Disclaimer: Usual applies.
'Human-voiced drones'
________________________________________________________________________________________________
There is no greater offense than to offend. At least, that was what people told her - subtly. Mrs. Dorlian, acting with that rule as guide, had promised a brunch, luncheon, afternoon tea and dinner to friends for each day Relena was visiting. The hours inbetween these rendezvous were their only times of privacy, which they fully enjoyed with or without each other's company. Relena had been a solitary child when out of school, as her mother was in much of her own regular life, so she found ways of passing the flighty hours easily by herself.
By the second day of her stay - two nights since she arrived - she felt the yoke a conservative family fit around the necks of its members with a bemused offhandedness. It was controlling but it did not control her. These were simply the guidelines she followed when at home, under her parents' roof - much like every household globally. She was used to the expectations and responsibilities following these set rules as well, having grown up with them as bedmates.
Ironically, her family fulfilled some stereotypes (there were so many made of rich, conversative christian families it was hard to avoid them all, even for radicals), including the ownership of a small stable and three horses, two mares and a gelding. Mrs. Dorlian had regretfully reported that the two stablehands hired for their care also exercised them daily as she herself had little time to spend on them. Relena hadn't been in a saddle in what felt to be years. She soon found herself on one the morning after she arrived and insisted on long rides each morning until she left for space once more.
Presently, she was on her way back from a two hour ride on the gelding. A surprisingly warm gale of air blew at her ears softly, tossing her hair around her neck from where it poked out her riding helmet. She digressed from a brief gallop to a tight trot, forcing thighs that ached and pinched around the rotund curve of the horse's belly in an effort to keep her weight in the saddle. With evergrowing expectations of grain rations at its box the gelding kept to the pace she set for them eagerly.
She could see the house in detail now. House, ha. Mansion, actually.
Old school chums were scheduled to visit for lunch. Her mother had expressed a gladness, even a relief at seeing Relena reach for those connections - she had almost been afraid for the circles Relena was in, considering her age versus social position. Nothing linked Relena to her fifteen-year-old self anymore, excepting family friends and their offspring. With regard to her youth - a solitary childhood spent under the glow of her parents' support, pride and expectations - Relena had not come into a role unlike one Mrs. Dorlian saw for her earlier. Now as then, she just wished the role came with a steadier group of friends. She never saw a large well of companionship spring for her daughter and doubted she ever would.
"Relena!" Mrs. Dorlian ushered her into the first parlor, a spacious area built for a less recreational purpose than the family's. Relena just saw the flutter of a skirt as a maid retreated from the room through a different door. Guests were supposed to arrive in the next five minutes, if not -
"Mrs. Dorlian and Ms. Dorlian: Margot Kinesburgh, Vera Riles, Yvonne Stattes, Leslie Yinamoto-Miles."
"Thank you, Thomas, send them in, please." Mrs. Dorlian briefly took her daughter's hands in her own, stroking the backs of them with her thumb. "If you don't mind, Relena, I'll excuse myself to the garden," Here she smiled and Relena noted with mild surprise the crowsfeet at her mother's eyes, "Since I haven't had much of a chance to tend to it since your father died." Relena smiled back; though subdued, Mrs. Dorlian was very direct - she had impatience with euphemisms concerning serious topics and chose to address them head-on. The death of a husband did not warrant 'pussyfooting-around.'
At that moment, the four guests entered; Relena could just see, over Leslie's shoulder, as Thomas waved a maid laden down with lunch into the hall behind the small troupe. They greeted Mrs. Dorlian with warm cordiality; when she retired from the room they swarmed around Relena, petting and talking.
"How are you?"
"You look rosy, 'been out for a walk?"
"Your mother looks so - healthy, considering - "
"Is that blackberry tea I smell?"
"Oh, she's alright, really - "
"We miss you, especially during class!"
"I was out riding, it's such a nice day - "
"You come up in class discussions and the teachers act so - "
"It's so funny, they're confused and - exhilirated, I guess, at the same time!"
"Leslie, you cut your hair!"
"Ooh, it IS blackberry! - anyone want a cup?"
"Isn't this a little short? I'm going to grow it out for a while, I'm just not - "
"I'd love a cuppa' tea, thank you, Margot."
"I know, I like my hair long, too - "
"Aren't you going to come to any of the school functions? - "
"Does Mrs. Edder still teach?"
"Oh, don't you go off on that dance, what a ridiculous school function - don't go to it, Relena, pure rubbish - "
"Mrs. Edder's leaving in four days, now that you brought it up - "
"Oh, what a pretty room - doesn't your mother have one of these, Vera?"
"I can't, I've got to go back to space in less than a week - "
"Mrs. Edder, that old doddard - "
"Iladra, right? Yeah, mother keeps her's in a shoebox under her bed, she' s still looking for - "
"Yvonne, if you're not going to call Mrs. Edder a doddard to her face, quit saying it! - "
"Less than a week? Masochist!"
"My father wanted to come, but I told him absolutely not, all he ever talks about are the Treaty of Canal and interspacial war-agreements - "
"Would anyone like to sit down? - oh, thank you, Margot, if we're out of tea, I'll call the maid."
"I would, if Mrs. Edder hadn't tutored my father in his university studies - wotta blowhard! - "
"Yvonne, be quiet!"
"I'll get more tea."
"You don't have to, Margot - "
"Class is so boring now, what with the new semester - what's space like, any meteor showers? - "
"Oh, I don't mind - I love your house!"
"Really, though - oh, there we go. Thanks, Liddie." The girls quieted only slightly when the maid came in with more refreshments, piping up again once she had closed the door behind her.
"Does your mother collect these, Relena? - I didn't know Iladra made so many 'Maidens of Virtue'!"
"About those meteor showers - "
"I'll pour us more tea, alright? Vera, don't spill your cup, it's tipping!"
"Oh, oops, thanks, Margot.."
"I have seen some meteor showers, but only at a distance. They're very bright."
"That's because of the dust and other grit that flies with them, Relena - "
"Leslie, are you studying them? - "
"No sugar, thanks, Margot - "
"They're my out-of-class astronomy project. Vera, you're about to tip your cup again - "
"Oh dear... - "
"Yvonne, do you still like marble cake?"
"Ooh, yes, I do, and Margot? - Does your father - "
"I hear your mother's campaign is going well, Yvonne - "
" - yummy - "
" - Oh-ha, Relena, you've opened up a can of worms now!" - "
"Pardon?"
"Vera, your cup - "
"There we go, saved! - thanks, Leslie.. - "
"Gods, mum's alright, but father's been tearing his shorts up out of stress - of all the politicians in the family, my mum's the first female, and he's not taking well to her success - "
"Yvonne comes to school - "
"Trashed, if I may say - " ("Margot, be quiet, honestly.").
"Mum and I got drunk together - "
("More than once!"; "Will you be quiet? - okay, twice, only twice, though! Out of stress, 'cause of father!").
"At least you weren't reported, Yvie - "
"True, that would've blasted.. - "
"Let's not talk politics - besides, Relena hears it everyday, don't you, Relena?"
"I'm fine, thanks for your consideration, Margot."
"Oh, Relena, remember Veronique Stratton?"
"Oh dear - " ("What is it, Vera, spill a cup?"; "No, no...Veronique Stratton, though..."; "Oh...I see... - ").
"What a - "
"Don't say it, Yvonne."
" - pill - I was only going to say...."
"My memory's hazy, who was she?"
"The irish ice queen."
"Well, her father's running - "
"Sweet girl, you know - sharpens her fangs daily, that kind of thing."
" - for some position in the South Pole."
"She's steaming mad."
"I find it funny."
"It is funny."
"Suits her, the South Pole."
"Oh, that redhead?!"
"Do you remember - "
"What do you know of - "
"Careful, it's tipping again! - "
"Isn't her mother - "
"Yeah, the divorce seemed to start it all - "
"Now you remember."
"Leslie, did your father get that contract for the Strait's Dam? - "
"Ooh, that journal entry I wrote for the Banker's Magazine of Italy? They accepted!" ("Congratulations, Vera.", "Sounds fantastic.", "I'll toast to that - a la raspberrry tea!").
"If you're not careful, Relena, you're mother'll get back on the market - "
" - and you'll never recognize the house again - "
" - It'll be like Penelope with her suitors, only less barbaric and without Ulysses." ("Quit the Greek allusions, Margot.")
"I think I can trust her, thanks - "
"Ha! My mother loved post-divorce, about two years after it happened, anyway - "
"Don't talk that way, widows are sacred - "
"Is that an old grammaphone?".....................................
________________________________________________________________________________________________
Heero squirmed in his seat on a bed yet unmade, its sheets and blankets heavily rumpled as though something had rolled in it, intending to relieve itself of a severe itch. The pillow lay askew on the floor. The curtains let in enough light to remind its occupant that daylight had broken in; sunlight stole into the room like one forbidden to show face after a great humiliation. Heero had sneered at it earlier before smoothing out his expression into one of extreme indifference and vacancy. He pulled up a chair, positioned it in front of him so its back touched the wall opposite, and set the Zero system's helmet piece on its lap.
Resting his elbows on his knees, chin propped up in the shallow bowl formed by his palms while his fingers drummed against his face, Heero stared at it. Shafts of light glinted over the helmet; it seemed to wink at him. He kept on staring at it, he stared at it for an hour on an empty stomach whose growling pitch was ignored. The longer he stared at it the sharper became the image; he recognized the function of some of the cords and baubles and buttons decorating the body, connected to the helmet. The room became heavy with unturned air and he was made to open a window. Someone knocked at the door briefly and he told them to come back later before placing the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door handle. Still the room smelled like him, his clothes and the sheets held the odor of his sleeping body - sweat combined with something like old leather, soil and cut grass, and the mushroomy-smell of hair two days unwashed - and WHY DID HE KEEP THAT GODDAMNED THING?!
He considered it. The question as to Dr. J's reasons for wanting to possess it had left his morning earlier and left him with an even more disturbing question: why did he keep it? Not only did he carry it with him, but he did so with caution and care, he hid it, faithfully kept it safe, it, he kept it safe, he did! Idiot! Masochist! Hypocrite! - no, the zero was shouting that at him, laughingly, scoldingly, patronizingly, sweetly - he hated it. The root of hate based against it buried deep into his soul, a jagged scar running through his character like a crack in cement. Heero despised the Zero. He despised it for reasons bigger than he could really understand - the Zero had messed with him, but he had been so misused before that the thought didn't incur wrath, only a numbing pain. The Zero had possessed him, but he only felt a great aggravation at having been so treated - no, the anger didn't really come from that, either...
The Zero had made a promise to simplify this frustrating, depraved world of hurt that Heero lived in. That promise, so shallow Heero was surprised he hadn't seen this before, had tied him to that thing. It could give Heero sight and mind incapable of being abused or misused; it honed his senses so sharply that taking the helmet off threw a blue film over his eyes and dimmed what he saw and heard firsthand. The black-and-white world mentioned before occured to Heero; it had been safe, direct, deliciously clear-cut. Actions, not emotions, defined one's place in the world there. Emotions influenced one's actions, degraded a person's character. They were bad. He hadn't any need for them. Emotions hadn't played a wonderful part in his life before and the thought of ridding himself of their grasp was sinfully tempting. He took it, he made a wild monkey swing at it. Never to be confused or frustrated or betrayed! Never to have to take time to decide matters he wanted nothing to do with, a removal of private torture! It was this, THIS PROMISE, broken, that had stung Heero, made him bitter against the Zero, its jagged edges cast into the scrapes on his beaten body ever time he had to remove himself of this other level of consciousness.
Humanity seemed difficult to achieve when one had so few good examples of it, or so he thought. The attempts he made were thus proving fruitful, but he still had a hairy suspicion - it wouldn't last. Something would break. Maybe life was like fine china; lasting but easily shattered. Perhaps Heero was just bullshitting himself. What the Zero, and Dr. J, and all those other, colorful characters he had met up with - what they taught him in basic survival they failed to mention the things beyond one's present existence, a future, hopefulness. Hope seemed to be at the core of everything, somehow; it was becoming an irritating word. Quick, short, with that round-mouthed 'o'-sound and the sloping 'p', full of meaning. There had to be other stuffs making up that core he was searching for, nosing his was through.
Perhaps hope made up one of many bits around a core - like the tissue making up a body organ. It seemed more likely. Or was that more bullshitting?
God, he could sit here and throw questions at himself for an eternity, what would that solve. The Zero still sat in front of him; he wondered why he didn't have some urge to throw it, smash it, stomp, trash, mess with, smush, squash, plunder it - he had almost expected a Jekyll-Hyde transformation to take place in which he would briefly take on the character of one wild, reckless beast capable of ending that spiteful machine. Oh, crap. Giving the Zero a personality would not aid him in finding answers, yet he was calling it spiteful...
Keep your attention on the problem at hand, you drone.
Fuck you.
..'S uncalled for....
Heero's wish - wish? Need? Want? He had yet to specify - to discover the doctor's reasons for demanding the Zero waned, eventually. He had no intention of being found, by the doctor or by anyone he was familiar with. Not coming in contact with the doctor kept him from finding this out. He was okay with that as the question held less shine than before, and the answer had decreased in importance. He had it, HE had the Zero, didn't he?! Well, damn, Heero, how about figuring out what YOU'RE to do with the thing now, ne'?
Plugging it up to an arcade seemed a grande idea, but...nah. He remembered the chilling nightmares aiding his despondency in early adolescence when he first used it. Dr. J had referred to them as....the words didn't immediately jump to mind, the thought quickly pushed to the side by a tortured throng of others bursting to the surface...
"Hurt? You call that pain? Quit shitting yourself and get back in there!"
"The Zero's bringing you down because you're not letting it have any control. Let it control you more. It'll help suppress your anger, channel it. Once you've got that, you can further the partnership.."
"Machine and human - one of the most celebrated and dependent relationships in existence. And the Zero - it is the epitome of machinery. Can you match it?"
"I'll beat you senseless next time - in one month, I promise you, you'll make no more mistakes. Believe me, the Zero's less forgiving - a few bruises will be a delight to attend to once it's purged itself of you."
"Not even the Zero's questioned my methods, and you won't, either. Ever."
"I don't have the patience for your hormones, boy, that's why. No go away."
"Quit muttering to yourself, Heero - what, are you gossiping with yourself? Talking to yourself is one of the first signs of insanity. You're not retarded? Not a retard? What, not a retard, really? If you're going to say anything, speak up, idiot!"
"What the hell do you think you're doing? Let it guide you, boy - you're nothing more than an electrical socket for the Zero, at my disposal; so don't waste my time."
"You little pissant - Oz's stupidity can't match your's in potential. Get the medkit - 'bout time you learned to attend to yourself."
"Paws of the machine. Here's a rag - start cleaning."
"To know the Zero inside and out, you work it and fix it on your own - if it takes you all night."
"Broken wrist? I'll crack your knees if you don't get back in there!"
"I hate it when people cry. 'Reveals what blubbering sob-stories they actually are. If you ever get started on me, boy, I'll kill you to save myself the irritation."
"Bones heal and get stronger when they break - at this rate, you can crack cans open with that nose of yours."
"Little japanese runt, don't give me orders! Is Oz channeling commands to you mentally? You clairvoyant, jap? Then shut the fuck up! I'm drunk if and only if I say so - who the fuck made you my judge and jury?!"
"Bother me with that again and I'll take a wrench to your head."
" - crack your skull if you - "
" - think pain's bad? Just wait - "
" - What future? What past? Live for the moment, it's all you've got - and it's all you've got."
"There are pieces of the human body I consider unnecessary - such as that tailbone of yours. Now get that back in there, pisser!"
"People are replacable. Soldiers and machines alike, though, are all the same and even more replacabole. You're simply the prototype."
"Clear your mind, idiot! This isn't a kamikaze mission! What have I told you about feeling in there? The cockpit's for the brain, not the heart - it'll gut you! - "
"Emotions weaken your will - "
"Concentrate, and maybe we'll get this emotional tick of yours smoothed out."
"Manuals are for wimps. Instructions are for wussies. Gut instinct, Heero - use your gut instinct."
"Ha! I'd pay to be part of the audience in a match between the two of us, Heero - we're alike, just at either end of the same line. I could outwit you, but you - you have a savageness quite unlike civilized humans usually do. I've never had a strong streak of it. It's what'll save you later, once harnessed by me, of course."
"Life beats the shit out of all of us, Heero - you think I aged this badly naturally? (Rhetorical). It takes a club to the average mentality, but for the tougher strains of humanity it needs a crowbar." Dr. J's grin rang clearly in the pained depths of Heero's mind as he recalled the moment; as an afterthought his mentor added, "The Zero is our crowbar, boy. We're lucky. We know our enemies. Know your enemies at all times, Heero. They make the best friends."
________________________________________________________________________________________________
Please review. ^ ^
'Human-voiced drones'
________________________________________________________________________________________________
There is no greater offense than to offend. At least, that was what people told her - subtly. Mrs. Dorlian, acting with that rule as guide, had promised a brunch, luncheon, afternoon tea and dinner to friends for each day Relena was visiting. The hours inbetween these rendezvous were their only times of privacy, which they fully enjoyed with or without each other's company. Relena had been a solitary child when out of school, as her mother was in much of her own regular life, so she found ways of passing the flighty hours easily by herself.
By the second day of her stay - two nights since she arrived - she felt the yoke a conservative family fit around the necks of its members with a bemused offhandedness. It was controlling but it did not control her. These were simply the guidelines she followed when at home, under her parents' roof - much like every household globally. She was used to the expectations and responsibilities following these set rules as well, having grown up with them as bedmates.
Ironically, her family fulfilled some stereotypes (there were so many made of rich, conversative christian families it was hard to avoid them all, even for radicals), including the ownership of a small stable and three horses, two mares and a gelding. Mrs. Dorlian had regretfully reported that the two stablehands hired for their care also exercised them daily as she herself had little time to spend on them. Relena hadn't been in a saddle in what felt to be years. She soon found herself on one the morning after she arrived and insisted on long rides each morning until she left for space once more.
Presently, she was on her way back from a two hour ride on the gelding. A surprisingly warm gale of air blew at her ears softly, tossing her hair around her neck from where it poked out her riding helmet. She digressed from a brief gallop to a tight trot, forcing thighs that ached and pinched around the rotund curve of the horse's belly in an effort to keep her weight in the saddle. With evergrowing expectations of grain rations at its box the gelding kept to the pace she set for them eagerly.
She could see the house in detail now. House, ha. Mansion, actually.
Old school chums were scheduled to visit for lunch. Her mother had expressed a gladness, even a relief at seeing Relena reach for those connections - she had almost been afraid for the circles Relena was in, considering her age versus social position. Nothing linked Relena to her fifteen-year-old self anymore, excepting family friends and their offspring. With regard to her youth - a solitary childhood spent under the glow of her parents' support, pride and expectations - Relena had not come into a role unlike one Mrs. Dorlian saw for her earlier. Now as then, she just wished the role came with a steadier group of friends. She never saw a large well of companionship spring for her daughter and doubted she ever would.
"Relena!" Mrs. Dorlian ushered her into the first parlor, a spacious area built for a less recreational purpose than the family's. Relena just saw the flutter of a skirt as a maid retreated from the room through a different door. Guests were supposed to arrive in the next five minutes, if not -
"Mrs. Dorlian and Ms. Dorlian: Margot Kinesburgh, Vera Riles, Yvonne Stattes, Leslie Yinamoto-Miles."
"Thank you, Thomas, send them in, please." Mrs. Dorlian briefly took her daughter's hands in her own, stroking the backs of them with her thumb. "If you don't mind, Relena, I'll excuse myself to the garden," Here she smiled and Relena noted with mild surprise the crowsfeet at her mother's eyes, "Since I haven't had much of a chance to tend to it since your father died." Relena smiled back; though subdued, Mrs. Dorlian was very direct - she had impatience with euphemisms concerning serious topics and chose to address them head-on. The death of a husband did not warrant 'pussyfooting-around.'
At that moment, the four guests entered; Relena could just see, over Leslie's shoulder, as Thomas waved a maid laden down with lunch into the hall behind the small troupe. They greeted Mrs. Dorlian with warm cordiality; when she retired from the room they swarmed around Relena, petting and talking.
"How are you?"
"You look rosy, 'been out for a walk?"
"Your mother looks so - healthy, considering - "
"Is that blackberry tea I smell?"
"Oh, she's alright, really - "
"We miss you, especially during class!"
"I was out riding, it's such a nice day - "
"You come up in class discussions and the teachers act so - "
"It's so funny, they're confused and - exhilirated, I guess, at the same time!"
"Leslie, you cut your hair!"
"Ooh, it IS blackberry! - anyone want a cup?"
"Isn't this a little short? I'm going to grow it out for a while, I'm just not - "
"I'd love a cuppa' tea, thank you, Margot."
"I know, I like my hair long, too - "
"Aren't you going to come to any of the school functions? - "
"Does Mrs. Edder still teach?"
"Oh, don't you go off on that dance, what a ridiculous school function - don't go to it, Relena, pure rubbish - "
"Mrs. Edder's leaving in four days, now that you brought it up - "
"Oh, what a pretty room - doesn't your mother have one of these, Vera?"
"I can't, I've got to go back to space in less than a week - "
"Mrs. Edder, that old doddard - "
"Iladra, right? Yeah, mother keeps her's in a shoebox under her bed, she' s still looking for - "
"Yvonne, if you're not going to call Mrs. Edder a doddard to her face, quit saying it! - "
"Less than a week? Masochist!"
"My father wanted to come, but I told him absolutely not, all he ever talks about are the Treaty of Canal and interspacial war-agreements - "
"Would anyone like to sit down? - oh, thank you, Margot, if we're out of tea, I'll call the maid."
"I would, if Mrs. Edder hadn't tutored my father in his university studies - wotta blowhard! - "
"Yvonne, be quiet!"
"I'll get more tea."
"You don't have to, Margot - "
"Class is so boring now, what with the new semester - what's space like, any meteor showers? - "
"Oh, I don't mind - I love your house!"
"Really, though - oh, there we go. Thanks, Liddie." The girls quieted only slightly when the maid came in with more refreshments, piping up again once she had closed the door behind her.
"Does your mother collect these, Relena? - I didn't know Iladra made so many 'Maidens of Virtue'!"
"About those meteor showers - "
"I'll pour us more tea, alright? Vera, don't spill your cup, it's tipping!"
"Oh, oops, thanks, Margot.."
"I have seen some meteor showers, but only at a distance. They're very bright."
"That's because of the dust and other grit that flies with them, Relena - "
"Leslie, are you studying them? - "
"No sugar, thanks, Margot - "
"They're my out-of-class astronomy project. Vera, you're about to tip your cup again - "
"Oh dear... - "
"Yvonne, do you still like marble cake?"
"Ooh, yes, I do, and Margot? - Does your father - "
"I hear your mother's campaign is going well, Yvonne - "
" - yummy - "
" - Oh-ha, Relena, you've opened up a can of worms now!" - "
"Pardon?"
"Vera, your cup - "
"There we go, saved! - thanks, Leslie.. - "
"Gods, mum's alright, but father's been tearing his shorts up out of stress - of all the politicians in the family, my mum's the first female, and he's not taking well to her success - "
"Yvonne comes to school - "
"Trashed, if I may say - " ("Margot, be quiet, honestly.").
"Mum and I got drunk together - "
("More than once!"; "Will you be quiet? - okay, twice, only twice, though! Out of stress, 'cause of father!").
"At least you weren't reported, Yvie - "
"True, that would've blasted.. - "
"Let's not talk politics - besides, Relena hears it everyday, don't you, Relena?"
"I'm fine, thanks for your consideration, Margot."
"Oh, Relena, remember Veronique Stratton?"
"Oh dear - " ("What is it, Vera, spill a cup?"; "No, no...Veronique Stratton, though..."; "Oh...I see... - ").
"What a - "
"Don't say it, Yvonne."
" - pill - I was only going to say...."
"My memory's hazy, who was she?"
"The irish ice queen."
"Well, her father's running - "
"Sweet girl, you know - sharpens her fangs daily, that kind of thing."
" - for some position in the South Pole."
"She's steaming mad."
"I find it funny."
"It is funny."
"Suits her, the South Pole."
"Oh, that redhead?!"
"Do you remember - "
"What do you know of - "
"Careful, it's tipping again! - "
"Isn't her mother - "
"Yeah, the divorce seemed to start it all - "
"Now you remember."
"Leslie, did your father get that contract for the Strait's Dam? - "
"Ooh, that journal entry I wrote for the Banker's Magazine of Italy? They accepted!" ("Congratulations, Vera.", "Sounds fantastic.", "I'll toast to that - a la raspberrry tea!").
"If you're not careful, Relena, you're mother'll get back on the market - "
" - and you'll never recognize the house again - "
" - It'll be like Penelope with her suitors, only less barbaric and without Ulysses." ("Quit the Greek allusions, Margot.")
"I think I can trust her, thanks - "
"Ha! My mother loved post-divorce, about two years after it happened, anyway - "
"Don't talk that way, widows are sacred - "
"Is that an old grammaphone?".....................................
________________________________________________________________________________________________
Heero squirmed in his seat on a bed yet unmade, its sheets and blankets heavily rumpled as though something had rolled in it, intending to relieve itself of a severe itch. The pillow lay askew on the floor. The curtains let in enough light to remind its occupant that daylight had broken in; sunlight stole into the room like one forbidden to show face after a great humiliation. Heero had sneered at it earlier before smoothing out his expression into one of extreme indifference and vacancy. He pulled up a chair, positioned it in front of him so its back touched the wall opposite, and set the Zero system's helmet piece on its lap.
Resting his elbows on his knees, chin propped up in the shallow bowl formed by his palms while his fingers drummed against his face, Heero stared at it. Shafts of light glinted over the helmet; it seemed to wink at him. He kept on staring at it, he stared at it for an hour on an empty stomach whose growling pitch was ignored. The longer he stared at it the sharper became the image; he recognized the function of some of the cords and baubles and buttons decorating the body, connected to the helmet. The room became heavy with unturned air and he was made to open a window. Someone knocked at the door briefly and he told them to come back later before placing the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door handle. Still the room smelled like him, his clothes and the sheets held the odor of his sleeping body - sweat combined with something like old leather, soil and cut grass, and the mushroomy-smell of hair two days unwashed - and WHY DID HE KEEP THAT GODDAMNED THING?!
He considered it. The question as to Dr. J's reasons for wanting to possess it had left his morning earlier and left him with an even more disturbing question: why did he keep it? Not only did he carry it with him, but he did so with caution and care, he hid it, faithfully kept it safe, it, he kept it safe, he did! Idiot! Masochist! Hypocrite! - no, the zero was shouting that at him, laughingly, scoldingly, patronizingly, sweetly - he hated it. The root of hate based against it buried deep into his soul, a jagged scar running through his character like a crack in cement. Heero despised the Zero. He despised it for reasons bigger than he could really understand - the Zero had messed with him, but he had been so misused before that the thought didn't incur wrath, only a numbing pain. The Zero had possessed him, but he only felt a great aggravation at having been so treated - no, the anger didn't really come from that, either...
The Zero had made a promise to simplify this frustrating, depraved world of hurt that Heero lived in. That promise, so shallow Heero was surprised he hadn't seen this before, had tied him to that thing. It could give Heero sight and mind incapable of being abused or misused; it honed his senses so sharply that taking the helmet off threw a blue film over his eyes and dimmed what he saw and heard firsthand. The black-and-white world mentioned before occured to Heero; it had been safe, direct, deliciously clear-cut. Actions, not emotions, defined one's place in the world there. Emotions influenced one's actions, degraded a person's character. They were bad. He hadn't any need for them. Emotions hadn't played a wonderful part in his life before and the thought of ridding himself of their grasp was sinfully tempting. He took it, he made a wild monkey swing at it. Never to be confused or frustrated or betrayed! Never to have to take time to decide matters he wanted nothing to do with, a removal of private torture! It was this, THIS PROMISE, broken, that had stung Heero, made him bitter against the Zero, its jagged edges cast into the scrapes on his beaten body ever time he had to remove himself of this other level of consciousness.
Humanity seemed difficult to achieve when one had so few good examples of it, or so he thought. The attempts he made were thus proving fruitful, but he still had a hairy suspicion - it wouldn't last. Something would break. Maybe life was like fine china; lasting but easily shattered. Perhaps Heero was just bullshitting himself. What the Zero, and Dr. J, and all those other, colorful characters he had met up with - what they taught him in basic survival they failed to mention the things beyond one's present existence, a future, hopefulness. Hope seemed to be at the core of everything, somehow; it was becoming an irritating word. Quick, short, with that round-mouthed 'o'-sound and the sloping 'p', full of meaning. There had to be other stuffs making up that core he was searching for, nosing his was through.
Perhaps hope made up one of many bits around a core - like the tissue making up a body organ. It seemed more likely. Or was that more bullshitting?
God, he could sit here and throw questions at himself for an eternity, what would that solve. The Zero still sat in front of him; he wondered why he didn't have some urge to throw it, smash it, stomp, trash, mess with, smush, squash, plunder it - he had almost expected a Jekyll-Hyde transformation to take place in which he would briefly take on the character of one wild, reckless beast capable of ending that spiteful machine. Oh, crap. Giving the Zero a personality would not aid him in finding answers, yet he was calling it spiteful...
Keep your attention on the problem at hand, you drone.
Fuck you.
..'S uncalled for....
Heero's wish - wish? Need? Want? He had yet to specify - to discover the doctor's reasons for demanding the Zero waned, eventually. He had no intention of being found, by the doctor or by anyone he was familiar with. Not coming in contact with the doctor kept him from finding this out. He was okay with that as the question held less shine than before, and the answer had decreased in importance. He had it, HE had the Zero, didn't he?! Well, damn, Heero, how about figuring out what YOU'RE to do with the thing now, ne'?
Plugging it up to an arcade seemed a grande idea, but...nah. He remembered the chilling nightmares aiding his despondency in early adolescence when he first used it. Dr. J had referred to them as....the words didn't immediately jump to mind, the thought quickly pushed to the side by a tortured throng of others bursting to the surface...
"Hurt? You call that pain? Quit shitting yourself and get back in there!"
"The Zero's bringing you down because you're not letting it have any control. Let it control you more. It'll help suppress your anger, channel it. Once you've got that, you can further the partnership.."
"Machine and human - one of the most celebrated and dependent relationships in existence. And the Zero - it is the epitome of machinery. Can you match it?"
"I'll beat you senseless next time - in one month, I promise you, you'll make no more mistakes. Believe me, the Zero's less forgiving - a few bruises will be a delight to attend to once it's purged itself of you."
"Not even the Zero's questioned my methods, and you won't, either. Ever."
"I don't have the patience for your hormones, boy, that's why. No go away."
"Quit muttering to yourself, Heero - what, are you gossiping with yourself? Talking to yourself is one of the first signs of insanity. You're not retarded? Not a retard? What, not a retard, really? If you're going to say anything, speak up, idiot!"
"What the hell do you think you're doing? Let it guide you, boy - you're nothing more than an electrical socket for the Zero, at my disposal; so don't waste my time."
"You little pissant - Oz's stupidity can't match your's in potential. Get the medkit - 'bout time you learned to attend to yourself."
"Paws of the machine. Here's a rag - start cleaning."
"To know the Zero inside and out, you work it and fix it on your own - if it takes you all night."
"Broken wrist? I'll crack your knees if you don't get back in there!"
"I hate it when people cry. 'Reveals what blubbering sob-stories they actually are. If you ever get started on me, boy, I'll kill you to save myself the irritation."
"Bones heal and get stronger when they break - at this rate, you can crack cans open with that nose of yours."
"Little japanese runt, don't give me orders! Is Oz channeling commands to you mentally? You clairvoyant, jap? Then shut the fuck up! I'm drunk if and only if I say so - who the fuck made you my judge and jury?!"
"Bother me with that again and I'll take a wrench to your head."
" - crack your skull if you - "
" - think pain's bad? Just wait - "
" - What future? What past? Live for the moment, it's all you've got - and it's all you've got."
"There are pieces of the human body I consider unnecessary - such as that tailbone of yours. Now get that back in there, pisser!"
"People are replacable. Soldiers and machines alike, though, are all the same and even more replacabole. You're simply the prototype."
"Clear your mind, idiot! This isn't a kamikaze mission! What have I told you about feeling in there? The cockpit's for the brain, not the heart - it'll gut you! - "
"Emotions weaken your will - "
"Concentrate, and maybe we'll get this emotional tick of yours smoothed out."
"Manuals are for wimps. Instructions are for wussies. Gut instinct, Heero - use your gut instinct."
"Ha! I'd pay to be part of the audience in a match between the two of us, Heero - we're alike, just at either end of the same line. I could outwit you, but you - you have a savageness quite unlike civilized humans usually do. I've never had a strong streak of it. It's what'll save you later, once harnessed by me, of course."
"Life beats the shit out of all of us, Heero - you think I aged this badly naturally? (Rhetorical). It takes a club to the average mentality, but for the tougher strains of humanity it needs a crowbar." Dr. J's grin rang clearly in the pained depths of Heero's mind as he recalled the moment; as an afterthought his mentor added, "The Zero is our crowbar, boy. We're lucky. We know our enemies. Know your enemies at all times, Heero. They make the best friends."
________________________________________________________________________________________________
Please review. ^ ^