Disclaimer: Usual applies.
Here's the third installment - fondly referred to as "Crazy", or, as chapter three.
**A factotum - someone who does many different jobs/a general servant
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The chiming of a clock woke her up. She stripped the covers from her body, her mind already flying past the shower she needed to take, the clothes she had to dress in, the food she would eat and the car she would take to this morning's meeting. Her physical state was just past the bathroom door when her mind settled into a chair, ready and hungering for what was to come, the slender briefcase she had grown used to at her elbow.
Unfortunately, that meeting was another seven and a half hours away: Relena was therefore left in a vacant, hazy mood that nearly tripped her when her feet stumbled across the bathroom rug. Even that early in the morning - 3 AM - she could hear noises from below signaling that breakfast was ready, that other people had already left their rooms and gone downstairs.
Everything was still dark outside when she halfheartedly peeked past the curtains. The wane, gray light of January, mid-Winter, was nothing to look forward to, either. She could just barely discern the clouds from patches of bare sky: a few stars shone yet.
Slipping on a blazer Relena stepped out of her room, shutting the door behind her as quietly as possible. The dining hall lay in the left wing of the manor; on her way she passed by a private library, a small study that permitted smoking, and the door that lead to a chain of kitchens supplying the household with meals. Once in the dining hall she was given a seat opposite her traveling companion - Heero was on his second cup of coffee by then.
He greeted her with a nod. He was reading what seemed to be a newspaper of one of the larger colonies - perhaps the Xilian Star. (It was one of the three largest and most-circulated newspaper chains in space). She asked for coffee and - what were they serving for breakfast that morning?
"I will get you a menu, Vice Minister."
"Thank you." She played with the silverware in the maid's absence, poking the knife through the prongs of her fork. Her briefcase was usually brought into view just before leaving, handed either to a guard or the chauffeur, therefore she had little to keep her focused. At some point - after she had ordered - a section of newspaper was thrown her way.
"Quit that." Heero said, tone flat, referring to the jangling of metal knife against fork made. He had not looked up, just continued reading. Relena took the section and sank into the main article - written by a J. L. Preverson. Hadn't she met him at some point?...yes, yes she had. Jee. That was his first name. She had forgotten what the L. stood for.
"Hmm..." Heero looked up at her briefly as Relena read the last of the article with interest. "'Much doubt is expressed as to the authenticity of these escaped account summaries: the auditors and members of the industry's financial board, though, are adamant as to these reports' "...expressing what is true and right.." (M. Larson) while the corporation, as a whole, protests recent acts of investigation and suspicion as to their involvement in the Eve's war.' Unbelievable." Relena looked over at Heero, her eyes round. "Mariemaia's funding for the Christmas Eve war, in part, might've come from here?"
"It's a possibility." Relena's shoulders drooped.
"And Mr. Larson is the corporations CFO, correct?" Heero nodded. Relena set her plate aside to continue reading, the notion that Heero had purposely set that article under her nose in the background of her brain, overshadowed by this surprise.
The corporation, Exalcraft by name, existed through the energy produced produced in a power plant. It was stationed on a section of the moon and almost completely untouched by government rule until recently: its distance from any sort of populized area prevented much unwanted attention on the business' part, allowing it to monopolize - the war of AC 195 changed that.
(At this point, a satisfied grumble left her throat - a hand went up and settled at the hollow her collar bone created).
The type of energy the plant produced - doled out once refined and tuned by the corporation, of course - was rare, as the plant had been an experimental attempt from the get-go. Only in the last fifty years was it used to make a real profit, the research and lab having existed twice as long as that by then. The energy was efficient, the resources abundant and the making of it cheap to the firm. Of late it had been given the name 'retred-trash'.
("Tea, Ms. Vice Minister?").
("Mmh?").
This referred to the problematic reality of dumps and other areas where trash was gathered to be paid attention to at a later date. Even with the steps made by science and medicine the pollution resulting of these dumps had become alarming.
Exalcraft used the contents of the dumps on earth - 'trash' that, in some cases, had been around for many decades, decomposing into a fine, sooty, stinking mass - to create the energy 'retred-trash'. The nature-friendly chemical produced had paid itself off many times over in the time it had been made.
("Would you like tea, Miss?").
("Oh....sure, thank you.").
Unfortunately, the success of this business and their hold on it had given the heads of the corporation much unnecessary confidence, as was apparent in the accusation that they had a hand in helping Dekim Barton's quick rise to fame. Since the entire operation under Dekim Barton and Mariemaia had been planned since before the Gundams were made, Relena guessed it possible Exalcraft had been helping the entire time.
"Eat." Heero commanded. Relena reached for her fork and nearly stabbed her finger on one of the prongs. She glanced at him over the top of the newspaper, raised an eyebrow, and took a quick bite of food while turning the page, mumbling inbetween bites. It was a lengthy article and took all of breakfast to finish, leaving her wide-eyed and quiet.
The day had quickly progressed while the household awakened, the stars having once more disappeared in the coming gray. A coat was offered her, the used dishes carried off while she slid into it, the said suitcase brought into being and given to the chauffeur. Heero climbed into the car with her and they enjoyed a quiet drive to the nearby strip of land acting as a small airport run by a single jet. Already wind made Relena shudder and she turned the collar up on her coat.
She didn't remember the ride very well as she slept through it. Heero, sitting in the isle across, stopped the stewardess on board from bothering her when she made her rounds.
"What?" Heero leaned back in the seat, his mind off the flight taking him to Colony Haligon-9 and back into Duo's small, somewhat unkept house.
"How is it that I'm so easy to find?" Duo sat down next to him; Hilde stood outside in the yard, surveying a new pile of junk someone had dropped off last night. "Trowa's trail stops directly after that whole affair last Christmas and Wufei - "
" - Now works with Sally as a Preventers agent." Duo's eyebrows jerked.
"What? Since when?" Heero shrugged and Duo leaned back, stupified.
"Alright. I mean, Trowa's disappearance is normal, but - that's not like Quatre to do." They each shared a moment of quiet wonder before Heero cleared his throat, lightly, and took another sip of his coffee.
"Hm."
"So why am I so easy to find again?" Duo grumped. "I did a pretty clean job of wiping the trail."
"No one else's scrap pile business is named after a church, Duo." Duo returned to his former blank, early-morning stare, the tone of his voice wry.
"Smartass."
The same lady in uniform came by again - this time offering a small variety of chocolate, tea-bags they did not serve customers on board and non-slip slippers. Even the price for tea had gone up - several miles of land had been stripped of the nutrients needed to support crops since the war had used most unoccupied land as a temporary dump.
Although the entire war had been dealt with through machinery - mobil dolls and suits making up the majority of said machinery - chemical pollutants and general junk had crowded spaces once fertile and filled with plant growth.
"Water, thanks." The stewardess nodded and left.
This act of littering effectively crowded out small towns; people had swarmed into nearby urban areas and were only recently able of pulling out and repairing the damage done to their homes. But the cities suffered from this mass rush of people as well; desperation resulted in legal difficulties and conflicts concerning water supplies, sanitation and rent space arose.
The war occupied everyone's minds, and the privacy it was sometimes dealt with - the number of casualties often unreported, activities and battles held in Space kept quiet - unnerved those involved (namely everyone). But most of all -
- No one knew what side to take. This was the most controversial war in man kind's history: there was no clear bad guy. Everyone wanted peace in some way, shape or form - although the means of achieving it differed from person to person. Each side fighting the war had lovely, very compelling issues to fight for.
That these issues were sometimes only a mask did not matter since they were what persuaded the public. Soldiers seemed to have become Knights with a Knight's code of chivalry, with the possible forked tongue peeking out of a helmet every so often, politicians were at once Gods and buzzards in one, police forces differed only in that they had license to do what they did.
The shuttled dipped suddenly and Heero heard noises behind him. This caused him to smirk - inwardly.
Relena shifted in her sleep and the blanket over her lap slipped, making her fumble for it in a doze. Her associates were generally silent and a light murmur of conversation reached them from the back where the stewardess chatted on her cell. Earth decreased in size as they neared the Colonies, a portion of it sunk in shadow.
The shadowed portion played on Heero's mind - it was always the part that seemed to be the resting place for dead souls. From space, especially in the dizzying, adrenalin-pumped moments before landing, when one's spacecraft was just feeling the pull of that shell of gravity, the section was a brooding, distant threat - there one moment and gone the next as gravity's hold tightened, yanking, the shadowy section pulling its claws back as proof that one was not yet its citizen...
Relena's mind, affected by the glare of sunlight on a sea of clouds back on earth and sleeping against the hard part of the window frame, traveled between episodes in her life - far-fetched, at random, meaningless to what conscious mentality kept her from deep, undisturbed sleep.
She had traveled so often on such shuttle flights that unless the landing was turbulent she didn't notice anything. Had she been able to rewind her dream, though, what sound she would be able to catch would have been oddly reminiscent of the stewardess' chatter...
The small colony was crowded with newcomers - immigrants from elder colonies scheduled for destruction or reconstruction. The small procession consisting of Relena and her associates stood out amongst everyone else but had only a small run-in with the paparazzi. Heero had quit their company at leaving the shuttle - he did agree to meet her once they were situated, though. On the way to the hotel, they witnessed a remarkable occurance: it rained.
Rain on a colony had earnest meaning - fires in residential or industrial sectors, an epidemic, plugged sewers. Due to the value of water in a habitat originally without, colonies and other-planet inhabitants held strict laws over water reserves. Through the discovery of how to join hydrogen molecules with the needed oxygen molecule in order to 'make' water (aided, for the most part, by Exalcraft) it was possible to create reservoirs without infringing on Earth's water supply, generous yet finite - albeit with restrictions. Offense concerning these water supplies were dealt with little grace. Also, the act of letting rain fall was a decision made by the senior ranking official, none other.
"Oh, my...." Relena hadn't heard herself murmur this form of appreciation as she was still looking around her, through the fine, wet sheen around them.
It was beautiful - through the sheen of rain Relena saw out into space as though the glass shell separating them from that desolate vacuum were crying. Ms. Telapen, her assistant, reached out from her umbrella, the rain wetting her hand. She stuck her head further out and looked up - the pipes and faucets loosing the water over the colony were too far up, she didn't see much.
As their stay was short Relena shared a generous suite with Ms. Telapen, most often referred to as Rachael. Rachael was easy going but quiet, given to small ramblings and stammering as her mind usually lept ahead of her mouth. Relena left her in the suite to walk around, feeling the usual restlessness experienced after a shuttle flight. As she was too young to go into the bar, even with the Colonies' eighteen-year-old drinking age law, she ended up ambling into one of the smaller ballrooms, empty for the time.
One of the windows opened up into a startling view of the moon. Its pockmarked face was anything but the singing, moaning moon of earth - here it was quiet, sexless, lacking the allure it had always seemed to have. Here, the Lady of the Moon was a hag with hunched shoulders, her back always turned on staring eyes. You are Unwelcome, it seemed to say. The hag scrutinized the figure of Relena, by those large bay windows, over her shoulder - and sneered.
The moment passed; Relena went upstairs a while later, ready as ever for rest.
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Dorothy, rifle in hand, marched towards the green presently acting as the shooting range, a harried desk clerk in tow.
"Ms. Catalonia, why - " He tripped over some upturned grass. " - not inside?" She didn't answer, rather setting down a bowl of bullets on an old stump and taking a position. The target was in a general, oblong shape standing at 5'8. Three bullet holes had already appeared along the edge.
The clerk took up a position next to her and, unsettled, nervous, began the weekly report she had requested. His reedy voice, even in the open of the country on which the Catalonian estate was founded, barely reached her. She popped a couple of bullets in and assured that the gun was in good health.
"The, um, the accounts are holding up well, although the, um, stocks could be better - " POW. She cleaned it one final time. " - we suggest switching from Mannim Lumber to Nexale Timber Works while keeping to the Exalcraft as that should shoon - " POW. " - in value. As for reparations on the estate, perhaps lumber from Nexale might be a good idea? - " POW POW. " - been graced with a reputation of reliability and quality, and, um, works well with ebony as well as cherry, as you desired - " POW. " - although rather new, yes, rough at the edges...." POW. She paused to reload and he faltered.
"Is that, err, necessary, Ms. Catalonia?" Rather than answering Dorothy stared at the bullet holes she had placed in the target. The clerk gave up at her despondency and continued with what Dorothy admitted to herself as being a solid, thorough report. The man was being paid well for the work, though, and she felt their conversation should be restricted to the things that mattered - just what she was hiring him for.
The clerk rubbed his ears, the smell of gunpowder and other residue felt to be staining his clothes. He brushed at the leg of his pants, one more page to be read in the report before he could - POW.
He wanted earplugs.
Dorothy scrutinized the target with the severity of the Supreme Justice, concluding that her aim needed work. She set the rifle with new bullets and placed her feet farther apart, assuring herself that she was well grounded.
The next round faired better. By that time, Robbins had finished, the report dangling from his tight grip at the hip. She glanced over, her cool stair riveting and crisp for the first time since he had been ushered into her company.
"Very good. Continue to keep me posted." He waited; she turned, fired the next shot. After a while, he balked, a feeling of reproach welling up in his gut.
"Is that all?" He asked, his tone incredulous. Dorothy's rifle dropped and her head swerved in his direction - You're still here?
"Yes." She said bluntly, her stare unwelcome. He nearly let loose the guffaw predatoriously gathering to pounce out at the back of his throat.
"But - don't you have questions?" He pulled at his tie. "I mean, Exalcraft - shaky, risky, but worth the risk, right?" Her stare become forced.
"I have you to tell me this information and I base my opinion on that. It's what I pay you for."
"Yes, yes I know, but do you agree?"
"Yes, I do."
"What about the, the, the Holding account? The late Duke - "
The butt of the rifle dented the ground in its fall and the clerk flinched.
"Yes, I'm aware of what my Grandfather said in his will." She didn't trouble him with her stare anymore, rather focusing on the sky above the target, mouth turned up without mirth or cheer. "He stated he wanted the Holding account in place. For the time, I want it there, " She sighed. ", But if it becomes a concern in the near future, I expect you tell me of it."
The clerk's eyes bugged out and she took aim.
POW.
Dorothy felt satisfied. The clerk looked less so, leaning more towards mystified than anything.
"Don't - but your opinion!" He glanced down at the report, "You'll just take my word?"
"Of course not, but this time, I agree with you." POW. "Anything else?"
"No, I guess..."
"Good. Leave the report here - SEY-LENE! - and my maid will walk you to the door." She held a hand out, fingers crimped. "Thank you very much, I will see you next week." He regarded her hand with mistrust but shook it anyways as an unwilling worker must for their boss. A woman in her mid-forties, a native of the country, came hopping to take Robbins out. Selene, pulling stray hairs back behind her ears, led the confused clerk from the green and her employer, the sound of gunshots following after them.
"Pardon me, but is she always like this?" (A ring of gunshots sounded and he involuntarily jumped).
"Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"She's like all her fam'ly - craz'd." The clerk glanced over his shoulder and his steps faltered.
"Crazed? All of them are that arrogant?"
"So I've heard. This is the first time I work here." She joined Robbins in staring at the smaller figure of Dorothy, the butt of the gun at her shoulder, her stance solid. "She don't know different. I hear when her family was worse."
"Worse? Lord." The sun glinted off her blonde hair, turning it a blinding white.
"She's always alone here. No visitors." They started back up again, towards the manor.
"Who'd want to?" He huffed, unsure if Dorothy might have heard even at such a distance. The woman at his side shrugged; Dorothy was her well-paying employer, one that intimidated, but did not interest her. One could not get heavily involved with these families - they could suck one down into the myre in which they toiled, day after day. Craziness was infectious, and their type one of the more contagious kinds.
Noon was at its peak. Sweat began to roll down her forehead, her skin gaining a red, blotchy appearance. The full uniform she had on, one meant for the activity of practice shooting, began to weigh down on her. Hair stuck to the back of her neck, her palms felt itchy, her toes liquidy. But her aim was getting better..
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Just a few comments here - thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing - I'm enjoying writing again immensely. Whenever I have to switch from Relena to Dorothy, all the reasons I so happily write Relena's character have to be killed off until I can use them again - because Dorothy is...I don't know, she's the antichrist, she's everything I'd probably distrust (at first) or dislike (at first) in a person. But, g'dammit, she's a helluvalotta fun to write!
Ahem, so sorry, li'l tangent there.....thank you, anyways, always!
Here's the third installment - fondly referred to as "Crazy", or, as chapter three.
**A factotum - someone who does many different jobs/a general servant
______________________________________________________________________________________
The chiming of a clock woke her up. She stripped the covers from her body, her mind already flying past the shower she needed to take, the clothes she had to dress in, the food she would eat and the car she would take to this morning's meeting. Her physical state was just past the bathroom door when her mind settled into a chair, ready and hungering for what was to come, the slender briefcase she had grown used to at her elbow.
Unfortunately, that meeting was another seven and a half hours away: Relena was therefore left in a vacant, hazy mood that nearly tripped her when her feet stumbled across the bathroom rug. Even that early in the morning - 3 AM - she could hear noises from below signaling that breakfast was ready, that other people had already left their rooms and gone downstairs.
Everything was still dark outside when she halfheartedly peeked past the curtains. The wane, gray light of January, mid-Winter, was nothing to look forward to, either. She could just barely discern the clouds from patches of bare sky: a few stars shone yet.
Slipping on a blazer Relena stepped out of her room, shutting the door behind her as quietly as possible. The dining hall lay in the left wing of the manor; on her way she passed by a private library, a small study that permitted smoking, and the door that lead to a chain of kitchens supplying the household with meals. Once in the dining hall she was given a seat opposite her traveling companion - Heero was on his second cup of coffee by then.
He greeted her with a nod. He was reading what seemed to be a newspaper of one of the larger colonies - perhaps the Xilian Star. (It was one of the three largest and most-circulated newspaper chains in space). She asked for coffee and - what were they serving for breakfast that morning?
"I will get you a menu, Vice Minister."
"Thank you." She played with the silverware in the maid's absence, poking the knife through the prongs of her fork. Her briefcase was usually brought into view just before leaving, handed either to a guard or the chauffeur, therefore she had little to keep her focused. At some point - after she had ordered - a section of newspaper was thrown her way.
"Quit that." Heero said, tone flat, referring to the jangling of metal knife against fork made. He had not looked up, just continued reading. Relena took the section and sank into the main article - written by a J. L. Preverson. Hadn't she met him at some point?...yes, yes she had. Jee. That was his first name. She had forgotten what the L. stood for.
"Hmm..." Heero looked up at her briefly as Relena read the last of the article with interest. "'Much doubt is expressed as to the authenticity of these escaped account summaries: the auditors and members of the industry's financial board, though, are adamant as to these reports' "...expressing what is true and right.." (M. Larson) while the corporation, as a whole, protests recent acts of investigation and suspicion as to their involvement in the Eve's war.' Unbelievable." Relena looked over at Heero, her eyes round. "Mariemaia's funding for the Christmas Eve war, in part, might've come from here?"
"It's a possibility." Relena's shoulders drooped.
"And Mr. Larson is the corporations CFO, correct?" Heero nodded. Relena set her plate aside to continue reading, the notion that Heero had purposely set that article under her nose in the background of her brain, overshadowed by this surprise.
The corporation, Exalcraft by name, existed through the energy produced produced in a power plant. It was stationed on a section of the moon and almost completely untouched by government rule until recently: its distance from any sort of populized area prevented much unwanted attention on the business' part, allowing it to monopolize - the war of AC 195 changed that.
(At this point, a satisfied grumble left her throat - a hand went up and settled at the hollow her collar bone created).
The type of energy the plant produced - doled out once refined and tuned by the corporation, of course - was rare, as the plant had been an experimental attempt from the get-go. Only in the last fifty years was it used to make a real profit, the research and lab having existed twice as long as that by then. The energy was efficient, the resources abundant and the making of it cheap to the firm. Of late it had been given the name 'retred-trash'.
("Tea, Ms. Vice Minister?").
("Mmh?").
This referred to the problematic reality of dumps and other areas where trash was gathered to be paid attention to at a later date. Even with the steps made by science and medicine the pollution resulting of these dumps had become alarming.
Exalcraft used the contents of the dumps on earth - 'trash' that, in some cases, had been around for many decades, decomposing into a fine, sooty, stinking mass - to create the energy 'retred-trash'. The nature-friendly chemical produced had paid itself off many times over in the time it had been made.
("Would you like tea, Miss?").
("Oh....sure, thank you.").
Unfortunately, the success of this business and their hold on it had given the heads of the corporation much unnecessary confidence, as was apparent in the accusation that they had a hand in helping Dekim Barton's quick rise to fame. Since the entire operation under Dekim Barton and Mariemaia had been planned since before the Gundams were made, Relena guessed it possible Exalcraft had been helping the entire time.
"Eat." Heero commanded. Relena reached for her fork and nearly stabbed her finger on one of the prongs. She glanced at him over the top of the newspaper, raised an eyebrow, and took a quick bite of food while turning the page, mumbling inbetween bites. It was a lengthy article and took all of breakfast to finish, leaving her wide-eyed and quiet.
The day had quickly progressed while the household awakened, the stars having once more disappeared in the coming gray. A coat was offered her, the used dishes carried off while she slid into it, the said suitcase brought into being and given to the chauffeur. Heero climbed into the car with her and they enjoyed a quiet drive to the nearby strip of land acting as a small airport run by a single jet. Already wind made Relena shudder and she turned the collar up on her coat.
She didn't remember the ride very well as she slept through it. Heero, sitting in the isle across, stopped the stewardess on board from bothering her when she made her rounds.
"What?" Heero leaned back in the seat, his mind off the flight taking him to Colony Haligon-9 and back into Duo's small, somewhat unkept house.
"How is it that I'm so easy to find?" Duo sat down next to him; Hilde stood outside in the yard, surveying a new pile of junk someone had dropped off last night. "Trowa's trail stops directly after that whole affair last Christmas and Wufei - "
" - Now works with Sally as a Preventers agent." Duo's eyebrows jerked.
"What? Since when?" Heero shrugged and Duo leaned back, stupified.
"Alright. I mean, Trowa's disappearance is normal, but - that's not like Quatre to do." They each shared a moment of quiet wonder before Heero cleared his throat, lightly, and took another sip of his coffee.
"Hm."
"So why am I so easy to find again?" Duo grumped. "I did a pretty clean job of wiping the trail."
"No one else's scrap pile business is named after a church, Duo." Duo returned to his former blank, early-morning stare, the tone of his voice wry.
"Smartass."
The same lady in uniform came by again - this time offering a small variety of chocolate, tea-bags they did not serve customers on board and non-slip slippers. Even the price for tea had gone up - several miles of land had been stripped of the nutrients needed to support crops since the war had used most unoccupied land as a temporary dump.
Although the entire war had been dealt with through machinery - mobil dolls and suits making up the majority of said machinery - chemical pollutants and general junk had crowded spaces once fertile and filled with plant growth.
"Water, thanks." The stewardess nodded and left.
This act of littering effectively crowded out small towns; people had swarmed into nearby urban areas and were only recently able of pulling out and repairing the damage done to their homes. But the cities suffered from this mass rush of people as well; desperation resulted in legal difficulties and conflicts concerning water supplies, sanitation and rent space arose.
The war occupied everyone's minds, and the privacy it was sometimes dealt with - the number of casualties often unreported, activities and battles held in Space kept quiet - unnerved those involved (namely everyone). But most of all -
- No one knew what side to take. This was the most controversial war in man kind's history: there was no clear bad guy. Everyone wanted peace in some way, shape or form - although the means of achieving it differed from person to person. Each side fighting the war had lovely, very compelling issues to fight for.
That these issues were sometimes only a mask did not matter since they were what persuaded the public. Soldiers seemed to have become Knights with a Knight's code of chivalry, with the possible forked tongue peeking out of a helmet every so often, politicians were at once Gods and buzzards in one, police forces differed only in that they had license to do what they did.
The shuttled dipped suddenly and Heero heard noises behind him. This caused him to smirk - inwardly.
Relena shifted in her sleep and the blanket over her lap slipped, making her fumble for it in a doze. Her associates were generally silent and a light murmur of conversation reached them from the back where the stewardess chatted on her cell. Earth decreased in size as they neared the Colonies, a portion of it sunk in shadow.
The shadowed portion played on Heero's mind - it was always the part that seemed to be the resting place for dead souls. From space, especially in the dizzying, adrenalin-pumped moments before landing, when one's spacecraft was just feeling the pull of that shell of gravity, the section was a brooding, distant threat - there one moment and gone the next as gravity's hold tightened, yanking, the shadowy section pulling its claws back as proof that one was not yet its citizen...
Relena's mind, affected by the glare of sunlight on a sea of clouds back on earth and sleeping against the hard part of the window frame, traveled between episodes in her life - far-fetched, at random, meaningless to what conscious mentality kept her from deep, undisturbed sleep.
She had traveled so often on such shuttle flights that unless the landing was turbulent she didn't notice anything. Had she been able to rewind her dream, though, what sound she would be able to catch would have been oddly reminiscent of the stewardess' chatter...
The small colony was crowded with newcomers - immigrants from elder colonies scheduled for destruction or reconstruction. The small procession consisting of Relena and her associates stood out amongst everyone else but had only a small run-in with the paparazzi. Heero had quit their company at leaving the shuttle - he did agree to meet her once they were situated, though. On the way to the hotel, they witnessed a remarkable occurance: it rained.
Rain on a colony had earnest meaning - fires in residential or industrial sectors, an epidemic, plugged sewers. Due to the value of water in a habitat originally without, colonies and other-planet inhabitants held strict laws over water reserves. Through the discovery of how to join hydrogen molecules with the needed oxygen molecule in order to 'make' water (aided, for the most part, by Exalcraft) it was possible to create reservoirs without infringing on Earth's water supply, generous yet finite - albeit with restrictions. Offense concerning these water supplies were dealt with little grace. Also, the act of letting rain fall was a decision made by the senior ranking official, none other.
"Oh, my...." Relena hadn't heard herself murmur this form of appreciation as she was still looking around her, through the fine, wet sheen around them.
It was beautiful - through the sheen of rain Relena saw out into space as though the glass shell separating them from that desolate vacuum were crying. Ms. Telapen, her assistant, reached out from her umbrella, the rain wetting her hand. She stuck her head further out and looked up - the pipes and faucets loosing the water over the colony were too far up, she didn't see much.
As their stay was short Relena shared a generous suite with Ms. Telapen, most often referred to as Rachael. Rachael was easy going but quiet, given to small ramblings and stammering as her mind usually lept ahead of her mouth. Relena left her in the suite to walk around, feeling the usual restlessness experienced after a shuttle flight. As she was too young to go into the bar, even with the Colonies' eighteen-year-old drinking age law, she ended up ambling into one of the smaller ballrooms, empty for the time.
One of the windows opened up into a startling view of the moon. Its pockmarked face was anything but the singing, moaning moon of earth - here it was quiet, sexless, lacking the allure it had always seemed to have. Here, the Lady of the Moon was a hag with hunched shoulders, her back always turned on staring eyes. You are Unwelcome, it seemed to say. The hag scrutinized the figure of Relena, by those large bay windows, over her shoulder - and sneered.
The moment passed; Relena went upstairs a while later, ready as ever for rest.
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Dorothy, rifle in hand, marched towards the green presently acting as the shooting range, a harried desk clerk in tow.
"Ms. Catalonia, why - " He tripped over some upturned grass. " - not inside?" She didn't answer, rather setting down a bowl of bullets on an old stump and taking a position. The target was in a general, oblong shape standing at 5'8. Three bullet holes had already appeared along the edge.
The clerk took up a position next to her and, unsettled, nervous, began the weekly report she had requested. His reedy voice, even in the open of the country on which the Catalonian estate was founded, barely reached her. She popped a couple of bullets in and assured that the gun was in good health.
"The, um, the accounts are holding up well, although the, um, stocks could be better - " POW. She cleaned it one final time. " - we suggest switching from Mannim Lumber to Nexale Timber Works while keeping to the Exalcraft as that should shoon - " POW. " - in value. As for reparations on the estate, perhaps lumber from Nexale might be a good idea? - " POW POW. " - been graced with a reputation of reliability and quality, and, um, works well with ebony as well as cherry, as you desired - " POW. " - although rather new, yes, rough at the edges...." POW. She paused to reload and he faltered.
"Is that, err, necessary, Ms. Catalonia?" Rather than answering Dorothy stared at the bullet holes she had placed in the target. The clerk gave up at her despondency and continued with what Dorothy admitted to herself as being a solid, thorough report. The man was being paid well for the work, though, and she felt their conversation should be restricted to the things that mattered - just what she was hiring him for.
The clerk rubbed his ears, the smell of gunpowder and other residue felt to be staining his clothes. He brushed at the leg of his pants, one more page to be read in the report before he could - POW.
He wanted earplugs.
Dorothy scrutinized the target with the severity of the Supreme Justice, concluding that her aim needed work. She set the rifle with new bullets and placed her feet farther apart, assuring herself that she was well grounded.
The next round faired better. By that time, Robbins had finished, the report dangling from his tight grip at the hip. She glanced over, her cool stair riveting and crisp for the first time since he had been ushered into her company.
"Very good. Continue to keep me posted." He waited; she turned, fired the next shot. After a while, he balked, a feeling of reproach welling up in his gut.
"Is that all?" He asked, his tone incredulous. Dorothy's rifle dropped and her head swerved in his direction - You're still here?
"Yes." She said bluntly, her stare unwelcome. He nearly let loose the guffaw predatoriously gathering to pounce out at the back of his throat.
"But - don't you have questions?" He pulled at his tie. "I mean, Exalcraft - shaky, risky, but worth the risk, right?" Her stare become forced.
"I have you to tell me this information and I base my opinion on that. It's what I pay you for."
"Yes, yes I know, but do you agree?"
"Yes, I do."
"What about the, the, the Holding account? The late Duke - "
The butt of the rifle dented the ground in its fall and the clerk flinched.
"Yes, I'm aware of what my Grandfather said in his will." She didn't trouble him with her stare anymore, rather focusing on the sky above the target, mouth turned up without mirth or cheer. "He stated he wanted the Holding account in place. For the time, I want it there, " She sighed. ", But if it becomes a concern in the near future, I expect you tell me of it."
The clerk's eyes bugged out and she took aim.
POW.
Dorothy felt satisfied. The clerk looked less so, leaning more towards mystified than anything.
"Don't - but your opinion!" He glanced down at the report, "You'll just take my word?"
"Of course not, but this time, I agree with you." POW. "Anything else?"
"No, I guess..."
"Good. Leave the report here - SEY-LENE! - and my maid will walk you to the door." She held a hand out, fingers crimped. "Thank you very much, I will see you next week." He regarded her hand with mistrust but shook it anyways as an unwilling worker must for their boss. A woman in her mid-forties, a native of the country, came hopping to take Robbins out. Selene, pulling stray hairs back behind her ears, led the confused clerk from the green and her employer, the sound of gunshots following after them.
"Pardon me, but is she always like this?" (A ring of gunshots sounded and he involuntarily jumped).
"Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"She's like all her fam'ly - craz'd." The clerk glanced over his shoulder and his steps faltered.
"Crazed? All of them are that arrogant?"
"So I've heard. This is the first time I work here." She joined Robbins in staring at the smaller figure of Dorothy, the butt of the gun at her shoulder, her stance solid. "She don't know different. I hear when her family was worse."
"Worse? Lord." The sun glinted off her blonde hair, turning it a blinding white.
"She's always alone here. No visitors." They started back up again, towards the manor.
"Who'd want to?" He huffed, unsure if Dorothy might have heard even at such a distance. The woman at his side shrugged; Dorothy was her well-paying employer, one that intimidated, but did not interest her. One could not get heavily involved with these families - they could suck one down into the myre in which they toiled, day after day. Craziness was infectious, and their type one of the more contagious kinds.
Noon was at its peak. Sweat began to roll down her forehead, her skin gaining a red, blotchy appearance. The full uniform she had on, one meant for the activity of practice shooting, began to weigh down on her. Hair stuck to the back of her neck, her palms felt itchy, her toes liquidy. But her aim was getting better..
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Just a few comments here - thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing - I'm enjoying writing again immensely. Whenever I have to switch from Relena to Dorothy, all the reasons I so happily write Relena's character have to be killed off until I can use them again - because Dorothy is...I don't know, she's the antichrist, she's everything I'd probably distrust (at first) or dislike (at first) in a person. But, g'dammit, she's a helluvalotta fun to write!
Ahem, so sorry, li'l tangent there.....thank you, anyways, always!