Chapter Four: A Voice From Within
The first golden rays of the sun inched across the sky like searching fingers. The long, puffy clouds were separating to reveal patches of orange and pink sky. Dearka crashed through the underbrush, pushing tree branches aside and dodging shrubs.
He was still dressed in his costume, having gone straight from la Flaga's back yard to the forest that led through the park to the outskirts of Venanatia. Before long, the trees had started to thin out, until the woodland faded to a grassy field, then to golden sand. A small beach house made of warm hued woods was propped up in the sand.
Dearka's feet sank a few inches the moment he hit the sand. The gritty stuff seeped into his shoes, and he could feel the coolness of the night still evident in it. Without any ado, Dearka ran straight across the worn porch and through the unlocked door. The room was dim, with plain wooden floors and walls and an off white ceiling. The furniture was mismatched and in various states of disrepair. Despite its shabbiness, the room was comfortable and welcoming. Dearka stopped just inside the door, bent double with his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath.
A tall, blue haired man with bright green eyes casually strolled into the front room. He was dressed in a loose white t-shirt and navy blue shorts. A chipped white mug full of steaming coffee was casually clutched in his hand. If he was surprised to see a tall teenager dressed in a tight red costume, he did not show it.
"Hey, Athrun," Dearka chirped, standing up straight and trying to be casual.
"Good morning," Athrun answered, sitting himself down an old, must, striped sofa. Athrun was ten years older than Dearka, but it might have well been one hundred for the difference in wisdom. Athrun had only been a few years old when the PLANTS had fallen in on themselves and the Coordinators had been forced to live on Earth. The animosity between the two races had never reached the calm, reserved man, though. He worked very closely with Princess Cagalli, and they had been rumoured to be lovers since their late teens.
Giving Dearka a quick once-over, Athrun turned back to his cup of coffee. "You haven't slept tonight," he stated.
"No, I haven't," Dearka answered breathlessly, kicking off his shoes and bounding over the arm of the couch to land beside Athrun in the same movement. Dearka was crouched on the balls of his feet leaning forward, a childish grin on his face. "You'll never guess what happened last night! I was at la Fllaga's and—"
Athrun's eyes shot up. "Were you with Roselind?" he asked suspiciously.
"What?" Dearka asked, taken aback by the response, "No! Roselind is the last person on my mind. I was talking about—"
"What a change!" Athrun exclaimed. Dearka missed the sarcasm in his voice. A wide smile spread across Dearka's face and his eyes twinkled. "Why yesterday, almost to the hour, you were here in this exact spot moping and moaning about Roselind. And now, suddenly, Roselind is a thing of the past? What has gotten into you?"
Dearka's smile dropped and an agitated look clouded his features. "What do you mean, 'what's gotten into me'?" Dearka jumped up from the couch in his rage. "You hypocrite! Just yesterday you were telling me off for loving Roseline. And now I've gotten over her and found somebody else, and suddenly you think that I should still love Roseline?"
Athrun slammed his cup down on the coffee table, making the dark liquid slosh over the sides. The blue haired Coordinator did not get mad easily, but when he did, the gates of hell were opened wide. He stood up to match Dearka's height. The blazing emerald eyes caused Dearka to take and involuntary step back.
"Don't you dare call me a hypocrite, Dearka," Athrun said in a deadly quiet voice. "You were obsessing over Roseline, and I warned you that it wasn't good for you. I never said to forget her entirely. And I never told you to find a rebound."
"Miriallia isn't a rebound," Dearka retorted passionately, "I love her and she loves me back."
Athrun broke eye contact. His emerald eyes gazed out the window at the grey morning sky and steely sea. Slowly, he tuned and walked towards the pane of glass, leaning on the sill once he came close to it. Athrun let out a slow sigh.
"I hope you know what you are getting yourself into, my rash young friend," Athrun finally said in a low voice. "Loving some one isn't an easy business." Dearka walked up behind the blue haired man and looked into the shadowy reflection in the mirror. Lines were beginning to form around the edges of Athrun's eyes and the corners of his mouth. Suddenly, Athrun turned on his heel, a gleam in his eyes again. "Are you up for another run?"
Dearka had changed into a black pair of shorts and a white t-shirt. A drawer in Athrun's bedroom had been devoted to the fair-haired youth because of his habit of showing up unexpectedly and staying the night. The wind that came off of the ocean whipped through Dearka's unruly hair and made the light fabric of his shirt whip against his toned flesh. The two Coordinators ran a long while before coming to a stop. Athrun rested his hands on his knees, panting, while his companion, already exhausted from a sleepless night and previous exercise, fell to the sand and lay on his back staring up at the sky.
After a few moments, Dearka propped himself up on his elbows and looked out over the water. A small smile crept into his lips, catching the attention of the older man.
"What is it?" Athrun asked.
Dearka pointed. "Do you see that colour, right where the water and the sky meet?" Athrun nodded. "That's the exact colour of her eyes." Dearka let his hand drop and continued to stare at the horizon.
Athrun sighed and plopped himself down beside Dearka. "You have fallen hard and fast my friend," he said softly.
Dearka turned his head to look at the blue haired man.
"I suppose," he continued, "that you want me to pull some strings, get you a marriage certificate when you need it. I know that you're thinking about it somewhere in that head of yours: Mr. and Mrs. Dearka Elthman A/N: Just go along with it, people, I know I said he was Kira's son. "That's why you came to me, isn't it?"
Dearka nodded his head, looking back out at the place where the water met the air. "Thank you," he said softly.
"You should get home," Athrun declared, "Your mother will be worried sick."
Dearka stood up, brushed himself off, and for the third time, took off running. After showering his friend in sand, the teen trip and fell on his face.
"Be careful!" Athrun called after him as he got up and kept going. "They stumble who run fast," he added under his breath.
Rusty and Nicol wandered the main streets of Venanatia at high noon. Rusty, having woken only minutes before, was not in the best of moods.
"Where the hell is Dearka?" he demanded of his young friend.
"He didn't go home last night," Nicol replied, "I spoke with the butler." They walked in silence for a few moments before the green-haired boy remembered something. "When I was there, I saw a note to Dearka, from Sai."
"Sai?" Rusty asked excitedly, jumping in front of Nicol and giving him a playful shove. "I'd bet my balls that it's a challenge! Did you swipe the note?"
"No," replied Nicol, taken aback, "Of course I didn't. That wouldn't be very moral of me."
Rusty laughed and put Nicol in a headlock. "What would the world do without you, you little angel!" Rusty released his captive, who began to massage his sore neck. "Do you think Dearka will answer it?"
"I would imagine," Nicol replied, "It doesn't take long to reply to a note."
"That's not what I mean. Do you think he will answer the sender, in person?"
"Dearka isn't one to let those types of things slide," Nicol answered slowly.
"Ah, I remember the good ol' days when you were like that," Rusty declared, throwing his arm around the younger Coordinator and striding forward through the street.
"Please, Rusty, I was five," Nicol replied.
"And an admirable five year old you were," Rusty said nostalgically.
"Nevertheless," Nicol continued, "I am different now, and I have seen the error in my ways. You would do good to do the same."
"Please, don't start a sermon," Rusty moaned dramatically.
"Morning, boys," Dearka saluted his friends, walking up behind them and throwing his arms around their necks, leading them farther down the street.
"It's not the morning," Nicol corrected.
"Really?" Dearka pulled his left arm away from Rusty's shoulders and studied his watch. "Well, it was a minute ago."
"What's got you in such a good mood?" Rusty asked suspiciously, "You've certainly changed a lot since yesterday."
"So I've heard," Dearka muttered.
By now, the three had reached the open marketplace, the ancient heart of Venanatia that still pumped fresh blood into the city. It was Saturday, the best business day for the stall owners. Naturals and Coordinators milled about the wide, cobbled street and browsed the same kiosks. Scuffles only broke out when the more hot-blooded members of the two clans came to the market.
The three Coordinators began to wander through the street. Rusty moved towards a stall selling tacky stuffed animals, insisting that it was his on-again, off-again girlfriend's birthday. Nicol went to a kiosk selling books and musical paraphernalia, leaving Dearka to himself. The blond teen pushed his way through the pulsing crowd, looking at every face that he passed. Everything seemed so different that day. The sun was brighter, the colours were more vivid, the smells of the city were sharper. For the first time, Dearka was aware. He heard and saw and sensed things that he had never noticed before, like a small boy slipping a video game into his pocket and then slinking away, a stall owner arguing with an irate woman about a faulty communicator that she had purchased the previous day, the Natural behind him pushing his jacket back slightly to give him easier access to his gun. Dearka's eyes swept back and forth across the crowd, drinking in the sights and sounds
Naturals and Coordinators mixed and mingled together, families were chattering, dogs were barking. The world, suddenly, felt so full. It almost felt like the world was whirling, faster and faster, around and around—
And then it stopped, hung in space for a moment, and fell away. Standing in front of a small stall selling fine silk scarves, her back to the street, was Miriallia. She was wearing an orange dress that came down to her knees with detached sleeves that skimmed along the delicate skin of her arms. That's not her favourite colour, Dearka found himself thinking, She likes blue. The thought popped into his head on its own.
Dearka got as close as he dared. He angled himself so that he was half-hidden behind a stack of elaborate carpets but could still see Miriallia's face. She looked decidedly bored, and only poked and prodded at the wares. Even with the unhappy look on her face, Dearka's breath caught in his throat. He wanted to go to her, to kiss her, stroke her hair, touch her hand, anything. A warm wave cascaded throughout Dearka's body; he could feel the sparks from where he stood.
The half-smile that had crept into Dearka's face disappeared when a tall, brown-haired youth materialized out of the crowd and put his arm around Miriallia's shoulders. She nearly jumped out of her skin. When she saw his face, she gave him a small smile.
"Tolle, there you are,"
"Did you find anything?"
Miriallia looked a little uncomfortable with the prospect of receiving gifts from the youth. "No. I think I'm ready to go home now, if you don't mind."
"Nonsense, we aren't going home until I get you something."
"It's really not necessary—"
"But I insist. You want that orange one, don't you? I know that orange is your favourite colour."
After a few more protests, the male, Tolle bought the silk scarf for Miriallia, and the two left the market.
Rage welled up inside Dearka, making him feel like he was about to explode. Did she string him along last night? What had she been doing with that guy? Dearka didn't even know if he wanted to know.
Miriallia ran along the north beach that led to the caves. It was after dark, and she was late. Her mother had invited Tolle to stay for dinner, and he had stayed to chat. Miriallia had gotten out of the house as fast as she could.
The grass that started where the sand ended began to slope up, until craggy stone holes appeared in the side. The caves. Hardly anyone visited them; they were said to be haunted.
Miriallia began to climb the short distance up to the ledge that connected the three caves that were large enough to stand in. Her hands reached the ledge and her left foot slipped on the sharp outcrop that it had been resting on, hitting the inside of her ankle. Miriallia cried out in shock and pain. Hauling herself over the edge, Miriallia took a moment to examine her ankle. It was the night of the new moon, so she couldn't see anything. Pushing herself up off the ground, Mir hobbled over to the nearest of the three caves and peered inside. Nothing. She went to the second, and the same result. Hobbling over to the third Miriallia peered inside. It was pitch black. Miriallia's stomach fell to her feet. She had been stood up. She leaned her back against the craggy rock that divided the second and third caves, and drew an unsteady breath. She looked up at the velvety black sky dotted with bright stars and blinked back a few tears. Deciding she didn't want to stick around by some haunted caves by herself, Miriallia took a step towards the edge, planning on going home and spending a long night alone wrapped up in her duvet.
Just then, a voice called out to her from the darkness. "Glad you could show up," it said. Dearka came out of the darkness of the third cave. He had his arms crossed and he was not happy.
Miriallia didn't notice and let out a sigh of relief. "I thought that you weren't here," she explained in a relieved tone.
"I'm surprised you showed up at all," Dearka replied. Mir finally noticed the bitter, biting edge in his voice.
"What's the matter?" she asked, concerned. Miriallia moved closer to Dearka and reached up to touch his cheek. He turned his face away.
A confused look clouded Miriallia's features. "What is it?"
"Nothing," Dearka muttered coldly. He stepped out of the mouth of the cave and walked to the edge of the shelf. He locked his eyes on the horizon, where the sea met the sky. It was black. "I went to the marketplace today," he said in a faux cool voice.
Miriallia understood. "You saw me with Tolle, didn't you?" Dearka nodded silently, his jaw clenched. Miriallia let out a short peal of laughter.
Dearka turned on his heel, his eyes blazing. He opened his mouth to say something, but no noise came out. He closed his mouth and clenched and unclenched his fists a few times. By now, his face was burning red. He turned and began to walk away.
"Wait a minute," Miriallia said, grabbing Dearka's arm. He spun to face her. "You don't understand," she added.
"What don't I understand?" he asked incredulously, "That you were on a date with some other guy? That's why you're late, isn't it? Did your little rendezvous run late, or did you just take him home to meet your parents? You must really think I'm stupid, don't you?"
The colour of Miriallia's face changed faster than a traffic light; it went from green to white to red within a second.
"Where the hell do you get off telling me what I can and can't do and who I can and can't see?" she began shouting at Dearka, "I met you last night; I don't owe you a thing! And yeah, I was on a date with Tolle, and yes, I am late because he stayed for dinner and sweet talked my parents. And yeah, I guess you are pretty stupid, or at least blind. Did I look like I was having the time of my life in the market? If I did, then I really missed my calling as an actress. I had to go out with Tolle because my father wants me to marry him. But I came here to see you. Now I wish I hadn't." By now, Miriallia had tears in her eyes. One dared to fall down her cheek. She wiped it away impatiently and carefully began to climb back down to the beach.
Dearka, realizing what an ass he had been, watched Miriallia go for a moment or two before springing to life. Miriallia had hit the sand and was walking back towards the city. Dearka jumped off the ledge to the beach, fell, picked himself up, and began running after the girl.
"Wait," he called, catching up to her in no time, "Wait a minute, Mir. I'm sorry, I jumped to conclusions. I'm so sorry. I didn't know." But she kept walking with her wet eyes down. Seeing that his pleading was going nowhere, Dearka stopped following. He stood by himself in the middle of the beach as Miriallia's crying form retreated. He felt helpless, and she no better.
Dearka knew not by what power his mouth opened, but he heard himself shouting: "Your favourite colour is blue!"
Miriallia stopped dead in her tracks. Slowly, as if in a trance, she turned and walked back to the Coordinator.
"What?"