Chemistry. A story. About..well..signs. Well signs is this chapter's theme
anyway.
Warnings and Content: well, im not even going to go there. If you are one of my loyal readers which odds are that you are not, then you already know that I'm not a person who w ould put up some good old fashioned pwp.(well not anything heavy) but don't get me wrong, if your looking for "GUNDAM WING MEGA OOC YURI-YAOI Lemon-fest!!!!" then you got the wrong writ-err site, I mean. (Those bastards wont stop till were only allowed to submit g- rated fics) but if you have read some of my earlier fics, then you know that ANYTHING can most likely will happen. You have been warned-things will get heavy-but don't get your hopes up, I can only go push the envelope so far...FUCK IT. WARNINGS: VIOLENTLY SATISFYING LIME
Dorothy threw her things into the decorative woven hicory chair that sat on her lower porch and closed the door behind her. She cought her butler, Hudson watching her through the den window and shooed him away before he could motion to her if she needed any help. Hudson had been suprised and slightly offended when she didnt ask him to pack for her trip, but she had reassured him that she was okay and didnt need for him to fetch the large suitcase. After she convinced him that she could cope with just using her overnight bag for a three day trip to the moon, he rushed off to see the maid, who was convinced that young miss Catalonia was "going back to her old ways". Dorothy had resented it of course, but realised that she rather liked the fact that it was true.
She looked instrinctively over to her bag. It was a little full, of course, she had to cram all her other crap down so she could fit her old skin-tight stealth space suit helmet and spare batteries. it was jet black, crammed with power guzzling fiber-optic chameleon tech, and was VERY tight, for use tight quarters, and so nothing would shake, rattle, or shine, giving away one's position. She had thrown on some baggy old jeans, a tank-top, and an old leather bomber jacket. She had her old OZ beret that she managed to get on her head despite her long flowing gold locks. It was a family secret how she pulled it off. -even if she was the one who started it.- She looked very ex-military look about her, and that was what she aimed for. Her and Quatre were going up on a routine military transport with the usual supplies for the Holman Outpost.
Dorothy sat down in the chair next to her bag and crossed her legs, almost forgetting the twinge of annoyance that she felt every tome she did something of the sort, reverting to the "formal" political Dorothy. She turned the idea over in her head, and decided to dump that particular aspect of her personality for this trip as a sort of much needed release of all the suffocatingly oppressive parts of aristocracy. She slouched in the chair, uncrossed her legs, and used the open-front aspect of her chair to stretch her legs. If her parents saw her slouching in a chair like this with her legs wide open as if she were a man, it would of stirred up a storm. She brushed some hair out of her face again and threw her arm over the side of the chair to leave it to hang there. she thought. This trip could easily turn from an inconvenience to a sort of half-vacation. The only inconvenience would be Quatre... She watched the Rolls Royce drive around the large fountain that was in the middle of the Catalonia family crest, made out fo flowers that sat in the center of her front open courtyard. She checked her watch. she thought.
As the car pulled up, she noticed by the insignia and driver that it was sent from the council. She picked up her bag and made for the back seat .she opened the door and did a double take. There in the seat across from her, sat winner. He hadn't thought to look inconspicuous. He was wearing his normal 2-piece suit and dark sunglasses. She removed her hat and got in, shutting the door behind her. "Good morning, Dorothy." Dorothy quickly hid her surprise. "I was under the impression that you were going to take your own ride and meet me at the base." Quatre removed his glasses. "No 'hello'?" he smiled and took her in, "I like your new look." One side of Dorothy giggled, and the other side kicked it in the face. On the way to the base, he threw more compliments at her and Dorothy just concentrated on resisting the urge to strangle him. "What's with the getup?" Dorothy finally asked. "I thought we were supposed to look inconspicuous." Quatre chuckled at her. Dorothy's trigger finger twitched. "You don't look so unrecognizable either." he mused. He referred to he wool-padded brown leather jacket, cluttered with patches of different units and insignia, an her faded jeans. Dorothy was quick to defend herself. "New Berlin is filled with ex-military. I'll blend right in." Quatre turned his eyes to hers. "I doubt that. A beautiful girl like you would stand out in any crowd." Once again, Dorothy's feelings swooned, and her will fumed. Overall, Dorothy felt a little butterflies and a slight pang of frustration. "In fact, I'd bet during our entire stay, your radiant presence could be felt throughout half the colonies." He was totally serious, and it drove Dorothy nuts. "Quit the flattery and the whole 'prince charming' pitch! Its not working!" Dorothy yelled. Quatre's smile melted to a more thoughtful, academic look then to smug. "Your mouth says so but I don't thing your body agrees." Dorothy did all she could to keep from panicking. She forced herself to keep her cool composure and took a quick look at herself. Her fingers that were moments before resting in her lap were blenched hard into balled fists. Her teeth were gritted and her cheeks burned red. She let out a frustrated, exasperated sigh, and snapped her head towards the car window, as if refusing to look at him. Quatre also looked out of the window, at the botanical gardens on scenic avenue that they happened to be driving through. Dorothy wondered why the hell they were here, this road didnt lead anywhere near to the airport. She asked him about it, but her simply told her it was a shortcut. Knowing she was listening, Quatre muttered under his breath; "Its beautiful, just like you, Dorothy." he said this just loud enough to let her hear it, but not enough to make Dorothy think he said it for her to hear. Quatre looked at her fondly, smiled, and didnt say anything for the rest of the ride.
When they got there Quatre took his and Dorothy's luggage from the driver and thanked him. Dorothy heard bits of their short conversation thereafter, Quatre apologizing for the bad timing, congratulating him and his wife on something, and that he should at this moment get back in the car ad make his best possible speed to St. Sebastian's Hospital, downtown. This left Dorothy confused. Since when did Quatre personally know council drivers? She decided against wasting time focusing on such stupid things. She rummaged through her mail delivery-style bookbag for her passport when she realised her cell phone wasn't on. The moment she activated it, it started ringing. She promptly answered it. "Hello?" "Ah, Miss Catalonia." She quickly recognized the voice of her butler, Hudson. "What is it, Hudson?" She could hear somebody in the background. "Im sorry Miss Catalonia. I have a rather confused driver for the ministry here, wondering why your already at the airport, when you were supposed to be here, waiting for him." Dorothy also, slightly confused. She then realised why Quatre knew that driver and told him to take the day off. It was His! The markings on the other car was fake. That's why they were driving through the botanical gardens. Dorothy was determined to make sure Quatre would receive retribution for this. "Tell him that I am already at the airport and are in no need of his services." she snapped the cell phone shut. After waiting in a ridiculously long line to check their baggage, they went to security. Due to the fact that they were both council members, privileged travelers, and known V.I.P. of the airport, they were waved through, even though Quatre carried two Kerambits, tiny, claw-shaped Indonesian fighting knives that were worn on the hands, in his pocket. These exotic weapons were used exclusively in the Javanese fighting art of "Pentchak Silat". Dorothy carried a more common Sig P-210 semi-automatic 22. caliber pistol. Tucked in her left sock were notorious carbon-composite non-metal "Israeli letter- openers", small daggers that were also balanced for throwing. Even if anybody knew that these two people carried this, they were acknowledged field agents and flag officers of the preventors, and therefore was perfectly legal. Dorothy looked at their tickets. It was now 10:00. Their flight began boarding at 10:10, with final boarding at 10:12. She took a photographic picture of the map of all the resteraunts in the airport that they past on the way to their gate. She quickly formulated a plan. "Quatre", she said, putting on the most innocent face she could muster. (This was an excrutiatingly heroic effort, she had absolutely no experience at it and her face hurt forcing such a new expression) "could you please go to that cantonese place down by e-12? I haven't had anthing to eat all morning, and im real hungry." Unfrotunately for Quatre, he bought it without question. "Sure, what would you like?" Dorothy smiled. "Sezchwan chicken."
"What about the plane?"
"You have half an hour."
Quatre then smiled back at her and walked off toward the concourse's trolley station. E-12 was clear on the other side of the airport, and the trip alone would take 10 minutes. Her smile broadened. she thought. Minutes later, she was sitting in the 1st class seat, and her airplane was taxing across the apron. It stopped, suddenly. The annoyingly high-pitched voice of the flight attendant came on the P.A., announcing that a late V.I.P. was coming aboard and that they would be on their way again shortly. Dorothy's smile vanished and the blood drained from her face when she saw Quatre come on board and walk to her seat, a greasy brown paper bag in his right hand. "Sorry I'm late, I guess our flight got moved up, huh?" Quatre then gave Dorothy one of his stunning, billion-dollar, shit-eating smile. It made her sick. Dorothy was taken aback by his luck and stupidity. Couldn't he see that she had purposely tried to lose him? He acted as if it was an innocent mistake made by a cute, innocent girl. He still was smiling at her, its incredibly intoxicating charm sent butterflies shooting through her stomach. It was obscene. He turned to the stewardess, who deeply blushed, and began to explain the extensively complicated instructions to create his drink order. Dorothy shifted so that she was facing the window, at an angle that Quatre could only see her back. She looked dreamily out the window, propped her cheek on her palm...and proceeded to melt into her seat with pure extascy.
Warnings and Content: well, im not even going to go there. If you are one of my loyal readers which odds are that you are not, then you already know that I'm not a person who w ould put up some good old fashioned pwp.(well not anything heavy) but don't get me wrong, if your looking for "GUNDAM WING MEGA OOC YURI-YAOI Lemon-fest!!!!" then you got the wrong writ-err site, I mean. (Those bastards wont stop till were only allowed to submit g- rated fics) but if you have read some of my earlier fics, then you know that ANYTHING can most likely will happen. You have been warned-things will get heavy-but don't get your hopes up, I can only go push the envelope so far...FUCK IT. WARNINGS: VIOLENTLY SATISFYING LIME
Dorothy threw her things into the decorative woven hicory chair that sat on her lower porch and closed the door behind her. She cought her butler, Hudson watching her through the den window and shooed him away before he could motion to her if she needed any help. Hudson had been suprised and slightly offended when she didnt ask him to pack for her trip, but she had reassured him that she was okay and didnt need for him to fetch the large suitcase. After she convinced him that she could cope with just using her overnight bag for a three day trip to the moon, he rushed off to see the maid, who was convinced that young miss Catalonia was "going back to her old ways". Dorothy had resented it of course, but realised that she rather liked the fact that it was true.
She looked instrinctively over to her bag. It was a little full, of course, she had to cram all her other crap down so she could fit her old skin-tight stealth space suit helmet and spare batteries. it was jet black, crammed with power guzzling fiber-optic chameleon tech, and was VERY tight, for use tight quarters, and so nothing would shake, rattle, or shine, giving away one's position. She had thrown on some baggy old jeans, a tank-top, and an old leather bomber jacket. She had her old OZ beret that she managed to get on her head despite her long flowing gold locks. It was a family secret how she pulled it off. -even if she was the one who started it.- She looked very ex-military look about her, and that was what she aimed for. Her and Quatre were going up on a routine military transport with the usual supplies for the Holman Outpost.
Dorothy sat down in the chair next to her bag and crossed her legs, almost forgetting the twinge of annoyance that she felt every tome she did something of the sort, reverting to the "formal" political Dorothy. She turned the idea over in her head, and decided to dump that particular aspect of her personality for this trip as a sort of much needed release of all the suffocatingly oppressive parts of aristocracy. She slouched in the chair, uncrossed her legs, and used the open-front aspect of her chair to stretch her legs. If her parents saw her slouching in a chair like this with her legs wide open as if she were a man, it would of stirred up a storm. She brushed some hair out of her face again and threw her arm over the side of the chair to leave it to hang there. she thought. This trip could easily turn from an inconvenience to a sort of half-vacation. The only inconvenience would be Quatre... She watched the Rolls Royce drive around the large fountain that was in the middle of the Catalonia family crest, made out fo flowers that sat in the center of her front open courtyard. She checked her watch. she thought.
As the car pulled up, she noticed by the insignia and driver that it was sent from the council. She picked up her bag and made for the back seat .she opened the door and did a double take. There in the seat across from her, sat winner. He hadn't thought to look inconspicuous. He was wearing his normal 2-piece suit and dark sunglasses. She removed her hat and got in, shutting the door behind her. "Good morning, Dorothy." Dorothy quickly hid her surprise. "I was under the impression that you were going to take your own ride and meet me at the base." Quatre removed his glasses. "No 'hello'?" he smiled and took her in, "I like your new look." One side of Dorothy giggled, and the other side kicked it in the face. On the way to the base, he threw more compliments at her and Dorothy just concentrated on resisting the urge to strangle him. "What's with the getup?" Dorothy finally asked. "I thought we were supposed to look inconspicuous." Quatre chuckled at her. Dorothy's trigger finger twitched. "You don't look so unrecognizable either." he mused. He referred to he wool-padded brown leather jacket, cluttered with patches of different units and insignia, an her faded jeans. Dorothy was quick to defend herself. "New Berlin is filled with ex-military. I'll blend right in." Quatre turned his eyes to hers. "I doubt that. A beautiful girl like you would stand out in any crowd." Once again, Dorothy's feelings swooned, and her will fumed. Overall, Dorothy felt a little butterflies and a slight pang of frustration. "In fact, I'd bet during our entire stay, your radiant presence could be felt throughout half the colonies." He was totally serious, and it drove Dorothy nuts. "Quit the flattery and the whole 'prince charming' pitch! Its not working!" Dorothy yelled. Quatre's smile melted to a more thoughtful, academic look then to smug. "Your mouth says so but I don't thing your body agrees." Dorothy did all she could to keep from panicking. She forced herself to keep her cool composure and took a quick look at herself. Her fingers that were moments before resting in her lap were blenched hard into balled fists. Her teeth were gritted and her cheeks burned red. She let out a frustrated, exasperated sigh, and snapped her head towards the car window, as if refusing to look at him. Quatre also looked out of the window, at the botanical gardens on scenic avenue that they happened to be driving through. Dorothy wondered why the hell they were here, this road didnt lead anywhere near to the airport. She asked him about it, but her simply told her it was a shortcut. Knowing she was listening, Quatre muttered under his breath; "Its beautiful, just like you, Dorothy." he said this just loud enough to let her hear it, but not enough to make Dorothy think he said it for her to hear. Quatre looked at her fondly, smiled, and didnt say anything for the rest of the ride.
When they got there Quatre took his and Dorothy's luggage from the driver and thanked him. Dorothy heard bits of their short conversation thereafter, Quatre apologizing for the bad timing, congratulating him and his wife on something, and that he should at this moment get back in the car ad make his best possible speed to St. Sebastian's Hospital, downtown. This left Dorothy confused. Since when did Quatre personally know council drivers? She decided against wasting time focusing on such stupid things. She rummaged through her mail delivery-style bookbag for her passport when she realised her cell phone wasn't on. The moment she activated it, it started ringing. She promptly answered it. "Hello?" "Ah, Miss Catalonia." She quickly recognized the voice of her butler, Hudson. "What is it, Hudson?" She could hear somebody in the background. "Im sorry Miss Catalonia. I have a rather confused driver for the ministry here, wondering why your already at the airport, when you were supposed to be here, waiting for him." Dorothy also, slightly confused. She then realised why Quatre knew that driver and told him to take the day off. It was His! The markings on the other car was fake. That's why they were driving through the botanical gardens. Dorothy was determined to make sure Quatre would receive retribution for this. "Tell him that I am already at the airport and are in no need of his services." she snapped the cell phone shut. After waiting in a ridiculously long line to check their baggage, they went to security. Due to the fact that they were both council members, privileged travelers, and known V.I.P. of the airport, they were waved through, even though Quatre carried two Kerambits, tiny, claw-shaped Indonesian fighting knives that were worn on the hands, in his pocket. These exotic weapons were used exclusively in the Javanese fighting art of "Pentchak Silat". Dorothy carried a more common Sig P-210 semi-automatic 22. caliber pistol. Tucked in her left sock were notorious carbon-composite non-metal "Israeli letter- openers", small daggers that were also balanced for throwing. Even if anybody knew that these two people carried this, they were acknowledged field agents and flag officers of the preventors, and therefore was perfectly legal. Dorothy looked at their tickets. It was now 10:00. Their flight began boarding at 10:10, with final boarding at 10:12. She took a photographic picture of the map of all the resteraunts in the airport that they past on the way to their gate. She quickly formulated a plan. "Quatre", she said, putting on the most innocent face she could muster. (This was an excrutiatingly heroic effort, she had absolutely no experience at it and her face hurt forcing such a new expression) "could you please go to that cantonese place down by e-12? I haven't had anthing to eat all morning, and im real hungry." Unfrotunately for Quatre, he bought it without question. "Sure, what would you like?" Dorothy smiled. "Sezchwan chicken."
"What about the plane?"
"You have half an hour."
Quatre then smiled back at her and walked off toward the concourse's trolley station. E-12 was clear on the other side of the airport, and the trip alone would take 10 minutes. Her smile broadened. she thought. Minutes later, she was sitting in the 1st class seat, and her airplane was taxing across the apron. It stopped, suddenly. The annoyingly high-pitched voice of the flight attendant came on the P.A., announcing that a late V.I.P. was coming aboard and that they would be on their way again shortly. Dorothy's smile vanished and the blood drained from her face when she saw Quatre come on board and walk to her seat, a greasy brown paper bag in his right hand. "Sorry I'm late, I guess our flight got moved up, huh?" Quatre then gave Dorothy one of his stunning, billion-dollar, shit-eating smile. It made her sick. Dorothy was taken aback by his luck and stupidity. Couldn't he see that she had purposely tried to lose him? He acted as if it was an innocent mistake made by a cute, innocent girl. He still was smiling at her, its incredibly intoxicating charm sent butterflies shooting through her stomach. It was obscene. He turned to the stewardess, who deeply blushed, and began to explain the extensively complicated instructions to create his drink order. Dorothy shifted so that she was facing the window, at an angle that Quatre could only see her back. She looked dreamily out the window, propped her cheek on her palm...and proceeded to melt into her seat with pure extascy.