Murrue Ramius looked around the debarking concourse. Ysak and Katie were just disappearing into the shuttle terminal again, bound for the Martius terminal, where they would board a flight for Ysak's home city, where they would spend the greater part of their two week vacation. With them gone, it was now just the adults. Well, just Murrue, Waltfeld and Kisaka... technically Raine and Alkire were adults, despite how they acted much of the time. Murrue's smile was briefly ruined by the thought of Victor, who'd died so heroically defusing a bomb that would have blown the entire Archangel to tiny pieces. Whatever her own opinion of TEMPEST... whatever anyone else said about them... there was one thing that could never be denied. When the chips were down, and every tick of the clock mattered, when you really, truly needed people to pull through for you, no matter what... she didn't know anyone else she'd rather have defending her life. TEMPEST was far from the only group to suffer losses in the name of preserving the ideals of the Clyne Faction, but their deaths were among the most significant, marking events that radically changed the flow of history.
"Looking glum again." Waltfeld said cheerfully, hefting his and her luggage. He was sweating slightly, being forced to wear a long sleeved shirt because of his mechanical right arm.
"I guess its just having too much free time on my hands. It's going to be hard, just relaxing. I keep expecting someone to call me and ask me to solve some crises or other." Murrue replied, attempting a smile. Kisaka appeared on the other side of her, clutching his own luggage.
"It's pleasant to stand here, but we should probably find lodging somewhere before things fill up too much." Kisaka said, craning his neck to look back at the shuttle terminal again.
"For god's sake, for someone who says such logical things, you sure can't listen to a bit of it from someone else. Cagalli will be fine. Not only is she with Athrun, but shes on the PLANTS! Do you know what our rate of violent crime is?" Waltfeld admonished him.
"One case per eight thousand people." Kisaka replied. "Do you know what Orb's was, when Lord Uzumi was in power?"
"Uh... no, I don't."
"One in twenty thousand. But you make a good point anyway. Shes gone and unless she tells me where she is, I can't follow her here, in territory I don't know." Kisaka's neck muscles almost visibly unclenched as he looked back at Waltfeld and Murrue. "You look uncomfortable, Mr. Waltfeld."
"It's the damn shirt. Hotter than hell. Don't have much choice though, unless I want everybody and their brother gawking at the arm. And call me Andrew. I think we know each other well enough for that."
"Very well, you can call me Ledonir then."
"I planned to."
"I hate to interrupt such a scintillating conversation, gentlemen, but we're not making any progress. Andrew, I've heard the PLANTS have very advanced prosthetics... maybe we can find something to disguise your arm with, so you can walk around in public without having to make yourself uncomfortable? Normally I'm not much of one for urge spending, but we DO have all this money to get rid of." Murrue hefted the backpack Alkire had handed her.
"She speaks sense. I like it." Waltfeld said briskly. "The express elevator is this way. After you, Ms. Ramius." Waltfeld gave a half bow and gestured towards the elevator bank.
"Indeed, let's go." Kisaka stepped forward and offered his arm to Murrue. "Shall we, Ms. Ramius?" Kisaka said politely. He missed the squinty eyed look Waltfeld shot him when Murrue's back was turned.
The elevator ride down to the city levels was uneventful, as was the search for an adequate series of hotel rooms, one for each of them. Privately Waltfeld felt they overpaid for them, but they did have money to spare, didn't they? Technically they could have stayed at Waltfelds old place... but it wasn't more than a two bedroom flat, and it was all the way over on Aprilius Eight. Maybe they'd get over that way eventually, but not for a while yet. A quick look through the city directory while Kisaka arranged the lodging gave Waltfeld several good places to look for advice on prosthetics. A short ride on one of the automated public buses brought them to the business. It was pleasant to sit and talk with two peers. Not about the war, just about things. Weather, sports, non-war politics, movies... to talk shop with people of his generation.
The first business turned out to be a gold mine. Not only were the doctors enormously knowledgable, but they had specialty prosthetic covers in inhouse stock. Full limb prosthetics weren't exactly common, but the war had sadly created a relative boom in the business formerly dominated by construction or recreation accidents. The doctors marvelled at the sophistication of Waltfeld's inherited arm, though they were quietly snooty about how crude the construction was. Fully operable prosthetic replacements were extremely rare, much less ones that actually allowed for upgraded performance over the old biologic matter, but the skeletal look was a major problem. When the doctors asked him where he'd gotten the surgery done, he told them that it had been on Earth, during the war. They'd nodded and shot each other looks and gave him their condolonces, but the war made everything a little cruder than necessary. He didn't quite know what to say to that, so he just shrugged.
Finally, they wheeled out a selection of flesh simulation arm covers, after they took the measurements of the arm, which was slightly longer than his other, real arm. Waltfeld was surprised at how good the covers were... they even felt warm to the touch. The doctors assured him that when properly attached, the covers were totally watertight, and each cover was slightly photoreactive, allowing the arms to tan along with the wearer, to a certain degree anyway. It would always be possible for someone looking for it to notice the arm was different from the rest of the body, but casual passersby would have no way of telling the difference. Waltfeld hemmed and hawwed and took three of them in varying flesh tones. The cost was steep... steeper than he could have afforded on his own. But it barely even made a dent in the cache Alkire had given them. The doctors thanked him for his business and expressed their regrets that medical technology had not yet progressed to the point of making ocular prosthetics, but he waved it off. Having one eye was inconvenient at times, but it wasn't too hard to deal with.
He walked out into the lobby and frowned slightly. Murrue was reading a magazine. That was the same thing she'd been doing when he went in to consult the doctors. Kisaka was sitting next to her, also glancing idly through an editorial. But Kisaka had been sitting across the room when Waltfeld went into the fitting room and the place was practically deserted... no reason for the big Orb soldier to switch places. Unless he was trying to get closer to someone for some reason. Waltfeld hid his frown, but inside it grew deeper. He'd been thinking some half formed thoughts... in war time they were impractical and counterproductive, but they weren't strictly on war time now. But apparently Kisaka was having similar thoughts. That would need to be addressed. "So... whos up for dinner then? I know a good place." Waltfeld beckoned with his newly covered arm for them to follow him.
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Murrue was in the restroom, tidying up after the meal. Waltfeld had picked up the check for the meal, for tonight anyway. He and Kisaka were nursing their drinks while they waited for Murrue to come back so they could leave. Waltfeld took a sip of his drink and eyed Kisaka over the rim of his glass. The Orb Colonel did likewise to Waltfeld. They'd been getting along fine all night, telling stories, listening to stories, making jokes, having a good time. But now Murrue was temporarily gone.
"All right, Ledonir, let's talk." Waltfeld said at length. "I think we've both recently discovered something unfortunate."
"You have a point." Kisaka admitted. "How long have you been attracted to Murrue?"
"Pretty much since this war started. You?" Waltfeld took another sip. Hopefully they could be gentlemanly about this.
"About as long. It was never the right time to discuss it though."
"We're friends, aren't we? I know we used to be enemies... but now, we're friends?" Waltfeld asked.
"I have too many enemies to want to consider you one of them. Yes, we are friends. Perhaps not pals, but friends." Kisaka replied.
"That's what I figured as well." Waltfeld sipped again, leaving nothing but ice in his glass. "Care to make a friendly bet then?"
"I'm listening." Kisaka swirled his own drink around a few times, listening to the ice clink.
"We've got thirteen days left before we meet up with everyone again. I bet I can get a french kiss from Murrue before then. Not only that, but I bet I can do it before you do."
"This is childish." Kisaka knocked back his drink in one go. "I accept. Rules?"
"Let's keep this civil and covert. Murrue can't learn about the bet. No mudslinging behind the other guy's back either. We win this on personal merit, not how well we can sabotage the other guy. As for specifics on how you win the kiss... you can't trick her into it. It's gotta be because she wants to kiss you. Other than that... no holds barred and may the better man win."
"Sounds good to me." Kisaka confirmed, watching Murrue head back towards the table. He and Waltfeld shook on the deal, keeping their hands below the edge of the table so Murrue wouldn't see. Tomorrow they were planning to go to the beach. It promised to be very entertaining.
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Of the almost infinite ways to relax, lying on a pool chair on a golden sand beach, looking up at a nearly cloudless blue sky while listening to the sound of small waves lapping away only a few feet distant was one of the best, in Murrue's opinion. A table for drinks rested at her elbow and a portable sunshade kept the worst of the reflected sunlight off her when she got too hot and turned translucent when she decided to work on her tan some. A well placed strand of bushes provided a physical and visual barrier between the somewhat more placid Adult section of the beach and the rowdy, boisterous mayhem of the Kids section. She was clad in a one piece white bathing suit she'd bought from the hotel store that morning... nothing fancy or exotic, just something less confining than clothes but still modest. She'd never been shy or a prude, but she didn't make her body into a public spectacle like some women. Murrue turned from lying on her front to lying on her back and adjusted the sunglasses on her eyes to a slightly more comfortable position, suddenly becoming aware of a person standing next to her.
"Hey, pretty lady, want a nice cool, refreshing juice cocktail? I had one made at the bar but it was just too perfect not to share." Waltfeld asked lightly, placing a hollowed out coconut shell with a base so it didn't roll around on the drink table. The tart scent of chilled pineapples and cranberries mixed with just a few hints of lemon liquor wafted from the drink.
"Thank you Andrew, thats very considerate. A cold drink would hit the spot." Murrue sat up and stretched, oblivious to the way Waltfeld's eye lingered on her. Like her, he'd bought a swimsuit that morning, though he'd displayed his usual eccentric tastes... his swim trunks were bright lime green, with alternating blue and red tiger stripes. The Desert Tiger had gone Technicolor, as he'd joked at the time. He too had sunglasses, though his were wraparounds with a mirror sheen, to help hide the fact that he only had one eye, though currently they rested on the slightly wind touseled mop of brown hair he called a hairstyle. They both sipped their drinks and savored the strong fruity and zesty flavor, not to mention the delicious chill. "Have you seen Ledonir? He disappeared almost a half hour ago and hasn't returned yet."
"Can't say as I have." Waltfeld shrugged. His loss. Gotta put in the time, Kisaka, if you want to get anywhere with a woman. Waltfeld stretched, luxuriating in the feeling of flesh on flesh as he clasped his hands behind his back and extended them to their limit. This prosthetic cover has really been worth it. No one's even looked twice. Course, I wouldn't mind if a certain someone did a little looking...
Murrue watched Andrew stretch out. He looked so happy now that he didn't have to worry about being the center of attention because of how his mechnical limb looked. Murrue knew where to look, and she could barely tell where the cover ended and the flesh of the shoulder began. It was only by watching the play of muscles and how they differed fromthe left arm to the right that she could tell from a distance. And they were nice muscles too. Murrue had never seen Waltfeld in swimming gear before, but she was forced to admit, he definitely looked pretty good. Of course, he was a Coordinator, and a former ZAFT commander at that... physical fitness was a given. But Andrew had obviously put in some work to not only get strength but also defined tone... sharp six pack, clearly defined abs... it wasn't until she dropped her gaze to his legs that Murrue realized she was staring. She coughed slightly and turned her head slightly away, mildly embarassed. She wasn't a schoolgirl anymore, to ogle a man just for his body. Besides, he was her good friend and subordinate. And Mu still had a firm grip on her heart, even now.
"Care to go for a swim later, after we finish our drinks? We'll have to re-oil up afterwards, but thats better than getting burned, eh?" Andrew said with a wink and a grin. Murrue smiled back. If there was one thing Andrew was really good at, it was making other people smile, even if it was just for a moment. There was just something about his forthright and slightly oddball manner that was endearing.
"That sounds like a great idea. Too bad Ledonir isn't here."
"Someone mention my name?" Kisaka said, suddenly looming on the other side of Murrue. Murrue looked over at him and felt her eyes widening. Kisaka was a very distinguished looking man with his large size and steel grey hair. There weren't many people Kisaka's age that could pull off a plain black speedo without looking either pathetic or awkward... but Kisaka was one of the rare few that actually looked REALLY good in one. He definitely had the build and the tan for it. Andrew was a well built man, but Kisaka almost made him look thin. Muscles rippled and flexed across his broad chest and up and down his arms and thick legs. Kisaka had the build of a serious competition weightlifter, clearly he did a lot of physical training during his off time. He was sweating just ever so slightly, as if he'd just finished warming up for something. What that was wasn't too hard to figure out, because under one arm Kisaka clutched a brand new looking surfboard, hardly even waxed.
That is so not cool. Waltfeld studied his opponent with a frown. He'd thought he'd go get Murrue a drink and invite her for a swim, just incidentally showing off his build in the process. Physical looks weren't everything, especially since she was a longtime acquaintance, but it never hurt to show off the goods a little. He might have been past thirty, but he wasn't anywhere near to over the hill yet... he was fitter than a man ten years his junior, in most cases. And he looked it too. But then Kisaka had to show up, looking like a surfer-god out of a movie, and now Waltfeld could almost see the comparison Murrue had to be doing in her head, even unconsciously. And no matter how he sliced it, in terms of manly appeal in a physical sense, Kisaka had him beat hands down. The fact that he could surf... a major plus factor for most women... was just icing on the cake. Waltfeld had to think of something quick, before he lost all the momentum he'd been building up.
"I didn't know you surfed., Ledonir." Murrue commented. Kisaka shrugged and planted his free hand on his waist as he worked an imaginary kink out of his neck. Weight training was good for more than just building size and muscle mass... he'd also learned how to show off his muscle to best advantage. It made him feel like he was in college again, flexing on the beaches to get attention from pretty girls... but was that really a bad thing? He knew he was getting appreciative looks, and not just from Murrue. He was currently the biggest, manliest man on the beach... he was slightly surprised to see that his "muscle sense" had returned from his college days as well. God, he'd been so shallow then. But it did feel good.
"I was born in the desert, but I grew up on the islands." Kisaka flashed a small smile. No sense it overdoing it too much... Andrew was already giving him the evil eye. "Surfing was something of a hobby of mine throughout high school and college. Helped me find the odd girlfriend, but I haven't surfed seriously in years." Kisaka shook his head and laughed. "I just hope I don't make a total fool of myself."
"I didn't think there was enough tidal pull in the PLANTS to generate big enough waves to surf on." Murrue commented, looking at the "ocean" which was really just a large lake. None of the waves were more than a foot high.
"There isn't." Waltfeld confirmed, trying not to clench his teeth. Which is why I never learned to surf. Never even saw a real "wave" wave outside of movies till I was deployed to Africa. This is going to suck. "However there are a few beaches that have installed equipment at special locations offshore that can generate bigger waves on command, for recreational and other purposes. I hadn't realized there was a scheduled competition today."
"There wasn't. However, I had a little talk with the beach staff and they agreed to an impromptu event, after I offered to recompense them for the operational costs and provide the prize as well." Kisaka said calmly. They should be announcing it shortly. Winner will be determined by acclaimation, contest is open to anyone with a board."
"Cool. Where do you buy boards?" Waltfeld asked, feeling slightly sick to his stomach.
"You can surf too, Andrew? I'm surprised." Murrue shrugged. "Well, you two have fun. I'll be cheering for you both."
"You buy boards over here." Kisaka inclined his head, motioning for Waltfeld to accompany him. As soon as they were out of earshot of Murrue he turned to look at Waltfeld. "You don't know how to surf, do you?"
"I can barely even pass the annual swimming requirement for active duty in ZAFT." Waltfeld admitted freely. "Running, running I can do easy. Some for calisthenics. Swimming... Desert Tiger. Not Desert Tigershark."
"It's not something you can just wing." Kisaka said after a few moments thought. "You could get hurt reasonably bad if you mess up too terribly."
"I'll have to take that chance. I can't let you win without a fight."
"Very well, I have warned you. But don't blame me if you end up looking like a complete fool." Kisaka pointed at a temporary building. "You buy the boards in there. I'll be waiting here. The board needs some rewaxing."
"I'm a Coordinator... I never look like a "complete" fool." Waltfeld retorted. Though there is a first time for everything. I am going to regret this. So much.
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"Are you sure you're feeling all right, Andrew?" Murrue asked the next morning. "You took a pretty good spill there during the contest yesterday. Your face still looks a little raw from where you got dragged along the sand by the wave."
"I'm fine, thanks. Nothing is bruised more than my pride." Waltfeld said, trying for confident and self assured. It was a little hard, speaking as he was through two fat lips and sand blasted face. Keeping his balance atop the surfboard hadn't been too bad at first. He'd gotten standing up with almost no problem at all. Just as he'd been congratulating himself on a job well done things had gone sour. The board seemed to just jet out from beneath his feet and he backflopped directly into the water. As if that wasn't bad enough, the wave carried him with it and slammed him into the sandy bottom after it crested, then dragged him almost twenty feet down the shore before letting him return to the surface, sputtering and choking. Then his board, tied by a tether to his ankle, and come sailing over and cracked him on the back of the head. All in all, not one of his better moments. Especially because he got to watch Kisaka pull a snazzy little jump trick a few times on his own run, then coast entirely up onto the beach like it was nothing at all. When it came time for judging, Waltfeld got as many laughs as he did cheers.
But it was okay. He was putting it behind him. Today was a new day. Even if his entire body still ached. Murrue was first out the door, leaving Kisaka and Waltfeld alone for a moment. "You're ahead for the moment, but I got the pity points, I think."
"Quite. Should be an interesting day today, hmm?"
"Don't pretend you're not gloating. I will learn to surf. And I will be better than you. It'll just take some time. But I am a Coordinator and we both know that means I'll eventually be better."
"I think you're taking this whole thing a little too personally. But what do I know, since I never planned on getting pity points." Kisaka walked out the door after Murrue.
"Okay, you want it like that... the kid gloves come off, Ledonir. Right now." Waltfeld headed out the doors after them both. Today was Waltfelds day. They'd split up the days of their vacation, alloting a few to each person to plan out and control, at least as far as main events went. Tomorrow was Kisaka's day, but Waltfeld would worry about that later. Today it was time to introduce his friends to his greatest passion... coffee making. He took them to a coffee factory and walked them through the steps to creating the average cup of coffee on the street, from the moment the bean was harvested to the instant the grounds dissolved and produced that most sublime dark liquid. He might have overdone it a tad, explaining the myriad ways you could flavor coffee by using this or that additive or organic seasoning, but coffee was a worthy thing to be slightly obsessive over. When his friends started looking a little glassy eyed and tired, he made them coffee right on the spot, commenting right then and there that coffee was one of the only things that could make you more awake so that you could learn more about it. Kind of like a self fufilling prophecy.
The only mar to the day was when he came back from the restroom to find Kisaka and Murrue sitting together at a table in the coffee factory's lounge. That they were sitting together was bad enough... that they were whispering to each other and then broke off with slightly guilty looks as soon as he came into view was much worse. Waltfeld frowned... Kisaka was pressing his advantage hard. This wasn't going to be as easy as he'd thought it was going to be, back when he proposed the bet. But he couldn't back down now. He retired that night satisifed that he'd at least won back some of the lead Kisaka had gained from the beach... how could you not like a guy who knew so much about such a vital thing as coffee?
The next day was Kisaka's day. Unbearably tormented with boredom after suffering through Waltfeld's coffee factory tour of the previous day, Kisaka had elected to indulge one of his own passions to regain his equilibrium. If it wasn't for the way Murrue had been yawning and fidgeting yesterday as well, Kisaka would have thought Waltfeld was bending the rules of the bet to strike at him directly, but he was forced to conclude that Waltfeld really did just love coffee THAT much. Well, at least they'd gotten it out of the way early... they wouldn't have to suffer again for a good while. So instead of going somewhere dreadfully boring and ultimately pointless, Kisaka brought his friends to the theater. Not the movie theater, but the actual theater, where actors recited their lines from memory and wore actual costumes. Kisaka was an avid amatuer thespian in his limited off time. There wasn't anything particularly major playing in the theater they went to, but it was light years better than a coffee factory.
"So what kind of roles do you usually play?" Murrue asked. This was a side of Kisaka she'd never even imagined existed.
"I usually audition for the more light hearted, free spirited roles. I find it a refreshing change of pace from my work life. Often I am in fact scripted to female roles, especially the more sardonic ones, though I also enjoy a naive youngster every once in a while."
He freely admits this? Either he has no concept of masculine pride, or he's entirely gay. It can't be the latter or else the bet is pointless... but the former doesn't make much sense either. Waltfeld could almost see the points falling away from Kisaka's score, even as he stifled his chortles at the mental image of Kisaka acting out the part of a teenage girl in a dress. Maybe in a satire, but Kisaka had sounded perfectly serious.
"What's your favorite part of being an actor?" Murrue asked, seemingly quite interested. Waltfeld cursed inwardly... he should have forseen this. Though Waltfeld personally found this hobby of Kisaka's extremely amusing, it was just the sort of thing to appeal to the romantic threads of a woman's heart. Once again, Kisaka seemed to have outmaneuvered him with an unconventional approach. And worse yet, Waltfeld couldn't even poke fun at him now, because that would make him an insensitive dick.
"I like the costumes. Maybe its the child in me, but I don't ever seem to have grown out of loving to dress up in costumes. People have told me I look particularly good in frills and lace, but I'm not entirely sure I'm comfortable with that assessment."
Well good, you aren't gay then. Or at least not classically gay. But I can't say anything! If I make fun of him, I'm going to appear like a complete brute. He's good at this, damn him. Very good. Waltfeld forced himself to sit attentively throughout the amateur play they were there to see. The urge to lean over and keep up a slightly sarcastic running commentary to Murrue was strong... he used to do it with Aisha all the time... but a glance showed him she seemed quite taken with the play itself. More bad luck for him. This called for desperate measures.
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"Mr. Waltfeld, do you have any concept of what time it is?" Kira's voice was curiously flat and hard. He also sounded somewhat out of breath. Of course, that he was talking at all was great news, since it meant he'd woken up and seemed to have regained most if not all of his faculties. But right now, Waltfeld had something slightly more important to ask about than catching up. It had been three days since the theater. Three days of running himself ragged on his best, most mature and charming behavior. Three days of seeing his best efforts get circumvented with ease by Ledonir. There as just something about the Orb Colonel's habits, mannerisms and ability to reveal an entirely new, somewhat quirky but just not so-strange-as-to-be-silly, side at the drop of a hat. Waltfeld could almost see Murrue's buttons getting pushed by Kisaka and he was doing precious little button pushing himself. He knew he was a sexy devil... but his approach worked better on younger women, while Kisaka seemed much better at making time with women of their own age category.
If they were single, and old enough NOT to be jail bait... I could probably have picked up Cagalli and Miriallia with MY methods in a manner of days at most. But... it's just not working on Murrue. I have no other choice. I have to go there and become the ultimate woman killer. The awkward and naive highschooler! I have to retrieve that persona! And I have to retrieve the methodolgy of someone who's almost too shy to even glance at the girl he likes! "Yes, I know it's late. But this is urgent. I really, really need your help, Kira."
"This can wait until the morning." Kira was drowned out for a moment by some sort of background noise. "I'm very... involved in something... right now." Kira's voice took on a strained quality.
"No, it can't wait until the morning! I need this question answered now! Please, Kira, you're among my last hopes! I wouldn't be calling if I wasn't desperate!" Waltfeld replied "Are you working out? You're breathing really heavily. You should be careful, you're still recovering."
"Mr. Waltfeld. It is past midnight. Do you have any inkling as to what it is I do most nights when I have free time?" Kira was sounding less and less exasperated and more and more actually angry as the conversation continued.
"Uhm..." Uh oh. Coordinators recover fast, especially Ultimate Coordinators. I appear to have miscalculated some. But I NEED to have this question answered. "Well... if you're busy, could you put Lacus on?"
There was a short pause, as if Kira was gathering patience and Waltfeld heard a muted gasp of some sort. Not quite pain but something else. "Mr. Waltfeld." Kira's voice was very forceful. "At this time of night, when I am busy, Lacus is similarly busy. Please sir, you are interrupting a very..." Kira swallowed hard. "... very involved process."
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Let me just ask the question and I'll leave you two alone." Wow, this is awkward. But I couldn't call any earlier, Kisaka was with me until about twenty minutes ago. It was hard enough pretending to get trashed in the bar, there was no way I could have snuck off to make a phone call without looking totally suspicious. And I couldn't leave the two of them to get pleasantly tipsy together... who knows what might have occured? "What's Murrue's favorite flower and color? Please, I need to know."
"Mr. Waltfeld." Kira sounded near his limit. Waltfeld had to keep his mind studiously clear... but all the faint noises he'd been hearing in the background were making that very difficult. He really is talented... I don't know if I could hold an unrelated conversation and keep it up at the same time. "I haven't the slightest clue. Murrue is my friend, nothing more. She's almost twice my age. Why would I bother finding out something like that? Ask Mir, she MIGHT know. Now good night, Mr. Waltfeld. And don't call me when you're drunk EVER again."
"I'm not drunk! Kira! Kira? Are you there, Kira?" Waltfeld pulled the cell phone away from his ear. Disconnected. Well, that could have gone better. Course, if I were him, I don't know if I could have been even half as civil. I better not call back. He's not the type to hold a grudge... but if Lacus were to answer the phone... yikes. Instead Waltfeld looked up a different number in his directory and hit speed dial for that. On the third try, he got the right number. Okay, maybe I am a little fried. But I couldn't tell Ledonir to stop pouring the shots, not when it was my idea to start drinking them in the first place. Come on Coordinator body... metabolize... metabolize. "Hello? Miriallia?"
"Who the hell is it this time?" A very grumpy female voice replied. It was Miriallia, but she sounded pretty put out by something. Waltfeld winced. His luck couldn't be that bad could it, to call two couples during lovemaking?
"Um, this is Andrew Waltfeld. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
"Nothing besides my precious beauty rest!"
"Kira told me to call you because you might know the answer to the question I have. But don't call him and bawl him out. He's..."
"Fucking Lacus for all he's worth, yeah, we know. Everyone but you three has known that since day four.
"I see." Waltfeld didn't, but his mind was a bit hazy at the moment. It seemed to be the thing to say. "Well let me get out of your hair then. Do you know what Murrue's favorite color and flower are?"
"Why do you want to know? Her birthday isn't for a while yet, and there aren't any gift giving holidays coming up." Miriallia sounded slightly calmer but much more suspicious.
"Please, Miriallia? I'd owe you big."
Miriallia gave a long and loud sigh. "Fine. She loves columbine flowers. And her favorite color is blue. But I think it might still be too soon to be making that kind of advance, Mr. Waltfe..." Andrew hung up. Columbines. Blue. Got it. Next stop... specialty flower store. Waltfeld spun on his heel and then staggered as the world kept spinning and spinning and spinning. Maybe... I do... need... some time...
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It was two mornings past the night when Waltfeld had made his desperate calls. He'd woken up early to get ready. He dressed in the clothes he'd bought... slacks and sportsjacket of royal blue, with a cyan shirt and an azure cummerbund bowtie and black wingtip shoes polished to mirror sheen. He grabbed the blue wrapped box of chocolates and the bouquet of garden grown columbine flowers wrapped in white paper with an azure ribbon around the bundle and headed outside. He stepped around the corner of the building as he waited for Murrue to emerge. This had to look spontaneous or it would lose ninety percent of its effect. he found himself checking his watch every few minutes. Time seemed mired in glue. But then at last the front door to the hotel complex opened and Murrue walked out, clad in an elegant cream dress. Today they were going to go visit some museums and art galleries, the highlight of which would be the world famous Evidence 01, the winged whale from Saturn's moons.
Waltfeld gave his bowtie one final adjustment and then stepped around the corner at a brisk but purposeful pace. He made sure to falter slightly as he got close and he kept his gaze on the ground the entire way. Nervous. Nervous and naive. Endearingly unrefined. You can do it. Waltfeld looked up and had to fight a deep scowl. Murrue was watching him with a somewhat bemused expression on her face, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that Kisaka was approaching from around the other corner of the building. Kisaka was dressed in blue as well, the only major difference in their clothing was that Kisaka had a regular tie while Andrew had a bowtie. They both clutched near identical wrapped boxes of chocolates and bouquets of flowers. Waltfeld met Kisaka's gaze. So that's what Miriallia meant when she said "this time". We do think alike at times, Ledonir. But I'm surprised... she didn't give any hint at all that Ledonir had just asked her the same question I did. I didn't realize she was so devious.
"Well, this is a pleasant surprise. I knew we agreed to dress up nicely, but I never expected you two to go with matching outfits, even if blue isn't my most favorite color. You both look very striking." Murrue complimented them. "What's in the boxes?"
"Just a little snack for later." Kisaka said, brushing some imaginary lint off his shoulders with an air of studied indifference. Murrue wrinkled her nose slightly and sneezed. She sneezed again a moment later. And again. And again.
"Are those... those flowers, any chance... achoo!... columbines?" Murrue asked, eyes and nose watering. Both men nodded slowly. "Oh. I used to love them... achoo!... so much when I was a girl. But their fragrance... I'm... achoo!... allergic to it. They're lovely... ACHOO!... lovely flowers, but please keep them away from me. Excuse me, I need to use the ladies room." Murrue hurried back into the building. Kisaka and Waltfeld both watched her go in silence. When the doors whined shut behind her, they slowly turned, with glacial calm, and regarded each other again.
I have been betrayed. Waltfeld thought glumly. The only ray of light in this entire fiasco was that Kisaka had ALSO been set up. "So, did you try and call Kira, as well as Miriallia?" Waltfeld asked after a moment.
"No, I should have thought of that. But I could have sworn I instructed Miriallia to feed you false information if you called after me. I was a little drunk, but I'm pretty sure I told her to tell you about roses and the color yellow." Kisaka replied thoughtfully. "This is the last time I'll ever rely on uncollaborated information from a female source."
"If you ever do call Kira, don't call after dark. He's awake by the way, and doing fine. More than fine even. I... I uh, managed to call during a heated moment."
"How heated?"
Waltfeld shrugged, still slightly uncomfortable. "Extremely heated. Explosive even."
"He certainly does recover fast."
"Advantage of being young. I was more impressed that he managed to hold a mostly civil conversation with me while maintaining the pace. I would have thrown the phone against the wall if it had rung while I was in the middle of a bed-creaking bout of sex."
"Me too. But he has reserves of patience and generosity the rest of us can barely imagine." Kisaka tossed his bouquet into the nearest trash bin. "And stamina too, apparently." There was a multisecond paused, during which Waltfeld trashed his flowers too.
"So you freely admit to attempting to feed me misinformation and sabotage my efforts?" Waltfeld asked calmly.
"This was supposed to be on merit alone. The fact that either of us started calling other people is proof enough that we've already escalated past the point of caring about the rules."
"This is going to get ugly now."
"If you can't swim, you shouldn't get in the water, Andrew."
"Make fun. We'll see whos laughing at the end of the day."
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Waltfeld was right. Over the course of the next few days, the bet did turn ugly. They spent more time tearing each other down than actually trying to build a relationship with Murrue. Waltfeld had the advantage of being on home ground... he knew where everything was, and perhaps more importantly, where everything wasn't. And since Kisaka was as dependent on his knowledge for getting around as Murrue was, that gave him plenty of opportunity to either ditch Kisaka or send him on wild goose chases. It got to the point that Kisaka no longer trusted directions from Waltfeld... and he was a great deal more hesitant about being the one to open a door first. How was he supposed to know the sign for rest roomand dressing room were the same in the PLANTS? Or that there were sometimes seperate bathrooms for young children and adults? Or that riding a green line bus one way around the circuit didn't mean it would stop on the same stops on the way back? Waltfeld had gotten him lost for almost six hours like that. And Kisaka resolved to put in a written petition that the resteraunts should change from electronic menus back to paper ones... or at least not require that orders be inputted by a registered citizen... he'd never had so many messed up meals in his life.
Waltfeld's coup de 'etat came when he managed to hack/buy a way into the hotel's internal computer networks and set it up so Kisaka got a spurious wake up call every eight minutes for ten hours straight, and downloaded a bunch of mature porn onto his movie selection palette just before they sat down to watch a movie with Murrue. Dialling up his ventilation vans to maximum speed and turning the heat on full were just icing on the cake. And placing an order for six hundred "extra stretchy" jock straps, to be hand delivered to his door by a paid delivery service who specialized in clowns singing happy birthday songs was just cruel... especially at one in the morning. Kisaka could, of course, never prove hands down that Waltfeld was the one antagonizing him, but he knew. And if you poke a sleeping bear long enough and hard enough, its sure to take a swipe at you.
Kisaka didn't know the area, didn't know who to talk to or who to buy or where to go even. But he was a resourceful man, who used to be an instructor at a school that taught counter-insurgency and counter-terrorist warfare. He'd taught Alkire and Raine and Victor and even Vlad some of the tricks of the trade. He'd even been offered a NCO position in the Hellhounds by Asmodeus, years before when the unit was first forming. Give him a few pieces of bent wire and a few seconds of unobserved time and there was barely a lock he couldn't pick. Electronic locks were tougher, but after a few hours scrounging around in junk and secondhand electronics stores he ha dall the materials he needed. It was actually alarming in some cases... he didn't have the inclination, but he could have built a fairly effective bomb from the parts he'd gotten. But while he eventually started to consider bombing Waltfeld's room... right after the jock strap delivery... initially he used his talents in other ways.
He broke into Waltfeld's room on several occasions, short sheeting the bed, swapping out his shaving cream for whipped cream, dusting down his underwear and socks with itching powder and scattering crumbs and other pest attractors into the corners. That last one didn't pan out too well... unlike on Earth, the PLANTS had almost no insects and a very small vermin population. There was almost no wildlife at all actually, outside of zoos and other special environments. After Waltfeld had kept up the public humiliation for a day or two, Kisaka had started applying a little more pressure... he went to a local arts and crafts store and bought some dehydrated paint. Just dust it on and add water, to dye whatever surface you need to the color you desire. The shower heads were still mechanical, and it was the work of moments with a small screwdriver to pack the shower head full of sunburn red paint dust. Lining the prosthetic arm sleeves with a pungent smelling concotion of garlic cloves, vinegar and egg whites had been his last major blow before Waltfeld started the heavy shit... the porn, the sleepless night, the racous jock strap delivery.
Not one to take that sort of attack lying down, Kisaka had come back by buying a massive collection of extremely dirty hentai magazines, which he tore apart and made a collage from, which he then had sent to the most prestigous all girls high school he could locate on the PLANTS, signing Waltfeld's name and giving Murrue's room as the home address, using his skills at forgery to perfectly imitate Waltfeld's handwriting, which he'd observed from watching Waltfeld sign dinner checks. He then hid the remaining bits and pieces of the hentai mags in various obvious places in Waltfeld's room... under the bathroom sink, under some clothes in his drawers, in the nightstand, etc. Listening to Murrue grill Waltfeld over why she was getting hate mail from dozens of outraged parents with his name on it was sweet music to his ears, only surpassed when, after Waltfeld invited Murrue to search his room for any evidence at all of dirty magazines, she told him she was "Very Disappointed" in him, since she discovered quite a lot.
And so they spent their remaining time, until the final day before they were due to meet up with the various couples again. Both men were run quite ragged, and Murrue, who remained ignorant of the bet, nonetheless was reasonably sure that both men were fighting about something, waging a covert war around her that she was only peripherally aware of. Given the possible things they could be fighting about, which were limited for two such mature people as Ledonir Kisaka and Andrew Waltfeld, Murrue had to admit she was somewhat flattered. In fact, if she thought of it that way, much of the strange behavior from both men in the previous two weeks actually made a lot of sense. But just because it was flattering, didn't mean that she was just going to let things continue like they were. For one, both men seemed to be close to actively disliking each other, and for another she wasn't a prize to be fought over. For the last dinner they went to one of the most elegant resteraunts in the PLANTS, the legendary Norman's Grill. An unprepossing name, but it was renowned throughout the PLANTS and even on Earth as being one of the top six resteraunts around, in terms of quality and selection of food. The bills were somewhat steep, usually around five or six hundred dollars per person per full meal, not counting drinks... but that in itself said something about how good it was.
You could order pretty much any dish from any cuisine style imaginable at Norman's. The resteraunt itself wasn't large... not more than twenty tables... but it was always packed. It had taken a significant portion of their remaining funds... almost ten thousand dollars in fact... to "buy out" a reservation made by some political group three months prior. But Waltfeld was adamant... if there was one experience to never miss in the PLANTS, it was eating at least once at Norman's. He'd only been there once himself, when he received his promotion to commander he'd treated Aisha and Dacosta and Dacosta's girlfriend of the time. It was a golden memory for him, and after listening to him rave about it, both Kisaka and Murrue had decided that they just had to take him up on it.
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"Dear God, you weren't wrong." Kisaka commented suddenly, after chewing and swallowing his first bite of Kudu venison. Kudu were a type of antelope native to Africa with a taste that was much gamier than steak or most other red meat animals, seasoned Kudu steak was a delicacy he hadn't had since his youth in Tassil. It was a dish that took some getting used to, especially since the traditional way to prepare it was to thickly marinade it in its own blood and serve it cold in the center, which was a hard thing to order in modern day "super sanitary" society. He'd been amazed to find it on the menu, and was now even more amazed because it was perfectly done. Natives of Tassil, even his own dead parents couldn't have done better with a fresh killed antelope, and this meat couldn't be fresh killed. Kisaka swallowed again and took a drink of his wine, also from Africa, a light and dry desert wine he never would have guessed they had in their cellar.
"Good, innit?" Waltfeld said with a broad smile, digging into his own Alaskan salmon shashimi. Kisaka would have never figured Waltfeld as one for asian food, especially raw fish, but Waltfeld was gobbling down the shreds of pink meat with every sign of culinary delight. Waltfeld was drinking the house ale, since Norman's was also a small microbrewery. "If I could eat here every day... hell, every month, I would be able to rest assured that I was a very successful person. And I would be very fat."
"Coordinators don't get fat. They just put on weight that hasn't turned into muscle yet." Murrue said with a smile. She herself had gone with a Greek lamb gyro salad slathered in cheese and vegetables... unlike her two comrades she did most of her fighting from the captain's chair, which offered little oppertunity to work off extra calories. "Seriously, Andrew, I would kill to have your metabolisim." Murrue was drinking water for tonight, since one of them would have to be the responsible adult making sure they got home all right. And she wanted a clear head, because she had some hard news for both men. Maybe it had been more than a year. Maybe it was time to give up false hope and move on with her life. But some part of her soul just wouldn't give up on Mu. The man who could make the impossible, possible. That part of her refused, against all evidence and the passing of time, to believe Mu was really dead. Maybe she would pursue another relationship eventually... god knows she wasn't actually married to Mu or anything... but it was still too soon. She sat back and glanced around the resteraunt. And her heart nearly stopped in her chest.
"Something wrong? Murrue? You look like you seen a ghost." Waltfeld asked, flicking another bite of salmon into his mouth and chewing blissfully, washing it down with a swig of beer.
"P-pardon me. I'll be right back." Murrue stood and lurched away from the table. She was aware of Kisaka and Waltfeld sneaking bites from her food as she walked away. She even heard Kisaka mutter "tastes fine to me", but the part of her noticing these things was almost insignificant. Meanwhile she continued heading towards one of the tables nestled away in the corner, one of the closest to the kitchen. The light was dim over here and the noise fromthe kitchen made it so any sort of quiet conversation would be difficult to overhear from more than a few feet away. The perfect table for lovers or politicians. There were currently four people sitting at it, all male. Uncles and nephews perhaps, or some form of school outing maybe. Two of the men were roughly her age, one was slightly younger than Kira and the last couldn't have been more than ten.
The ten year old suddenly looked up from his food and met her gaze. Her breath caught slightly in her throat and the room seemed to haze a bit. The only thing she seemed able to see was the child, with his snow blond hair and luminous purple eyes, so expressive that she felt like she was getting lost in their depths. Murrue swallowed hard, her mind teetering on the edge of a chasm as she forced herself to look at the two older gentleman, both of whom had their backs turned. One had raven wing black hair that hung to his lower back, that one was dressed in the blue overcoat of a PLANT politician. The other... the other was the one she was over here to see. It was impossible to be sure... but the way he sat... the way the back of his head, with that wonderful golden blond hair, looked... he looked just like Mu, in a lot of ways. Almost exactly in fact. Her logical mind told her it was impossible, that her Mu was scattered across half of space by the lohengrin blast. But her insistent soul wouldn't let the feeling go. She was just about to reach out to tap him on the shoulder when the ten year old tapped his spoon expectantly on the rim of his plate.
"Norman, I'm ready for the next course." The kid said breezily. Murrue found herself looking at him again. He was going to be a beautiful young man when he grew up. Platinum blonde, almost angel white locks of hair, even at that age, with those purple eyes almost like Kira's, though even darker in shade with little sparkles of silver and gold in the retina... it was easy to identify the child as a Coordinator. He met her gaze again and his smile seemed to expand to take up the world. She gasped slightly and shook her head, flinching away from a feeling like bile rising in her stomach.
"Can... I help you, ma'am?" The teenage Coordinator said suddenly. He too had blond hair, but his was a more normal yellowish color and he had bright blue eyes. Murrue gasped again as her stomach heaved. The blue eyes reminded her so much of Mu it was painful. "You don't look well."
Murrue hesitated. Why had she come over here again? It must have been because she wasn't feeling well. Something with the food hadn't agreed with her. But this wasn't the way to the bathroom. She shook her head again, but the feeling of logginess and the roiling in her abdomen did not fade. "I'm sorry. I got turned around while headed for the restroom. Please don't mind me." Murrue turned around and headed away. By the time she got near her own table again, her head and body felt bright and clear and refreshed as always. "Sorry about that. I felt lightheaded all of a sudden." Murrue took her seat again, brushing moisture out of the corner of one eye. She suddenly remembered Mu's blue eyes, the memory was so strong it was like she'd just seen them again. She held a hand to her eyes as she fought not to break down under the memory.
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"Who was that?" Rey asked, taking another bite of his hamburger. Noah glanced at him slightly askance... what sort of rustic came to Norman's Grill and ordered a plain hamburger with fries? Apparently the Rey Ze Burrel type. Though even a hamburger was likely a work of art if it was prepared in Norman's kitchen. Noah had had a table reserved around the clock ever since he'd first eaten here for his eigth birthday. He tried to drop by Norman's whenever he came to Aprilius One, but usually couldn't manage more than once a week. Ah, the privileges of being a member of a super wealthy family. His food was prepared by Norman himself, not any of the other chef's, and was hand delivered. He tried to keep his influencing of others in public to a minimum, but Noah delighted in having Norman come by at the EXACT time Noah needed refreshments or seconds, while service was always slightly later for anyone he was eating with. Just one tiny way of keeping the ruled seperate from the rulers.
"Just some woman who got lost." Gilbert replied, not taking his eyes or his mouth off the curry kabobs he'd ordered. He ate at Norman's every so often, but it was difficult to afford with his current salary, especially considering that he was no seeing Talia a lot more. He made a mental note to bring her here as soon as he was able. He was also eating fast because he wanted to get to the business part of the dinner Noah had invited him too. The little devil had promised a great deal of information that Durandal would need in order to ensure he won the next spot on the Supreme Council, and tonight was the night Noah had promised to pay up.
"Sexy voice though. Reminded me of someone, but I can't quite place it." Michael Genesis said, wiping away marinara sauce from his lips with his napkin. He was another rustic, in Noah's opinion... spagetti with meatballs? No taste at all.
"Past girlfriend, maybe?" Noah asked.
"Nah. I'd have remembered a woman with a hot voice like that, no doubts at all."
"Yes. Yes of course you would have." Noah agreed, biting into a dessert crepe to hide his smile.
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Kisaka and Waltfeld exchanged glances. Murrue had just sat down and smiled at them, then started crying. Really crying, not like stubbed her toe or sprained her wrist, but deep, chest wracking sobs of grief. "Ah... Murrue? Is something wrong?" Waltfeld asked, concerned.
"You seem very distraught. Its not something Andrew or I did, is it?" Kisaka asked, biting his lip slightly.
"No. No. Its not you two. You've been great. I could never have relaxed as much as I have if you two weren't here with me." Murrue replied. She hitched a few times. "And don't think I haven't noticed what you two have been up to either. I've never been so complimented and flattered in my life. Truly, I would be lucky to fall in love with a man half as good as either of you. But... but... it's just... still too soon. I'm sorry. Mu's... he's stilll..." Murrue broke off and stood up. "Excuse me. I need to visit the restroom and clean up. I'll be back shortly."
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"Truce then?" Waltfeld asked after Murrue was well out of earshot. He chugged his beer and signalled for another. The night had been going so good, too.
"Definite truce." Kisaka also slammed back the rest of his wine, and ordered a beer as well.
"We both lost to a dead man." Waltfeld observed.
"That's not a very sensitive way of looking at it." Kisaka replied. He still looked just as glum as Waltfeld felt. "If I could make her forget, I think I would. It's not healthy, living in the past. Mu la Flaga is dead. I liked the man too. But he's gone!"
"We could ask Lacus..."
"She would never do it. She'd probably wipe us instead, for even suggesting it." Kisaka took his beer from the waited and chugged it, waving for another. "I'm depressed."
"Me too."
"I don't know about you, but I'm going to get hammered. I'll feel better tomorrow. Right now, I'm not emotionally capable of handling this."
"I'll join you. What about Murrue?"
"She still has some stuff she needs to work out with Mu. Two's company... but three..."
"Three is a crowd." Waltfeld agreed. "Keep them coming." He ordered the waiter, chugging his own fresh beer.
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Author Note: I did this one first, because it's the hardest for me. I don't do Murrue well in my opinion. But I hope I added some good depth. And I'm sure everyone really hates Noah now, if they didn't before. Which is good.