Disclaimer: All characters mentioned belong in the animé series Gundam Wing. The plot is taken from the book Midnight Pearls by Debbie Viguié. So ALL credit goes to her. Please don't sue me…?
Summary: A mermaid story like never before. They say that the prince was bonded to a boy who was not what he appeared and that another boy who saved the kingdom vanished without a trace. Some said it was witchcraft. Some said it was only a legend. For those who knew the truth, it was magic… (eventual 3x4 and 1x2)
Warnings: Complete OOCness of major characters. A surprise visit from a totally unexpected "pilot," and this'll be my last update for quite a while. It's Finals week starting today (Monday) and next week, we're going to our province for a family reunion. Since said province has a minimum chance of having net connections… well, you know what I mean. Be back to post some more chappies before the end of March. Ja and happy reading!
Out of the Sea
By Ninetails
Chapter 2
Quaterina came, her face wet with tears, to tell Quatre it was time. His consort was waiting for him. Quatre began to cry as well, wanting to run, but knowing that he could not.
THIRTEEN YEARS LATER
The hairs on the back of his neck tingled, and Quatre turned his head toward the street. He willed his legs to move forward even as someone beside him cried out. A horse was running out of control, with a cart careening crazily behind the beast. The owner was chasing behind, shouting curses at the animal. Directly in the path of the horse and cart was a small boy playing with a worm he had found in the dirt.
Quatre stumbled on a slightly raised mound of earth but regained his footing. He stretched out his arms and snatched the child, pulling him out of the way. With the child in his arms, he stumbled backwards and fell, sprawled in the dirt in front of the vegetable cart where he had been shopping.
He lay still for a moment, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. The little boy began to struggle and cry, and his mother rushed to pick him up. Slowly, Quatre sat up and began to scramble to his feet. He straightened his shirt and beat at his trousers, trying to get the dirt out. Realizing it was a futile task, he gave up and picked up his basket from where he had dropped it. His mother would not approve him getting the food dirty. After finally allowing him to take up her chore of shopping, Quatre felt it a duty to bring her as much quality food as she always did.
"Thank you for saving him."
Quatre looked up. The child's mother was no older than he was. Quatre wasn't surprised. By the time a young one from the village reached seventeen, he or she was usually bonded and often had at least one child. The little boy was staring at Quatre. Slowly, his arm came up and his finger stretched out, pointing at him.
"You're welcome," Quatre answered. People were staring and he started to fidget uncomfortably.
"Momma," the boy said, still pointing.
"Hush, Dylan."
"But Momma, look."
Quatre felt tears stinging his eyes as the little boy began gesturing wildly. The child strained in his mother's arms as she tried to hush him.
"But Momma, why does he look like that?" he finally shrieked.
Anyone in the village market who had not been staring at the trio before, was. The woman whose cart they were standing in front of turned as red as the tomatoes she was selling.
Quatre could feel every pebble in the ground beneath his thin shoes. Like tiny daggers, they pierced his feet, rooting him to the spot.
The mother of the child was still trying to hush him, but with little success. She looked at Quatre. "Sorry," she muttered.
But she wasn't sorry. Quatre could tell by the way she stared at him. She lets her child ask the question that she's too polite to ask herself. Still, they all wonder why I look as I do; they always have. The girl turned and hurried off with her son still thrashing about in her arms. The other villagers slowly returned to their shopping, murmuring low as they bent over the various carts arranged around the edge of the village square. Even though Quatre couldn't hear them, he knew they were talking about him.
A chill danced up his spine as he turned to see the blacksmith staring at him. There was a glint of intensity in his gaze that unnerved him. Ever since he was a small lad, he noticed the odd looks the blacksmith always gave him. He looked as if to devour him, something almost predatory in his eyes. Quatre turned around quickly. Shivering, he picked out a tomato, paid for it, and headed for home. His mother could not make the trips back and forth from the village too constantly now, so he took the task of shopping from her.
As Quatre walked through the village toward home, he passed the village square. The village square was built around a tall post sticking up from the ground. Ancient traders had erected the post long before the village even existed, as a sign that this place was a crossroads and a good place to meet with other merchants. From those beginnings, people had begun to actually settle near the area of trade and the village had sprung up.
A hundred years earlier, the king of Arad Doman had built the magnificent castle that sat on top of the cliff that towered above the rest of the village. The village itself was on the bottom of the slope. Half of it actually sat on the slant, and the other half on level ground.
On the other side of the village ground again began to slope, heading down toward the ocean, and a path ran from the village toward the shoreline. It was this path that he walked now. His father, Rashid, was a fisherman, and he was grateful they lived just outside the village, close to the sea.
Once home, Quatre's shaking hands pulled from his basket the food he had purchased. He removed the tomato and stared at the vibrant red color. It stood out in stark contrast against his pale skin; blood red on alabaster white.
He put the tomato away and walked slowly outside. He held his hand up to the light and stared at it. His skin was so pale, he imagined he could see right through it to the blood and bones beneath. He pulled his braid forward over his shoulders; he refused to let it be cut, sensing that it was just… wrong. His mother agreed with him wholeheartedly, saying that such beauty is a shame to be cut. The hair shimmered against the dark blue of his shirt. His hair too, was pale, flaxen in color.
The natives of the village all had tanned skin and dark colorings. Their normal features were dark hair and brown eyes. Different colorings were reserved for royalty; they were the only ones who were slightly deviant from the dark colorings predominant in their kingdom.
No wonder the little boy stared. No wonder they whispered. What am I? He stared up at the heavens, but no answer came.
He sighed and began to walk toward the beach, dragging the toes of his shoes. The act of walking to the ocean usually filled him with joy, but his heart was too heavy.
"What am I?"
When he finally crested the little hill that hid the ocean from his home, he spotted a tall figure staring out to sea. He felt his heart skip a beat as he saw the man standing there.
When he was halfway to him, the other figure turned. "There you are," he said in a slight monotone that, to him, was with a hint of fondness.
Quatre smiled despite himself, wondering how long his companion had been waiting. His dark brown hair was wildly tousled, indicating that he'd been there for quite a while, pacing and thinking. He stood, every inch of his body alert, as though he was a predator poised to pounce on him. Oh, that he would, Quatre thought before he could stop himself. Appalled, he pulled his thoughts away from such visions.
Heero was his best friend, his only friend. Quatre had known him since they were both children, and he was the only one who had never treated him differently because of the way he looked. Perhaps it was because he, too, knew what it was like to be treated differently, to have people whisper and stare, and his friend disliked it as much as Quatre did.
"Good afternoon, Heero. How are you?" he asked when he reached his side.
Heero's blue eyes danced, specks of light shimmering in them like whitecaps upon the ocean waves. "Impatient. What kept you?"
"Me."
Heero frowned. "What?"
"I think there's something wrong with me." Quatre sighed, dropping down to sit on the sand.
The other man's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he took a seat beside him. "Now, what on earth would make you think that?"
"Look at me! can you honestly say that anything about me is normal?"
"Normal? Where's the excitement in that?" the other snorted. "Besides, who's to say what's normal, anyway?"
"You probably could," Quatre answered with a small smile.
Heero waved a hand dismissively, quickly stifling another snort. "I would much rather have a life filled with magic than one filled with mundane."
Quatre couldn't stop himself from laughing. "You are forever searching for magic, Heero, and I am afraid you shall never find it."
"Well, you certainly won't, not with that attitude."
"Good, I have no need of it." The sun beat down upon their skin, and Quatre could feel his tense muscles slowly begin to relax. He breathed deeply and tasted the salty air.
The tide was receding, and all along the glistening stretch of the wet sand were little specks of the ocean's bones, seashells that had found their way into shallow water only to be abandoned by the rollicking waves.
Heero shook his head at him. "We all need a little magic in our lives, Quatre. We need something to hope in."
"That's what the Light is for," he answered defensively.
"Yes, but the Creator is busy. We can't leave it all up to Him."
"Master Padan would disagree with you."
Heero snorted. "Master Padan doesn't believe in anything unless he can see it with his own two eyes or read it in the Scriptures. Even then, I'm not so certain. I think if a fay ever appeared to him, he would faint."
"Heero, how can you be so disrespectful?" Quatre admonished. He was shocked, but also secretly amused. He wouldn't have been surprised. Heero had an irreverent streak since he had known him, but rarely did he show it to anyone other than him.
The other grinned. "I guess it's my birthright."
Quatre couldn't help but blush at that. He dropped his eyes, suddenly too shy to look at the one beside him. Heero noticed the motion, though, and put a hand on his shoulder. The contact sent tingles along Quatre's skin, and when he forced his head up, he found himself pinned by his stare.
"Don't duck your eyes in front of me, Quatre. You know I don't want that."
"Sometimes we do not always get what we want," Quatre answered before he could stop himself.
His heart stopped for a moment as Heero stared at him. "I know," he finally answered softly before dropping his hand and looking away. Quatre's heart began to beat again, but now it was pounding so loudly, he was sure his friend could hear it.
Silence stretched between them and he slowly began to breathe again. They had known each other long enough that the silences were comfortable. Many a time they had sat here for hours not speaking a word, just watching the ocean.
"You know, it was ten years ago today," Heero said after a moment.
"What was?" Quatre asked.
"That we met," he said, with a slight grin. "Surely you remember."
"How could I forget? I came here to look at the ocean, to be alone with my thoughts, and there was a boy here."
"I was terrified that you were going to tell my father where I was hiding."
"I didn't even know who your father was."
"And I found that so appealing."
"Is that why we're friends?" Quatre teased.
"Well, that and the fact that I found you fascinating."
Quatre remembered the day well, though it seemed but yesterday and not ten years past. Heero had been so funny that he had laughed nearly the entire time they were together, much to his own annoyance. Even when Heero had tugged on his hair and told him that it reminded him of the color of the sun, he hadn't minded somehow. Maybe it was because he wasn't afraid of me, or judging me.
"We've been meeting once a week ever since, so over ten years that's about five hundred and twenty times."
"Probably more – some weeks we've met twice," Quatre reminded him.
"True," Heero said, cocking his head to the side as though trying to calculate the exact number.
"What's your point, Heero?"
His friend looked at him, suddenly serious. "You know me better than anyone else- sometimes, I think, better than I know myself. I just wanted to say happy anniversary."
Quatre swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, not knowing what to say. Heero took his hand and squeezed it gently. A new kind of silence stretched between them, and it was far more comfortable. His skin prickled as waves of emotion rushed over him.
Heero broke the silence suddenly enough to startle him. "You want to go for a swim?"
Quatre shook his head, relieved to change the subject. "No, I'll just sit."
"Every week I've asked you and every week you refuse. What is it? Are you shy?"
"No."
"Afraid that I'm a better swimmer? Don't want to be embarrassed?"
"I know you are." Quatre laughed. "I don't swim."
Heero stared at him. "How can that be? You love the ocean."
"I love to look at it, I don't go in it."
"Well, I'll teach you."
"No!" Quatre winced as he heard the sharp tone in his own voice.
His friend looked shocked. "My father's the only one who's ever taken that tone with me."
"I'm sorry," Quatre mumbled, dropping his eyes. "Forgive me?"
"You know I do." Heero paused for a moment and then asked, "Why won't you let me teach you?"
Quatre glanced from him to the ocean. He wanted to say yes, to have Heero take him out into the ocean and teach him to swim. What would it feel like to have the waters rushing against my skin? And would I ever want to come back? Surely with Heero by my side I would be safe, he wouldn't let anything happen to me.
The waves called to him. Below their steady roar and crash there was a singsong voice that he alone seemed to hear. He had tried pointing it out to Heero and his parents, but none of them heard it. He closed his eyes and listened to it now. Something in that voice called out to his heart. The ocean whispered to him, speaking in words that sounded strange and yet achingly familiar to him. Maybe I'll just put a toe in the water. I could do that.
Quatre sighed, frustrated, knowing that wasn't true. He knew that if he put his toe in the water, it wouldn't stop there; next he would place his whole foot, soon to be followed by the rest of him, and then… then he'd be lost.
Forever.
He opened his eyes and looked up at Heero. He had an expectant look on his face handsome face. Quatre shook his head. "I can't go in the water."
"Why not?"
"I just can't," he stammered.
"Why?" Heero pressed.
"Because if I go in the ocean, I'll die."
Heero stared at him. "What makes you think that?"
Quatre shook his head, helpless to answer him.
"Did your parents tell you that?"
He shook his head again.
"Do you think that because of what happened when you were little?"
Again, Quatre shook his head. He had no idea where the knowledge had come from, but he was as certain of it as he was his name.
"Tell me again," Heero whispered, so faint that he could barely hear him.
"What?"
"You know."
Quatre leaned back on the sand. "I've already told you the story, several times."
"Yes, but I enjoy hearing it."
He sighed exaggeratedly. "Okay, but this is the last time." Self-consciously, he closed his hand around the black pearl he wore around his neck. "Thirteen years ago, a fisherman found me in the ocean during a storm. He pulled me into his boat and took me home. He and Quaterina have raised me ever since."
"And all you had with you was that pearl?"
Quatre stroked the dark, shiny orb and nodded.
"And you still have no memory of your life before that?"
"None."
"It's a great mystery."
Quatre grimaced. "I think the only mystery here is why you are so fascinated by the story."
Heero peered into his eyes. "Look, Quatre. You might not want to know where you come from, but I do." He leaped back to his feet. "For all we know, you're descended from Fairy folk."
Quatre laughed out loud. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Well, it would explain your hair."
Quatre felt as though he had frozen inside. Heero must have seen the look on his face, because he told him, "I know you wish your hair was a different color, brown, or red maybe, but I think it's wonderful. Any other color just wouldn't suit you."
Heero sighed and gazed at the setting sun. A shadow crossed his face, and he looked suddenly older. When he spoke, even the resonance of his voice had deepened slightly. "I should go if I'm to be properly dressed for dinner."
"Who's going to be there tonight?"
Heero shrugged. "I don't know - a duke, I think."
Quatre grinned. "You don't fool me. Not a person comes or goes at the castle that you don't know who they are and what business they have."
Hero smiled faintly. "That's true. I just don't like to think about it when I'm with you." He waved his hand to encompass the ocean, the beach, and him. "Here, I don't have to worry about all of that."
Quatre scrambled to his feet and hastened to shake the sand from his outfit. "That's why we do this. So we both can be ourselves. I am very thankful that your true self is not the cold bastard everyone thinks you to be. I'll see you next week."
His comment produced a slight laugh from his friend. "You'll see me tomorrow if you're in the village."
Quatre smiled. "Yes, but then I'll have to call you 'Your Highness.'" He began to walk up the beach away from him.
"You wouldn't have to, you know."
"We both know that's not true," Quatre called back over his shoulder. "You are the prince of Arad Doman, and I am just a fisherman's son."
"You don't know that for sure. You might be a prince, for all we know," Heero shouted.
Quatre waved at him and continued on. "In my dreams. Only in my dreams," he whispered, to himself. He heard his father playing the flute, its faint sound tinkling on the wind, and realized that it was later than he had thought. He picked up his pace and began to run, enjoying the cool sand spraying up his feet.
Rashid sat outside the cottage. Quatre slowed to a walk as he approached his father's slumped form.
"You're late," Rashid remarked, putting away his flute.
"I'm sorry, Papa."
His father raised an eyebrow, but didn't question him.
Quatre slipped past him through the open door into the cottage. For as long as he had lived there, he had only seen the cottage door closed twice during the daytime. Both times it had been shut up against storms. The rest of the time it was open, letting the sea air flood in; letting the sea's graces in. For Rashid, the sea provided more than just his livelihood; it was a part of who he was. Quaterina would sometimes tease that saltwater ran through his veins instead of blood.
Inside, Quaterina glanced at her son while stirring the dinner that was boiling in a pot over the fire. "You've been to the beach again."
"How did you know?"
"You've got sand in your braid. What is it you do there, anyway?"
Quatre blushed. "I sit by the water and think."
Looking satisfied, Quaterina turned back to the table.
Quatre stared at her back for a moment, longing to tell her of the prince and the time they spent together. He opened his mouth to speak, but Rashid came in.
"Everybody wash up," Quaterina instructed. "I won't have dirty hands at my table."
"Already done," Rashid declared, planting a kiss on his wife's rosy cheek.
Quatre ducked outside and went to the water basin, where he washed his hands and face. It hurt to keep his friendship with Heero a secret from his parents. Still, he wasn't sure what they would say if they knew. Commoners and royalty didn't speak with one another, everyone knew that. Yet once a week it happened, right on the beach just steps away from his home.
Every week since he was seven, he had met with Heero. The first time they had met at the oceanside, Heero had sworn him to secrecy upon danger of Quatre's painful demise. He was terrified at first, but when the boy gave him a small smile, his heart was set at peace. He had not known who the strange boy was, only that he had escaped from some people he called his "keepers." Months later, when he found out that his new friend was a prince, and of his own land at that, he was frightened, for royalty was not supposed to mix with peasants. Still, he had gone to meet Heero, for he was the only one he could call a friend. Each week, Heero had had to devise more elaborate plans to escape from the castle and his tutors, and Quatre had always laughed until his sides hurt when hearing about his escapades.
The years had passed, though, and eventually there was no longer a need for the secrecy. Heero was grown up and allowed the freedom to come and go from the castle pretty much as he chose. His father had tried in vain to send personal guards with him, but Heero always managed to lose them and so his father had at last given up sending them. Still, the meetings had remained their secret. Of all the secrets in my life, it's the nicest, Quatre thought.
He went back inside to take his place at the table. Before he reached his chair, though, he caught his foot on the leg of the table and ended up sprawled on the floor. Embarrassed, he scrambled back to his feet. Rashid and Quaterina were already seated, and he thought he saw Quaterina suppress a grin.
"Did you trip over your feet again?" Rashid asked dryly.
"No, not mine, this time. It was the table's."
Once he took his seat, they bowed their heads and Rashid recited a meal chant. They ate in silence. Quaterina glanced from time to time at Rashid, who stared resolutely at his food. Lost in his own thoughts, it took Quatre several minutes to notice the uncharacteristic silence. He glanced warily toward Quaterina. His mother held his gaze for only a moment before averting her eyes. With a mounting sense of unease, Quatre turned to Rashid.
Without looking up from his food, his father cleared his throat. "Well, you might as well know. Thomas has been asking about you."
"The blacksmith?"
Quatre's stomach began to twist in knots. Something wasn't right. The blacksmith had always striked him as a perverse man. He always looked at Quatre so… differently. Just this morning, he had been staring at him so strangely in the market. "What does he want?"
Quaterina began to stand up, but Rashid put a hand on her arm. She locked her eyes with her husband, then sank slowly back to her seat.
The silence stretched on for several moments before Quaterina finally broke it. "He wants you to bond with his daughter."
"What!"
"He wants you and Natasha bonded," Rashid affirmed. "He told me about his intentions this morning."
"What - what did you say?"
Again, a glance between Rashid and Quaterina. "I told him I would have to think about it."
"Tell him no!"
Rashid sighed heavily and put down his fork. "It would be a good match for you. She is a kind lass, and she would provide you with her dowry and a home. "
Quatre pictured Natasha in his mind. Ever since they were little, she would always give him coy little glances that conveyed too much. Her brown eyes always followed him around, and her smile…
He shuddered. "I do not want her."
Rashid muttered something under his breath. "I know that, but it's a good offer and-"
"And what?"
"It's the only one you've had."
Quatre dropped his eyes to his plate as he felt his pale cheeks begin to burn crimson. He should have known this was coming. All of the other youths his age in the village were married. Still, he couldn't stop the feelings of anger and fear that mixed with his shame. "Am I supposed to be grateful, then, that finally a woman would want to bond with me?"
Quaterina quickly put her hand on Quatre's arm. "You know we're not saying that."
"Then what are you saying?"
"It's just not that we're not getting any younger and we won't always be here for you. We do not want you to be alone when we're gone."
"So, I should just bond with the first woman to glance my way?"
Rashid shoved back his chair and slammed his fist down onto the table. "Light, don't be so stubborn. If a kind girl wants to be bonded with you, that should be enough." He turned and strode toward the door. He paused in the threshold long enough to address Quaterina. "See if you can talk some sense into him." Then he stormed out into the night.
Quatre sat very still, afraid to look at his mother. He had only seen Rashid angry twice before, but never at him. Guilt washed over him. He had been a father to him, raised him as his own. Why couldn't he be a more obedient son?
"Well, are you just going to sit there or are you going to say what's on your mind?" Quaterina asked after a minute.
A look of dismay passed over Quatre's face as he looked up. "I don't love her."
"You can learn to love her," Quaterina said gently. She searched Quatre's face for a minute. "Is there another reason you have? Is there someone you are in love with?"
Quatre's thoughts turned to Heero. He was his friend and confidant. He was also royalty, though, and beyond his grasp. Do I love him? He didn't know, but he thought he might. All he knew of love was what Rashid and Quaterina showered upon him. But so far as the love between a man and a woman, he knew nothing of it. Love between men was also a complete mystery to him. Maybe I do love Heero, then. Things have been different between us of late. Could that be why I feel so strange when I'm around him? Still, such feelings, if they even existed, would do him no good. "No, Mama, there's no one."
Quaterina nodded as though it was the answer she was expecting. "Then, my son, would you at least think about it?"
"It would be good for you and Papa if I agree, wouldn't it?"
Quaterina gave a nod so slight that Quatre wasn't even sure he had seen it. "It would be good for you, too. She is a kind girl, and you would never want."
"And who else would want someone like me?"
"Any woman or man would be fortunate to be bonded to you."
"Then how come Natasha is my only option?" Quatre cried.
Tears shimmered in Quaterina's eyes as she came around the table and clasped Quatre in her arms.
That night, Quatre lay awake, listening to the sounds of the night and wondering what he should do. He resented the choice that had been thrust upon him, though he knew he should be grateful to be given one. Most fathers would never have dreamed of consulting their children, whether they be male or female, about their bonding.
I wonder what my real father would have done, he thought, and instantly felt guilty for it. Rashid had been the only father he had known, and he could never have asked for a kinder, more loving father. Still, there are times when I can't help but wonder what my real parents were like, and what happened to them. I guess I'll never know.
His thoughts drifted to Heero. All his talk about magic and his unknown heritage always pleased him a little. His friend's talk frightened him, though, as well. He wasn't sure he did believe in magic, but he knew that Heero did, and the thought that it could exist made him nervous. His friend believed so strongly, though, it was hard not to get swept up by his passion. He thought of the look Heero got in his eyes when he talked about the things that were near to his heart.
Alone in the dark, he could admit that he wished Heero had been the one who had asked for him. He was sure his thoughts must be a sin on his part - pride, supposition, or something. He couldn't quite believe it, though.
Heero was wonderful, everything that anyone could dream about. Even though he projected a front of a cold-hearted prince, he was still loved by his people. He was his dearest friend and Quatre did love him, at least in some sense. Sometimes he dreamt about him at night. Heero would stand before him and tell him that he loved him, but always, just as he was about to kiss him, Quatre would catch a glimpse of something over Heero's shoulder.
He was never sure what it was, a shadow, perhaps. It was always there, though, and it was somehow familiar to him. It called to him, telling him that there was something else, something he had lost and needed to find. Then, if he strained hard enough, he could see a pair of eyes staring at him, glittering in the darkness.
Those eyes haunted him. He would wake after seeing them, afraid to open his eyes for fear that he would see them blinking at him in the darkness of the cottage. In his dreams, Heero never kissed him, the eyes always stopped him.
The eyes were only in his dreams, never in his nightmares. The voice in his nightmares was different too. It always whispered horrible things to him, told him he was nothing, nobody. Told him that if he went into the ocean, he would die.
Tonight it would be different. Tonight there would be no nightmares. He would dream and he would ignore the eyes, and turn a deaf ear to the whispers. He would dream that he was really a prince, just like Heero had said.
He rolled over and faced the wall. "If I am a prince, then I may be eligible to bond with Heero," he told himself. It was folly, the dream of a child. Still, the words made him feel better, made him feel like he had a choice. He smiled slightly as he fell asleep.
TBC
Author's Notes:
… You notice that Quatre is somehow acting like a girl here? Gomen for that. As you might have guessed, the character (from the original book) I patterned him from is a girl. SO sorry for making him seem like a crybaby or a sissy or whatever. I mean, shopping and everything… I love Quatre most of all the GW characters and I don't see him as a sissy. It just somewhat… turned out that way.
As for Heero… (cringe)… Not my best work but…. (sigh) … Just think of the fact that there was no war here or no Doctor J so we are seeing "the Heero that might have been if he grew up fairly normal," ne? WAAAAAAAHHH! Gomen nasai! Don't kill me! I still want to get to experience having a boyfriend! WAAAAH! … (blinks)… Err, too much (useless) info, ne?
Rashid is, too. OOC, that is. Oh well. He and Quaterina make a… highly uncommon pair. At least in my opinion that is. So why IS Quatre shopping? Let's just say that Quaterina is too frail to make the trip to and from the village with a (big and heavy) basketful of various food items… and since Quatre is her only child…
As for Natasha being Quatre's only option… Quatre, even though he's a good-looking guy, is alien-looking to the people of Arad Doman. And since strangeness is considered as deformities in my (made-up) world of this fiction, no man or woman would even DARE be interested with him. Except for Natasha… and her father. Hmmm… make you wonder how interested he is with Quatre, ne? (Eek, AWAY, Hentai thoughts!)
And before you kill me further, rest assured that this IS a 3x4 and 1x2 fic. No mistakes there, it's all part of the extremely complicated plot.
Oh, and for the people who could relate, I had the book "Tatsinda" in my grasp till yesterday (Sunday). Wow. It's the greatest children's book I've ever read. The graphics are really good! That's why I'm totally in love with Prince Tackatan! (I can see you raised eyebrows. Yes, I know it's the silliest name ever, but who cares? He's gorgeous!) The author is Elizabeth Enright and illustrated by Irene Haas. Girls, I bow before your genius! I am you fans for ALL time! If you don't get a copy of the book, it's perfectly alright. Tatsinda was last published in 1963. The plot is WAAY better than the one in my fic, that's why I might change a few things in "Duo." But I'm too lazy right now so I probably won't get to it.
Replies to Reviews (Part 1)
Crystal Ketchum DarklightSo sorry for the confusion. I promise that all the mystery in this fic will be cleared up as the story progresses. Thanks SO much for being the first reviewer of Part 1!
FairrenErr… you think this fic is good! Wow… (does a "baka dance") Arigatou! Here's another chapter, though I fear that I won't update for a long while. We're going on vacation for a week so… "Nyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter!
ReaderYou were checking every day for updates! Wow. Err, so sorry for updating too slowly. I hope you like this chapter, although a lot of things seem more complicated and I'm sure a lot of questions are gonna be asked. Yeah, this story IS magical 'cause it's gonna deal with mermaids and… other stuff. Oh well… Talk to you (hopefully) soon!
