smallish spectacles, and read the name. It was addressed to Mr. H. Wagner of Bridlewood Manor. He blinked rapidly, then called to someone inside the house; a maid appeared and was shown the envelope. The pretty brunette smiled. "Oh, that's Henry! We used to work t'gether in that 'ouse, until a few months ago." The postman took the letter back and scratched at the back of his neck, tickled by the thick rope of hair jammed down the inside of his coat. "Do you know where I can find him? I can't just throw this away, and it's a felony to misdirect mail," he said with all seriousness mixed into a grin. "Oh yes, he's a lodger in Highgate," the maid offered freely, "in a boarding house run by a Mrs. Brueghel. I'm not exactly sure where in Highgate it is, though, awfully sorry." "Not at all, miss," the postman said with a cordial tip of his cap. "His Majesty's Royal Postal Service thanks you for your good citizenship!" Giving them a cheery wave, he walked down the perfectly manicured front walk, away from the fabulously opulent mansion belonging to Lady Une. Heero had been right; there were indeed former employees of Bridlewood working on this estate. Duo rounded the nearest corner, tugging his braid out of his jacket and stuffing his cap in the leather shoulder bag, and made his way to the rendez-vous point. Heero was leaning against the alley wall with his eyes fixed firmly on his watch. On hearing Duo's footsteps stop next to him, he dropped it back in his waistcoat pocket and looked up, apparently satisfied with the amount of time his assistant used to complete his task. "Did you get it?" Heero asked. Duo nodded. "More or less. I've got a neighbourhood and his landlady's name to start from." Heero nodded back. "Did Lady Une see you?" "Don't think so, but then she wouldn't have recognized me anyway, right?" "Right," Heero agreed. "We'd best be off, then." They left the posh neighbourhood for the next best place in which to burn more of Heero's day off. The butler's precise, calculating mind was focused solely on finding the man Relena called Henry Wagner, but Duo's mind wandered far and wide during their journey. When their work was completed, Duo had to prepare a surprise lesson for his friend about drinking deeply from the cup of life, but the method of delivery continued to evade him. The problem would occupy his thoughts for most of the rest of the day. **********Before leaving on his secret mission across town with Heero, Duo had the singularly perplexing task of choosing someone else to cook that day's meals. Instinctively, Quatre would have been his first choice, but after hearing about the danger he could be putting the boy in just by sending him out to buy the groceries, the chef was ready to hand the baton back to Elsie for the day. On the other hand, as Quatre pointed out to him, to stop living for fear of dying was the same as being dead already, and seeing as how he was feeling a bit better about things as a whole just from having friends around, he practically insisted that Duo appoint him deputy chef. And so he did. Quatre was actually quite relieved to get out of the house for awhile, and felt much safer having Trowa tag along on his shopping trip. The cinnamon-haired boy clung to him like a second skin while they roamed the marketplace, glaring spitefully at any woman who stared at the tiny blond for too long. When Quatre realized how many women were walking away from them at a rapid pace, he turned to his friend and scolded him lightly. "Trowa, when I see one of my sisters, I'll tell you." Trowa's visible eye blinked in surprise. "Sisters?" He'd momentarily forgotten about the tontine and the threat his sisters posed, and yet he still felt uncomfortable whenever the young ladies turned their eyes towards Quatre, as they invariably did. He wasn't entirely sure why it bothered him. "I know, I'm sorry," he said, fighting back a faint blush. "I'm just being overprotective, aren't I?" Quatre smiled. "It's alright. You're only doing it because you care." As the taller boy relaxed, Quatre felt more trickling waves of that pleasant, indescribable something he often sensed coming from his friend. He'd felt it before between other people, but never directed at him; he went back to his work, hoping he wasn't turning any redder than Trowa had. Between the two of them, the grocery shopping was over fairly quickly, and just as well too, because the pale little Arabian was already worn out from walking so far through the marketplace. They piled their purchases at the side of the cobbled road, but just as they were about to flag down a carriage to take them home, Quatre gave a sharp gasp and clapped a hand to his head. "I forgot! Duo asked me to get him a jar of golden syrup! He gave me some extra money besides the housekeeping because it wasn't on the shopping list," he said, digging through his pockets. "You're too tired to go," Trowa retorted, "stay here and I'll get it." Quatre gave him Duo's money and watched him duck back into the crowded street. I'm so lucky to have a friend like Trowa, he's constantly looking out for me, he thought, smiling. Waiting patiently next to the groceries, he watched the people come and go, happily thinking of the bazaars back home, when a woman's voice shook him from his reverie. "Pardon me, young man," the voice said smoothly. Quatre hesitantly turned to face the woman, wishing Trowa hadn't left him after all. She was grandly dressed with dark brown hair and a seductive smile; she didn't seem familiar, so at least it wasn't one of his sisters. Before he could even choke out a polite greeting, the woman's eyes went wide at the sight of him and she quickly grasped one of his hands and patted it lovingly. "Oh, you poor darling, it's even worse than they said! Why, look at you, there's hardly enough there to hold your clothes off the ground!" Quatre blushed fiercely now. "Excuse me?" he yelped sharply. The woman exhaled melodramatically. "Goodness, where are my manners? I visited your lovely little home last week, but I don't believe we were properly introduced. You may call me Lady Une." He had heard Relena speak of this woman several times, and it was never a happy occasion when she did. Nevertheless, he put himself quickly into lower-class subservient mode and bowed. "Begging your pardon, m'lady." "Not at all," she said, looking him over. She let go of his hand and gripped his chin, turned his face this way and that, pulled down the lower lid of his eye and went 'tsk tsk tsk'. Quatre just stood there with a dumbfounded look, not knowing what was going on or what to do about it. She walked a full circle around the boy, shaking her head sadly, until she finally came to rest in front of him again. "Much worse than they said. Oh, how awful...you poor, poor thing..." Quatre's eyes enlarged with slight fear. "What? Worse than what? Did I do something wrong? What are you talking about?" Une shook her head. "No, no, I shouldn't have said anything!" She turned to go, but Quatre caught her arm. "No, wait! Please tell me! Something's wrong, isn't there?" Une wiped the smug little smirk off her face before turning around to look at the boy sympathetically. "Well, I suppose you might as well hear it from a friend of the family instead of some stranger in the road. Half the fashionable society of London knows you're terribly ill. 'Go look at Bridlewood's gardener', they all say, 'go see how thin and pale and sickly he looks! He's far too weak to be doing that sort of work, why, he'll be dead before he's thirty!' That's what they say, you poor boy..." Quatre shook his head in disbelief. "But I'm not sick! I feel fine!" "Of course, being so loyal to Lady Peacecraft and not wanting to disappoint her, you've cleverly tricked yourself into thinking you feel fine, rather than admit she's working you into an early grave." As she continued her sad speech, Quatre looked at something over her shoulder, then resumed listening. "If only you could find another position somewhere else, some work that didn't require so much physical labour out of doors, then you might hope to prolong your life as much as possible." Lady Une's eyes brightened as she seemed to have an idea that very instant. "Hang on a moment...I'm greatly in need of a clerk to help manage my accounts! It's indoor work and, I'm sure, much more suited to your tastes than weeding those scraggly old gardens! Would you possibly consider coming to work for me instead?" She gave him a sweet smile, but instead of returning it, Quatre looked over her shoulder again. "Quatre is quite happy in his current position," a new voice said coolly. The brunette whirled around in shock to see a tall boy looking at her rather angrily with one emerald eye. "He doesn't want to leave." "Who are you, his manager?" Une scoffed. "No, he's my friend," Quatre piped up with a touch of annoyance. "And he's right, I don't want to leave Bridlewood." Une folded her arms and began to show her temper a bit. "Not even for twice the money you're earning now? Not even to save your health!?" "I should worry about saving your own health if I were you," Trowa snapped, taking a step towards her. "He gave you his answer, and it was no! Now, clear off!" The woman gaped as if he'd struck her across the face. "Well!" She stomped off down the street without looking at either of them, head held high. As soon as she was out of sight, Quatre exhaled sharply and clutched a hand to his chest, and Trowa stepped over the groceries to grip his shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked in a soft, worried tone. Quatre was trembling. "She lied to me...she was trying to trick me into leaving. Why would she do a thing like that?" "Subverting Miss Relena's staff is nothing new for her," Trowa growled. "No...this felt different," Quatre said shakily. "She wants very badly to get me away from the house, desperately even! Is there no one else in all of London who could be her clerk of accounts except me?" Trowa gazed furiously into the distance where Lady Une had disappeared, hefting the jar of golden syrup in his right hand. "If Duo didn't want this so badly, I'd've chucked it at the back of her head. And I never miss." Quatre was touched by his friend's sheltering nature, but at that moment he simply wanted to lie down with a cold cloth on his head until it was time to make lunch for the troops. He sighed deeply. "Take me home, Trowa, I'm awfully tired all of a sudden." Trowa obediently fetched them a carriage for hire, inwardly cursing Relena for not allowing her own carriage off the property unless there was 'someone of importance' riding in it. Soon, the boys and the food were swiftly on their way back home, but neither could shake the feeling that something about the encounter with Lady Une was very, very wrong. **********"Ten months!? Is that all?" Duo howled. Heero twitched from the force of his partner's volume. "Relena told me Wagner was hired in March of last year. During tea with Lady Une, she said he left right after her father died." The pair were walking briskly down the streets of Highgate, having asked around and determined a probable location for Mrs. Brueghel's boarding house. Duo adjusted the shoulder strap on his postman's bag and shook his head. "The way you said they were talking, I thought he'd been there years." "Exactly. So what do we have?" Heero splayed one palm in front of him and tucked the little finger in with his other hand, counting off his points of debate. "Assumption number one: Wagner wasn't in service long enough to form a deep personal relationship with his employer that would make him too distraught to continue working." He tucked the next finger in. "Assumption number two: He and Treize knew each other either before or during his time as butler, as evidenced by the way Treize spoke of his abilities." Duo leaned over and tucked the next finger in for him. "Assumption number three: Given the first two assumptions, there's every possibility that Wagner was up to no good and that Treize was in on it somehow." Heero looked at him with surprise and raised an eyebrow. "Right." Duo flashed him a sparkling white smile. "I'm not just a pretty face!" His words made Heero's brow crinkle in confusion, but he forced his questions to the back of his mind, for there was work to be done. At long last, they reached what looked very much like the boarding house, from the description they had been given by the local townsfolk. Heero stood at the curb and looked up at the lace-covered windows of the Victorian three-storey house, to see if anyone was watching; he then went to the mailbox at the end of the walkway and pulled out the contents. "Hey!" Duo shouted. "Tampering with the mail is a federal offense!" "Lower your voice," Heero ordered with a scowl. He flipped through the letters, bills and postcards until he found what he was looking for. He read the address of one letter in particular, put on a tiny but triumphant grin, and held it up for Duo's perusal. "Heinrich Wagner," he said, pronoucing the 'W' as a 'V' in a thick German accent. Duo shrugged. "So he's German. So what?" "Perhaps nothing," Heero said, replacing the letters, "but the Count has strong ties to Germany. We'll see if it means anything or not." He led his partner up the front walk, shaded by tall trees, and rang the bell. "Let me do the talking." The phony postman nodded silently as the door opened. A portly woman in a pale flowered dress, sour expression, and grey hair pulled into a bun appeared. She looked the visitors over and just stood there, expecting them to give her a reason for coming all that way to open the door. Heero leaned forward a bit. "Frau Brueghel?" The woman eyed him suspiciously. "Ja..." "Herr Wagner, bitte," he said with perfect accent and inflections. Mrs. Brueghel shook her head sharply. "Er ist nicht mehr hier," she said evenly. The door began to close. Heero leaned forward and blocked the door open with one hand, glared at the woman, and tossed her a gold sovereign with the other hand. "Is he here now?" She looked at the coin, turning it over; finally she slipped it into her apron pocket and opened the door for the boys. She pointed to the parlour and disappeared up the stairs. Once again, Duo was astonished at how freely Heero threw around his money, and how often it got him exactly what he wanted. They stood waiting in the parlour, but neither was content to stare at Mrs. Brueghel's many knickknacks in the shape of rabbits. "What are you going to say to him?" Duo whispered. "I'm going to offer him a job and not tell him what it is," Heero whispered back. "If he's just a butler, he'll assume I have a domestic position to fill and will react accordingly. If he's more than that, he'll play it cagey and try to trick me into revealing my hand, which, of course, I'm not about to do." Duo thought about that for a moment; it seemed reasonable, but... "What if he accepts? You haven't got a job to give him." Heero clasped his hands behind his back. "He won't accept. Rooms like this in such a posh area don't come cheap, and I doubt he's become independantly wealthy in the last five months. Either he's already working, or he has a benefactor paying his expenses." Duo wandered in front of him and smiled knowingly. "A rich foreign benefactor with strong ties to Germany?" Heero nodded, impressed at how quickly the braided idiot seemed to catch on to his line of thinking. He'd had his doubts about taking Duo on as his assistant, especially since the suggestion of it was made not by his intellect, but by something else inside him that he couldn't identify; but Duo was smarter than he chose to appear, a clever strategy in itself. This just might work out after all, he thought, watching his assistant stroll to the window. Duo's earlier words rang once again in his mind. 'I'm not just a pretty face!' Again Heero twitched. His eyes fell on the boy at the window, his face lowered and framed in profile by the bright pane of glass, as he reached down to playfully stroke the ears of one of the larger bunny ornaments. Heero studied that profile for several seconds, taking in the delicately fanned eyelashes, the pert, upturned nose, the pale lips curling into a slight smile, the pointed chin leading into a soft, graceful jawline...the same disobedient part of Heero's psyche that rebelled against his intellect by wanting Duo for an assistant in the first place was now telling him that his assistant was rather pleasing to look at. Heero twitched and looked away. Mercifully, Mr. Wagner appeared at the door before Heero's brain had a chance to short-circuit. Duo looked up from the porcelain rabbit, and the trio stood there, sizing each other up. Mr. Wagner was indeed as Lady Une described him, stuffy and dour with a long, saggy face. "Good afternoon," Wagner said cautiously. He spoke perfect English. "You wished to see me, mister..." "Young," Heero said quickly, employing his default alias. He gestured towards Duo. "My associate, Mr. Wells." Wagner nodded a greeting to each of them. "And what brings you to see me, Mr. Young?" Heero walked over to stand squarely in front of him; feeling out of touch over by the window, Duo strode up swiftly to stand behind Heero and a little bit to his left. "There's some work I need done," Heero spoke confidantly, "and from all the names I was given, yours stood out as being most suitable." Wagner's eyes narrowed. "What sort of work do you mean?" "Nothing you haven't done before, and your recompense for the task is open to negotiation." Heero took another step forward, ever so slightly turning up the heat under the taller man. "I was given your name by a mutual acquaintance...Count Khushrenada." Wagner straightened up to his full, imposing height and tilted his face up a bit. "I see. An interesting proposal, but I'm afraid, Mr. Young, that merely having a mutual acquaintance is insufficient motivation for me to leave my current post." "Not even at double your original wage?" Heero asked sternly. "I am...retired, Mr. Young. I have no immediate need for more work, and I am quite content with my financial situation," Wagner said with an increasingly caustic tone. Duo had a thought, but remembering Heero's instruction to let him do the talking, he stepped forward, put a hand on his arm, and whispered in his ear instead. Heero paused, nodded, and turned back to the former butler. "Could you tell me who among your associates might be willing to take on the job? A name will do, an address if possible." And whether you give me the name of a servant or a spy, I'll know all I need to know about you. Wagner squared his shoulders and frowed at the pair of them. "No, I could not. Now if you please, it's nearly lunchtime, and I would despair of missing a meal for this rather pointless conversation." He stepped over to the bell pull and rang for Mrs. Brueghel. "Thank you for dropping by, Mr. Young, Mr. Wells," he said icily. The portly woman returned at the parlour door, and the boys had no choice but to follow her out. They found themselves on the front step again, and the door was firmly shut behind them, followed by the sound of a lock being slid into place. Duo blinked. "That was...strange..." "Yes, it was," Heero said ponderously. "I have a feeling I'm not the first butler at Bridlewood to have an ulterior motive." **********Quatre found it oddly relaxing to clean up after lunch; it helped take his mind off the abscence of Duo and Heero. They had said upon leaving that they weren't sure when they would be back, but it was nearly two o'clock and Quatre was beginning to worry nevertheless. He busied himself with putting away the clean dishes and didn't notice a pair of light footsteps entering the kitchen. He set the plates upright in the dishrack and turned around to walk over to the stove, intending to fetch the tea kettle and rinse it out. Instead, he saw who had crept in, and froze. It was the Baroness Catalonia. "G-good afternoon, m'lady," he stammered. It was more than a little unusual that one of the aristocracy should lower themselves to visiting the basement staff at their work. "Is...anything the matter?" Dorothy smiled sweetly at him. "I just wanted to commend you on turning out two absolutely stunning meals on top of all your regular work," she cooed. "Relena told me all about how that shameless cad of a chef abandoned you here while he went gallivanting around town!" "Oh, he didn't abandon me at all, m'lady," Quatre said, smiling back. "I was glad to do it." The blonde girl walked around the kitchen table to stand right next to him. "Well, I think it's disgraceful, burdening you like that, especially in your condition." Quatre picked some teacups up off the table, letting his smile fall. My condition? This sounds terribly familiar... "Whatever do you mean? I feel fine." He turned away and put the dishes in the sink. Dorothy put on her sympathy face, even though he couldn't see it. "You needn't pretend with me, you sweet, caring, unselfish angel! I know how difficult it must be for you, doing all this cooking and the gardening as well...and I know how poorly you've been lately, particularly since you nearly collapsed in the garden the other day. Oh, if only you didn't have to ruin your health like this, just to earn a living...if only you could find another position elsewhere that would be easier on your delicate constitution..." Quatre propped his arms stiffly against the countertop, scowling. She's at it too! What is with everyone today!? He took a deep breath to compose himself and turned around. "A desk job at Lady Une's estate, perhaps?" His blatant honesty caught her off guard, and for a moment, she didn't know what to say. "I'm only thinking of what's best for you..." Just then, Trowa entered by the back door, and Quatre decided to end the exchange quickly before his friend overheard them and lost his temper with the woman. "Thank you for your concern, m'lady. I promise to think it over carefully." Apparently satisfied with his answer, she gave him one last smile, looked nervously at a glaring Trowa, and left the kitchen, treading gracefully up the stairs. Quatre slumped against the counter and sighed, bringing Trowa across the kitchen almost instantly. "What was that all about?" he asked excitedly. Quatre rubbed his forehead. "She thinks I should go work for Lady Une too! They're trying to get me out of this house, both of them! I don't understand..." Not knowing how else to comfort his friend, Trowa pulled the boy into a casual embrace, letting him rest his fair head on his shoulder. "Neither do I," he whispered into his feathery hair, "but they can't make you leave. Not if I have anything to say about it." Quatre bit his lip. Something about this whole situation made him feel very uneasy. "I think we should tell Heero when he gets back. He'll know what to do." Trowa thought about that for a second or two, then agreed. They both had reservations about trusting the butler when they first met him, but right now he was their best option. Something suspicious was going on. **********Dorothy stormed through the halls on the main floor, ready to explode with each step. He didn't even hear me out! He wasn't the least bit interested! Une must have blown it! She careened angrily around a corner and almost ran straight into Hilde. "Out of my way!" the Baroness shouted, shoving the laundry maid aside brusquely. Hilde fell against the wall and cowered, clutching the stack of towels she was carrying tightly. She didn't move until the blonde woman was well out of sight, wondering what she could have possibly done to make her so irate. "Good grief," Hilde muttered to herself. She moved away from the wall and resumed her walk towards the front hall stairs. As she passed the Chippendale table set against the least-used wall of the foyer, the telephone sitting on the table gave a loud ring. Seeing no one else around to answer the call, she set the towels down on the accompanying chair and picked up the phone, raising the speaker component to her face and the earpiece to her ear. "Good afternoon, Bridlewood Manor, this is the maid speaking.......yes, he is. Whom shall I say is calling?" Hilde pulled the earpiece away and gave it a hurt look, suggesting that the person on the other end had given her a rather rude response. She lucked out in seeing Count Khushrenada emerging from the sitting room, and called out to him. "My Lord!" The Count turned toward the voice and walked over to it, giving the petite brunette a charming smile. "Yes, dear?" Hilde blushed and held out the earpiece. "Telephone for you, sir." He took the phone from her and spoke into it, while Hilde gathered up her towels and scampered up the stairs to the guest rooms. As the Count listened to the frantic caller, his expression grew cold and distant. He listened to a first-hand account of the afternoon's events being delivered by a wild, frantic voice, followed by pleas for help that lapsed in and out of English. Behind Treize, while his back was turned, the front door opened quietly and two slender figures slipped inside. One was laughing and joking in his usual manner, but the other silenced him quickly when he saw who was standing a few feet away. Heero motioned for Duo to get behind him, and the chef complied without question. They listened to one half of the telephone conversation and realized that Treize was speaking in harsh yet muted tones to someone...and speaking in German. Shimatta! Wagner figured me out! Heero thought helplessly. He must have been on the phone looking for Treize the moment we left. I could have handled this better...baka! He looked around for the nearest escape route, not wanting to chance opening the heavy front door again. He had just begun pushing Duo in the direction of the coat closet when Treize hung up the phone and turned around. Turned and looked directly at them. Duo froze. Once again Heero felt a hand clutching his arm, and he immediately regretted taking Duo along with him. If Treize knows I've been snooping around, he's bound to think you're in on it too. I should never have put you in danger...I'm sorry. He took a small sidestep protectively in front of Duo as Treize started walking towards them both, with no indication of his extreme displeasure save the frigid, blazing look in his eyes. The Count strode up to them, pushing the pair backwards into the closed door with a glare mixing superiority and malevolence. He stopped just a few feet in front of them, towering over the boys like a huge, incensed monolith in a dark suit. His gaze travelled from Heero's eyes to Duo's, studying the violet orbs for traces of defiance. Seeing only fear and guilt, he moved back to Heero's strong, unwavering glare, concluding that he was the ringleader. For a bone-chilling eternity they stared each other down, the sound of the ticking grandfather clock in the sitting room magnifying itself to fill the entire front hall with ear-piercing knocks. Never taking his eyes off the diminuitive butler, the Count slowly swivelled to the right and walked away, until he vanished down the hall towards the south end of the house. A warning, nothing more. Duo exhaled, grabbed Heero's other arm so he had one in each hand, and shook him lightly from behind, laughing. "Oh man, did you see his face? He looked like he was gonna rip your head off! Wow!" Heero turned his head and gave him an astonished look. What in blue blazes was he so happy about? You obviously have no idea how dangerous Treize could be, or you wouldn't be so flippant about this. "...hn. Let's get out of here." With that, they jogged quickly in the opposite direction Treize had gone, to the servants' stairs and down to the kitchen. Heero knew all too painfully that he quite possibly had blown his cover, and endangered Duo as well; he also had a gut feeling that Wagner would be on the next train out of London and almost impossible to trace after that day. For that reason alone, he knew Treize was up to something, or was covering something up, and that it could be more than what Jeffrhyss had sent him there to find. |
~~~~~~~~~~
Next, in Episode Eleven: Trowa debates coming clean about his own checkered past to his troubled friend, in the hopes that it might bring comfort to them both. Duo issues a challenge to his teacher, and becomes the teacher himself as he is determined to make Heero understand his philosophy of living...but it's a harder lesson than it looks. Will it bring them closer to understanding, or drive them further apart?
You know what? I make a big deal out of Duo's eyes being purple or a variation therof. You know what else? The official website says they're "cobalt blue". I say, "nuts to them" and I shall call them purple 'till the day they haul me off in the pretty white van. I happen to like purple. =P So anyway, next episode...*looks at calendar*...I think I can crank out the next one by the 24th. *crosses fingers* I've never missed a deadline yet! =^-^=