I apologize for what is sure to be some bastardized Italian. Any suggestions would be welcome.

--

The light was still a soft green, if broken and darker, when the man in black woke. The shaft of forest sun broke his lean face in two, turning the strands of hair that covered his forehead from brown to spun copper and gold. His eyelids strained against the intrusion into their private world of lilac and mint-flavoured dreams.

When movement stirred outside the room, the black clad man feigned unconsciousness, hoping to glean information as best he could. The scent of lilacs was still heavy about the room, becoming even stronger as a body approached the man. A soft rustle of bending fabric, a rush of soft air against his ear, and the man in black heard an even softer voice speak in Geric, with a strong Itan accent: "I know you are awake, shadow walker. I have been trained, same as you. Speak in your defense, or find your end without a last sight of the world. You have walked in the Forest of Lilacs, and have seen the path to the Exiles. Either join us Rebels and Heretics, for whatever the reason of your exile, or die as you were bade at your trial."

The man in black slid open one wide eye, rolling it to the side to meet a singular eye as green as the sun kissed leaves of the canopy. The other was covered by a deep sandy coloured shank of hair. An man of Itani, for sure. "I am a soldier of the Gerican Holy Army, a Shadow rank of the assassin division. The name is Duo." He threw out a hand to the green-eyed man, biting back a wince as his head pulsed with the movement. The Itani took the hand, amusement in his look coupled with a despirate hope in his eye. "My name is Trowa. I was a reconnaissance freccia of the Itan Esercito santo, Woodsman rank. It would seem we have more in common than a past link to the Holy Cause." He swept his gaze over Duo's body, lingering on Duo's long fingers and small waist. "We were both…highly trained." Duo's eyes widened imperceptibly; Trowa was a Ganymede, an executable offense. He decided to ignore it for the moment; he could use it against the green-eyed man, if need be, later.

Duo swung himself up, taking in the small, circular room as his quick action took Trowa off guard for a moment. The low thatched hut was built around a massive treetrunk, dark wood lit with the gold and green streams of sun from the cut windows in the plank walls. A rush of lilac smell startled Duo, and he jumped back as the flowers still attached to his braid whipped around and hit his face. Duo stumbled and fell heavily on the straw mattress, whooshing up a cloud of swirling dust and loose straw. His head began to swim with the blow from earlier, and from a new voice lending a bell-like laugh at Duo's less than impressive first move.

"Leave him be, Trowa. I think our guest has been startled enough for one day. It's not often that you catch a Shadow off guard, and live. Twice."

Duo rubbed his offending head, and caught sight of the now crushed bunch of lilac blossoms. He ripped them from his braid as the two men chatted away in Itan, a language Duo knew very little of. He thought it rather mean of them to exclude him from what was obviously an amusing conversation, although, as he was the subject of the amusement, he decided otherwise. Just have to pick up on the local gab, Duo thought to himself. Seeing the sidelong looks the other two were giving him, he resolved to learn as quickly as possible.

"The number one rule to staying alive in hostile or undetermined company was knowledge and creativity."

Duo nodded at the old advice, passed to him by his trainer and a scientist with the resistance faction. Dr. G was his name.

Wait, scientist?

--

I caught myself from flying into the bar on the seat in front of me, as my mind ejected itself from the fantasy and the bus lurched to a halt. Sometimes, a close parallel ruins it all. I wait my turn to trudge down the crud-crusted steps of the bus, walking out onto the empty pavement.

I check my watch and grimace; the cross colony must have done its route more than twice, and I had ended up in the part of the colony that resembled my not so distant childhood. Not too far from the safe house, though, so I wasn't too worried. Even in my fantasies, I could take care of myself.

I thought back at the world I was creating for myself. Medieval, for sure. Swords, bows and arrows, thatched roofs and rough wooden planks. The addition of Trowa was a bit of a stretch. A blatantly, openly gay Trowa, at that. I chucked at my imagination's choice of love interest for the leading man: strong, silent, sexy, a little hungry. Hmm, something for a more illicit fantasy, perhaps? Ahahah, Quatre would kill me.

Thinking of Quatre has me wondering about that second voice. Certainly sounded like my blond friend, but I didn't get a good look at him.

I did wonder at the inclusion of being a soldier meant. And the different languages. Who knew I could speak Italian in my head? I doubt it was actually Italian, but you never know. I'll figure it out soon enough. Sleep often offered the most poignant – if confusing – looks into these little fantasies of mine.

I wander past the open alleyways, seeing small, luminous eyes looking back at me, wondering if I'm prey or predator. I stare back at them, and the lights go out in a hurry. I feel for them, but I their problems count for very little against mine; besides, if I could survive, so can they.

I chuckle some more at the thought of Trowa, and the hungry look in his eyes. Did his eyes always have that green shimmer to them? I'll have to check next time I run into him. There are precious few times where I see him during this hellish fighting, but the future still remains.

I finally reach the door to the safe house, a gutted hotel that was filled with more than dead rats when I first got here. I unlock the door and climb over the broken stairwell, through the broken railing to hop the last few stairs (the boards are rotted through; that was an adventure, first time I tried them) and finally up to the one solid door in the entire building. I made the frame from a stolen hybrid of scrap metal: steel and gundanium. Not as strong as my old buddy, but certainly enough to keep out errant cops, homeless men, and standard issue bullets. The door itself is the same, with a lock only I could pick.

I feel safer here than anywhere, and as I throw myself to the dusty, broken, spring mattress, I can already feel my eyes drooping. I never sleep lightly in dangerous places.

The scent of lilac fills me.