Below are the 15 most recent journal entries recorded in The Elemental (Djana)'s LiveJournal:

Tuesday, February 15th, 2005
10:04 pm	For my wonderful betas. Fic for Sunhawk's fic contest, based entirely on this pic and my own waped imagination. Warnings for violence, male/male hints, violence, and um... it's probably the longest entry. ( Not A Mission. ) Current Mood: crazy Current Music: Ka ga miru -Unknown (24 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, December 1st, 2004
8:00 pm	Twisted Anime Christmas Carols. Some of these are REAlLY old and corny. Posting for my own amusement, plus one of my Mailing Lists. *waves to ANJ* But you guys might enjoy as well. :D ....*waves to Cosplay.com* Enjoy! If you want to use any of these for any anime-type-gathering, do so with my blessing. ( Twisted Anime Christmas Carols. ) Current Mood: amused Current Music: Pat Benetar - Invincible (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, November 28th, 2004
10:42 pm	Drabble Ficlet. Entry for gw500's "Thanksgiving" challenge. VERY different POV. ^^ Title: Empty Words. Author: Elemental Pairing: None. Rating: G. Warnings: None. Other: Several years after EW. First Person POV. ( What do I have to be thankful for? ) Current Mood: content Current Music: Gackt - Oasis (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, November 27th, 2004
12:31 am	WoSaM Chapter 3: Accepting. Took longer than I would have liked to finish typing this up, but chapter 3 is done and ready. I hope you enjoy! (Previous ratings and warnings apply. I'm not increadibly nice to Relena's character in this one. I promise she'll get better...eventually. Probably. Think of her as Episode 1 Relena, if that helps....) There's now a map (well, I've always had it since I started it, but I thought I should share) to help with all those random contry names.... Map of Desland. ( Wufei was experiencing seasickness for the very first time. Thus far, he hated it. ) Current Mood: contemplative Current Music: 30 Seconds To Mars - Oblivion (10 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, November 22nd, 2004
11:51 pm	GW lyric fic. Work sucks. Though I'm making money. Which is good. WoSaM will be out by Friday- its being beta-read right now. ^^ And now, for something comepltely different- well, almost.... An entry I'd completely forgotten from the GW lyric Wheel community. The lyrics are from Everclear's Sunflowers. I tried to do something a little different, rather than just inserting the lyrics, I used phrases from the song for actual lines/trains of thought. I hope you like it, and the lyrics are at the bottom. Pairings: 1+2 Rating: G Warnings: None. ( Sunflowers. ) Current Mood: creative (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, October 8th, 2004
12:39 am	WoSaM Chapter 2 The War of Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 2 Rating: PG 13 (WILL progress to R in later chapters) Pairings: Defined- 2x5, 3x4. Rest remain pending. ^^ Warnings: AU, OCs, War, Death, Destruction, Flagrant use of concepts snagged from Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman, Tamora Pierce, and David Weber, all carefully modified to fit my (very) warped view of the world. Good possibility of religion bashing. (Ie gods and blind faith, NOT a specific religion.) Archived: GWaddiction, Under Elemental The usual disclaimers apply. Feedback is appreciated! ********************************* ( Chapter 2: Reasons. ) (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, September 9th, 2004
6:33 pm	New Fic- War of Smoke and Mirrors I'm going to try using this again. ^^ ( Prologue and Chapter 1 ) Current Mood: creative Current Music: Front Row- Alanis (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, August 11th, 2003
12:30 pm	Promise He stares out the window, rain washing what little colour is left in his skin. His cheeks are gaunt, starved. His eyes are dead, and afraid, and alone, and accepting all at the same time. It scares me. He can see the demons, the ones that plague my sleep, that plagued all our sleep. But his do not stay in the bedroom, behind covers that do not protect and walls that do not muffle cries. The demons follow him. He sees death everywhere, walking, teasing, insulting. He sees *his* dead, the ones who wet his hands with their blood, and they call to him. There is nothing but despair in his voice now, and he does not answer. But he wants to. He pleads with me, to let him answer their siren call. To let him leave this world where the dead are living and just don’t know it yet… or perhaps it is the living who are dead, and unaware. He was once energy, but no more. Once brightness and loving and truth and integrity and stubbornness and *life*, all in one, big bundle. But no more. The colour is gone from his world, he sees nothing but the mists of grey and the ranks of dead calling for their retribution. Now, he sits in front of the window, cheeks gaunt, half starved, rain leeching what little colour is left to his skin. Moments before, he held a gun, but now it’s in my hands. He doesn’t fight, no longer can he even call up a nickname to tease me with. He simply looks at me, then back out to the rain. I know he will try again tomorrow, and again, until he succeeds. This time is different: he speaks. And in those words he tells me what he sees, what horrors follow him in broad daylight, and what waits until nightfall to attack. It is his curse, so he tells me. And his eyes beg as he pleads once again for me to put him out of his misery. To kill him, here, in cold blood. I am not a strong as I used to be. There was a time when my honor would suffer nothing less than to return the gun and allow him his choice. But the years have softened me, and a promise I once made to a bright violet-eyed boy holds still. And perhaps I am being selfish as well. I promised him once that I would not let him die like this, but is he truly even living? No. I hold the gun because if he dies, I will finally be alone. I will be the last of our kind. And I am terrified. Of everything. Of nothing. Of being alone. I remember how I’d once mastered my fear. And at the same time, looking in his once-violet eyes that are now almost grey, I realize how selfish I have been. I check the clip of the gun, one that had once belonged to Yuy. It is full, though it does not need to be. I am old, and tired. The demons follow me as well, but I have learned to withstand their teeth and claws. He cannot. And in that he older, far older than I can ever be. And his eyes tell me without words how very, very tired he is. I press the cold metal into his hands with a shaking grip, and sit beside him on the windowsill. He stares at the gun like a foreign thing, like a holy grail, like a gift, like a curse. I pull him into my arms, letting my head rest in the crook of his neck. He still smells of cinnamon, even after all these years. He tenses first, but relaxes when I make no move towards the gun. I kiss his cheek, gently, chastely, and hug him just a little bit tighter. “If you’re going to go, take me with you.” He lets the breath he was holding in out with a sigh, and raises Yuy’s gun. //end (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, July 31st, 2003
11:40 am	more... Duo shook his head, “I get the feeling the Clayr ‘saw’ something I don’t know about yet. You can explain it on the way. But let’s hide your paperwing first, shall we?” He stepped forward towards the craft, but Wufei beat him to it, casting the spell for concealment and making the red and gold craft disappear. Duo shrugged, happy not to waste his own power when it was far from normal strength, and led the way through the woods that surrounded the village on three sides, with the Red Lake protecting its fourth. *** The woods were dark, sunlight piercing through branches to forge shafts of golden light, only to disappear into the darkness before ever touching the ground. Duo could sense death nearby, strong and recent. It made him shudder, Heero’s warmth doing little against his neck. He knew the cat could feel it too; the wrongness of the area was almost palatable. Carefully, speaking so that only Heero could hear as Wufei and Quatre walked slightly ahead, Duo whispered, “I think they broke a Charter Stone.” Heero grunted in agreement. Watching the pair in front of him, he suppressed a sigh. He much preferred to work alone, or with Heero. And working with a Clayr-child and a spoiled King were not on his list of fun things to do with an afternoon. And considering what Quatre had told him, it looked like he would have to baby-sit the pair while dragging them through the Old Kingdom- and Gods forbid if something happened to the king in that time! Quatre’s pace had noticeably slowed. “I think… something’s wrong. And someone is watching us.” The three stopped and Duo noted gratefully that Wufei took up position opposite the blond Clayr with Duo. It looked like he might {not} have to worry about the king quite so much, though it still remained to be seen if he could wield the sword he drew from his back (and ignoring the twin blades at his sides for some reason). The steel glinted in the light, and Duo could see Charter Marks flash along its surface. “Where?” Wufei’s voice was low. Another point for the king, Duo thought, even as he cast around for their watcher. Quatre shook his head. “I can’t tell… there’s something wrong, something cold, only different…” “The Charter Stone ahead has been broken. That’s what’s interfering with your empathy.” Heero’s hair was on end as he waited by Duo’s feet. Wufei flinched away from the Clayr at the cat’s pronouncement, but didn’t have time for a comment before Duo felt a surge of Free Magic to his left and turned, unsheathing his sword as he moved. It was a human, most likely recently dead or only tainted with a dead spirit to do another’s bidding, because his form was whole and he looked alive, the smell of necromancy and Free Magic the only reason Duo thought different. He had probably belonged to the village, he thought distractedly as he fought the attacker’s advances. He was incredibly fast with the sword he used, forcing Duo to simply meet the attacks rather that forge his own. His own sword was unspelled, and when it met with the braided teen’s weapon sparks flew, singing his rugged clothing, though he did not notice. When Duo met his eyes he was surprised at the hatred that was there, buried underneath a calm clarity. There was something very strange about his attacker, that was certain. Quickly, he retreated back, gaining space between him and the teen attacking him (for he looked Duo’s own age, perhaps a year or two more) and called out to Wufei, who had been waiting, unable to interrupt the battle without risking injury to the Abhorsen. Wufei stepped forward at the call and released the Charter Spell he’d been holding onto, watching as it slammed into the dead thing, the Abhorsen rolling out of the way at the last second, his hand to his chest. Briefly Wufei worried if the Abhorsen had been hurt, but instead quickly returned his attention back to the dead being as he saw the Abhorsen remove a bell from the bandolier across his chest. The creature should have been killed, or at least slowed, by the Charter spell, but instead it flipped back up onto its feet and jumped over Wufei’s head, far above the reach of his sword, and raced towards the blond Clayr, who stood with his own twin shotels, spelled so brightly they shone. The only problem was that Quatre was shaking so badly both watchers doubted he would survive the onslaught. Duo moved to ring the bell in his hand but staggered as his raised arm was raked from behind with an ear-splitting “TSEEEEEEER” He didn’t drop the bell, but it was a near thing as he clutched his bleeding arm to his chest. The bird turned quickly and came at him again, this time aiming for his face. Dodging out of the way, Duo could see Wufei racing towards Quatre as the blonde staggered underneath the blows raining down on him. Using his sword, Duo drew two quick Charter marks in the air before him and the bird, then sent them out, knocking the creature from the sky and onto the ground. It immediately leapt up to fly again, but Heero was faster, and landed on the bird with a heavy thump, knocking it back and pinning it to the ground. Turning back to the battle, Duo watched as Wufei flew back from the pair, winded and ill from the Free Magic blast the teen had sent into his chest. He’d knocked the Shotels from Quatre’s hands and had raised his sword for the killing blow when Duo rang the bell in his hand, the clear, deep sound of Saraneth filling the woods with its voice, and freezing the dead creature to the spot. Duo completed the figure-eight ring he had learned through ease of practice and bound the creature to his will, slipping Saraneth, the Binder, back into its pouch as he drew Kibeth, the Walker. This was all done with one hand; the other held his sword towards the creature, who Duo wanted a closer look at before sending him beyond the Seventh Gate. He fought against Saraneth’s hold, muscles straining so hard Duo would have worried he would hurt himself if he wasn’t already dead. It wasn’t of any use, Saraneth’s, and Duo’s, will was strong, and the creature was held firmly, forced to drop his sword and kneel as Duo approached. Quatre was suppressing a scream, or several, and was crawling away from the bound teen as fast as he possibly could. Duo returned his attention to his attacker, knowing Wufei would look after Quatre, or at least keep him from hurting himself, while he dealt with the problem at hand. The teen’s auburn hair covered one eye, but the other frantically searched the clearing, looking from Duo’s face to his bells, to the sword firmly pressed to his neck, to the blonde scurrying away from him, to the bird laying in a crumpled heap in the grass, and back to Duo again. There was terror in his face, even as he fought to hide it. And still he said nothing. Duo was used to the dead begging, bribing, anything in an attempt to remain in Life. Such silence, even during the attack, was unnatural. Using his sword, he carefully lifted the fringe of hair that covered the teen’s forehead and half of his face, to find a Charter Mark, still blazing and bright, between his brows. Wufei was at his side, “Your cat is with Quatre, not that that’s helping any, but at least he isn’t moving anymore. Why haven’t you killed him yet?” Duo shook his head and tentatively laid two fingers over the boy’s Charter Mark, keeping his sword pressed against his throat – just in case. It was the Charter, pure and whole. Its warmth surrounded Duo and welcomed him as an old friend, but even then he could sense the outer core of Free Magic this teen possessed. Worse, he was bound- not by Saraneth, or not wholly by Saraneth, but by something Duo equally recognized. When he removed his fingers Wufei shifted into his line of sight, arms crossed over his chest. “Well?” Rather than answer, Duo replaced Kibeth and withdrew another bell, watching as the teen’s eye widened in fear. He was afraid of Duo, and the bells. Not because he was dead, or possessed, but because he had seen a necromancer use them, recently. And Duo had a sinking suspicion that the teen hadn’t only {seen} the necromancer use them. Dyrim was the Speaker, a tricky bell. The cold metal felt jumpy in Duo’s hand, even as he sheathed his sword and held the clapper firmly against the side of the bell, refusing to allow it to sound without his guidance. He forced himself to calm, to ignore Wufei’s questioning voice or Quatre’s heavy breathing, until he was certain of his hold, both on the bell and his will. He swung it, counterclockwise over his head and into the ever-familiar figure eight pattern, this time moving from right to left as Dyrim sounded, a raucous, clattering melody, wrapping the listeners with its spell even as Duo forced it to focus solely on the teen in front of him. He felt the binding break before the flash of light blinded him and he quickly silenced Dyrim, slipping the bell back into its leather carrier on his chest. A spoken Charter mark and the teen fell forward, freed from Saraneth. He pushed past Duo too fast for the teen to even register the movement, and stopped to sweep the bird into his arms, cradling it to his chest defensively. Wufei had already removed his sword, but he quickly produced small, silver throwing knives Duo had no doubt he could use. Rather than risk another battle, Duo held up his hand, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not a necromancer, calm down.” Duo inwardly winced at how foolish the words were, considering what the teen had likely been through. “I’m the Abhorsen, Duo Maxwell. Your village sent for me.” “How – ” teen’s visible eye widened and he sputtered as he worked his mouth “I can speak again… how? How do I know you’re the Abhorsen?” Duo fought the urge to grin. The teen was certainly hard to distract. “Well, for starters, I’m wearing his clothes, so I think he’d miss them if it weren’t for the fact they’re mine so I don’t. And I took the binding the other necromancer placed on you off, so you can speak again. And I’m walking around with the king and one of the Clayr, which I doubt a normal necromancer would do.” The green eye narrowed. “He doesn’t look much like a king. And {he} certainly doesn’t look like a Clayr.” “Duo chuckled, “Yes, well…” “You’re not dead yet. I stress the word {yet}. Since we haven’t killed you, and you were expecting the Abhorsen to come, either lead us to your village or stand aside. Or I will loose my temper.” “Well, he {talks} like a king.” The teen stood, sheathing his knives as he did so. Wufei in turn sheathed his sword, and all three turned towards the frantic Clayr. “S-stay away from him! He’s an abomination! Can’t you sense it?1 the Free Magic- he’s covered in it! Get away from him!” The auburn haired boy shook his head, the bird in his arms stirring. Now that Duo could actually look at it closer, he could tell it was Free Magic as well, similar to Heero, but different at the same time. He placed the bird (already recovered from Heero’s attack) on his shoulder and stepped forward towards Quatre, who’s cries and frantic movements only grew louder and more pronounced. The blonde tried to move away, but Heero was sitting on his chest, and try as he might, he could not move the cat nor move farther back himself. Which only made his cries the louder. Duo stopped the approaching teen with a hand on his shoulder, the on without the strange bird perched on it, but the boy shook his head, “He can sense my Free Magic. A few can. I can help him, so it doesn’t hurt him, but I have to get close. Don’t worry, I won’t harm him.” It seemed to be a large sentence for the boy, and he lapsed back into silence even as he drew nearer to the frightened Clayr. Duo glanced at Wufei, who stood angled to the group, charter spell ready to throw at the teen if he tried to harm Quatre in some way. Quatre, eyes white and face even paler, was now whimpering in pain. Faintly, Duo thought he heard the brown-haired boy murmur “easy, little one” but it was too faint to be certain. Looking carefully, he watched as their former attacker placed his hands on Quatre’s shoulders, and then his temples. There was a flair of Charter Magic, and the burnt smell of Free Magic, and the Clayr opened his eyes clearly once again, looking up into the face of his uni-banged savior… or possibly attacker. He wasn’t sure. What he was sure about was that the pain was gone, and he said as much before he keeled over in a dead faint. The teen, sweat glistening on his forehead, staggered a few steps away and collapsed in a heap, knees drawn up to his forehead as he fought the racking shudders that shook his lithe frame. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, July 29th, 2003
12:36 pm	More Abhorsen The cat around Duo’s neck sighed loudly, “Now you know what I put up with. Just let us through already, we’re loosing light as it is.” The Colonel stopped at the observation platform and barked out orders. “I want a crossing garrison assembled {now}. The Abhorsen is leaving.” Soldiers scrambled to follow the orders and the Colonel watched with a calm eye. Feeling a light tap on his shoulder, Duo turned to see the soldier from before at his side, holding out a large basket. “I-I h-h-heard you w-were leaving before you c-c-c-could eat. Cook made you a b-b-b-ba-b-b- Cook made you lunch.” He glanced nervously at the white cat draped around the Abhorsen’s neck and added “T-there’s some anchovy tins t-there too.” Duo gripped the soldier’s arm warmly and smiled. “Thanks, that’ll help me out a lot. Thank you, and thank the cook for me, ok?” The soldier nodded and scurried off, leaving Duo with the basket, where the scent of fresh bread wafted to his nose and made his stomach growl loudly. Ignoring it, he approached the group of soldiers lined up in front of the Colonel and nodded. At that, the Colonel barked another order and they moved forward, the soldiers surrounding the Colonel and Duo as a kind of wedge. They didn’t expect any sort of attack with the sun so clear ahead and no wind from the north to carry the magic across the wall, but there were rules to follow. As such the group stopped just before the Wall, forming two lines, one on either side of the two in the centre. The Colonel gripped Duo’s forearm and shook his hand firmly. “Take care of yourself.” Duo nodded, but didn’t reply. Leaving the group, he walked towards the wall and the now-destroyed gate that once stood as an entranced, now only wooden shards and rusted hinges proving it existed at all. Stepping through to the Old Kingdom he increased his pace, breathing the crisp fall air, welcome after the dank humidity of a late spring in Ancelstierre. The change in weather wasn’t the only difference between the Old Kingdom and Ancelstierre, Duo thought. They don’t have paperwings for one. He smiled and lightly patted the nose of his paperwing, a craft that flew with magic. It was shaped like a slim canoe, with hawk wings, made of hundreds of sheets of laminated paper. The green eyes painted on the front were partially sentient, the result of a thousand charter spells all bound together. Painted in the colours of the Abhorsen, blue and silver, it was Duo’s main source of transportation throughout the Old Kingdom. Unloading the basket into the back seat, he carefully strapped his sword and bells into their carriers along the inside of the craft, and climbed into the front seat, Heero still wrapped around his neck. Breathing deeply to begin the stream or charter magic needed to pilot the craft, Duo instead yawned, his exhaustion quickly catching up to him. Heero batted at his ear, “You should have stayed there the night.” Duo ignored him, choosing instead to continue the breath, and began to whistle, charter marks for wind and flight and direction flowing out through his lips and catching the air, surrounding the paperwing even as he called in more winds to give them lift. The aircraft leapt into the air, balanced upon the charter called winds and its own inherent magic, and turned southeast, towards the Red Lake and the village of Ganel. “At {least} stop for the night when it grows dark,” a voice said into Duo’s ear over the rushing wind, “you know well how much this thing hates the dark anyway, and getting to the village won’t help them if you’re too tired to even wield the bells properly! Don’t be stupid!” Duo pursed his lips, but finally nodded. “We’ll set down for the night once we’ve lost our light, ok? The farther we go now, the quicker we’ll reach the village tomorrow.” “Good.” Neither spoke of the fact that the village had come under attack this morning, or even earlier, for the messenger-bird to reach them. Neither wanted to mention the fact that it would likely matter very little when they arrived at the village, because, most likely, everyone would already be dead. But neither mentioned this to the other, and so on they flew. ***** “Ah. Let me get this straight…” The voice was crisp and clear throughout the great hall, and Quatre inwardly winced at the speaker’s tone, but outwardly he met the dark eyes with his own calm blue ones and waited for the king to finish. “The Clayr have finally ‘seen’ what Anclestierre is trying to do behind our backs, or more specifically, you’ve seen the {result} of what they’re {going} to do, if I somehow don’t stop them, from whatever it is they’re doing. You know it means the destruction of our world and theirs as well most likely, if they’re not stopped. And the only advice your people have to give me is that I leave with you in a paperwing to a village off of the Red Lake. In {hope} I’ll find whatever or whoever I need to fix the problem I don’t know about yet.” Quatre nodded, expression firm. “Yes, my lord.” His Royal Highness, King Wufei or the Old Kingdom, sat back in his throne and massaged his temples, suppressing a groan. He stared again at the messenger the Clayr had sent, a thin, young testament to their kind. His hair was a golden blond, eyes cobalt blue. While most Clayr had deeply toned golden brown skin, he was pale and a little sunburnt in the face. Instead of the white robes and lapis lazuli jewelry his people were famed for wearing, he wore sensible clothing fit for an expedition, brown leggings and a grey tunic, a pale pink shirt underneath. He looked impossibly young. Fourteen, fifteen at the most. True, Wufei himself was only seventeen, but still… And yet, a message from the Clary could not be put ignored, or even postponed for a time, and it was a wise ruler who knew when to trust advice from greater sources, so his father had once said. Straightening, he motioned to a footman who scurried towards the podium. Wufei frowned, but the footman didn’t even see it as he knelt down in front of the king. Royalty or now, the black-haired teen hated this kind of bowing and scraping reverence that the palace staff used towards him. And he’d yet to find a way to make them stop. Ignoring the footman’s mannerisms for the moment, Wufei stood, nodding to the Clayr as he spoke, “I’ll be leaving with the Clayr messenger within the hour. Inform Lord Cavin that I wish to speak with him as soon as possible. Have Matilde meet me in my chambers.” “Yes m’lord, right away m’lord…” The footman left quickly, and Wufei walked towards the blonde, cursing his own height when he realized the Clayr could meet his eyes easily. Extending his hand to clasp the messenger’s firmly (he certainly wasn’t weak, which was a bonus if he had to be traveling with the boy) Wufei gave a small smile he hoped would be considered ‘reassuring’. “If we’re to travel together, you might as well call me Wufei. ‘your Highness’ and ‘my lord’ get tiresome quickly.” “Yes m- Alright, Wufei…” Quirking an eyebrow, Wufei continued, “Do {you} have a name, or will you be ‘that Clayr messenger’ for the whole trip?” The blonde seemed to relax and even smiled in return as he responded. “My name is Quatre Winner. Quatre Raberba Winner. Thank you… for believing me.” Wufei led them out of the great hall and through the door beside his podium, into the halls of the castle. “What’s not to believe? If the Clayr saw it, that means it’s most likely going to happen. Not definitely, but it’s the most likely outcome. I personally don’t want anything happening to my country while it’s under my rule. I certainly don’t want to go down in history as the one who destroyed the Old Kingdom, after all.” Quatre chuckled at that as they turned past a pair of guards and entered a set of rooms that were obviously Wufei’s. Standing by the bedside and packing a rucksack was an older woman, the grey just beginning to show at the temples or her severe hairstyle. Pointedly ignoring the prattling man behind her she tucked tunics and leggings into the pack with practiced ease. Turning when she heard Wufei cough, she nodded and gave the slightest hint of a curtsy with a practiced “Your Majesty” before she turned back and continued to pack. The older man broke off his litany and bowed deeply before stalking towards his king, argument ready on his lips as he stopped before the two. “My lord I hear you plan to leave with this-” “Don’t even bother, Cavin. I’m leaving, with the Clayr messenger. I’m leaving you in charge. Don’t kill anything while I’m gone.” “B- but! Your Majesty! You just can’t {leave!} Plans must be laid, an escort assigned, duties shifted…” “I’ll take no escort and I’m leaving in the hour. I leave the running of this kingdom in your capable hands. Don’t say you can’t handle it, since you’ve done it before. I trust you. Now, is there anything actually life-threatening you need my presence for, or can I see what Matilda’s doing now?” Quatre watched as the older man seemed to deflate, and smiled at the good-natured sigh that followed, “Oh, there’s no reasoning with you. Go, and be safe, for goodness sake! You’re supposed to be {king} but all you ever seem to do is run off…” Wufei smiled and surprised the blond Clayr when he joked back at the man, “Yes, but I run very {well}.” The two chuckled, and Cavin bowed to the kind again before leaving, nodding to Quatre as he left. Wufei stepped forward and looked over the woman’s shoulder as she tied the flap of the rucksack down. “What have you packed of me, Matilde…” ***** True to his word, Quatre and the king were on the castle roof, loading the Clayr’s paperwing for their journey, within the hour. Once loaded, Quatre offered to let Wufei pilot but he declined, choosing rather to allow Quatre, who he said had a better idea of where they were going, lead them. Whistling down the wind, they headed towards Ganel Village. ***** Duo had been forced to eat once they made camp, and fell asleep before his head hit the ground. Now, the glow of morning reaching even through the thicker trees of the woods ahead, he prepared to move forward on foot. Laying a hand on the nose of the paperwing, he called forth the charter marks for protection and distraction and stealth, and laid them over the craft’s body, where the marks shimmered and disappeared, taking the craft with them. Now no one would know the paperwing was even there, unless they walked directly into it, which wasn’t likely in such an abandoned area. Turning towards the woods again he heard a whistle and looked up to see a second paperwing, this one in the red and gold of royalty, approach from the north. It quickly drew closer and landed in the clearing, the two occupants wasting no time to climb out. There was no doubt the first teen was the king, his angular features and black hair and eyes a trademark of the royal family at the moment. His companion was unknown to Duo, but he doubted that would last long. Striding towards the pair, he saw Wufei tense, then relax as he recognized the auburn-haired boy. Duo bowed quickly, then straightened. “Your majesty, what the hell are you doing here?” Wufei ignored the comment. “Hello, Abhorsen.” He bowed back, then raised an eyebrow, “I’m here because the Clayr have sent me. This is Clayr Quatre Raberba Winner. Quatre, this is the Abhorsen, Duo Maxwell.” They shook hands and Quatre jumped as another voice joined the group. “If you plan to ignore me, I can always claw out your eyes when you sleep.” The white cat seemed to grin as Duo picked him up and laid him over his shoulder. “Quatre, well met. This is Heero.” The pale boy was even whiter than before, “He’s… he’s Free Magic! How can you? How can he?!” he stepped back from the pair. “Easy boy,” Duo put a calming hand on the blonde’s shoulder. “He’s a Free Magic construct, yes, but look at his collar. Feel it.” Tentatively, the blond reached his hand out towards the white creature, who thankfully was staying completely still. Placing his fingers on the red leather of the collar, he thought he heard a bell jingle before he fell into the Charter, a swirling pool of warmth and light, the marks welcoming him home like an old friend. Regretfully, he pulled away and staggered for a moment before regaining his balance. The cat was still smiling at him, but he knew as long as it wore the collar he would be safe. “He is bound to me and my family, he will not harm you, Clayr Quatre.” The blonde shook his head, “Just Quatre is fine. You are heading to Ganel Village, correct? We are as well. We should go together.” Duo shook his head, “I get the feeling the Clayr ‘saw’ something I don’t know about yet. You can explain it on the way. But let’s hide your paperwing first, shall we?” He stepped forward towards the craft, but Wufei beat him to it, casting the spell for concealment and making the red and gold craft disappear. Duo shrugged, happy not to waste his own power when it was far from normal strength, and led the way through the woods that surrounded the village on three sides, with the Red Lake protecting its fourth. (Comment on this)
Monday, July 14th, 2003
9:28 pm	Abhorsen chapter 1- incomplete Though his hands were shaking, Duo gratefully accepted the steaming mug of tea from the Colonel and drank deeply, ignoring the heat and burning his tongue in order to warm his stomach and hands, still numb from the journey into death. He watched as a pair of soldiers carefully tied the last wind flute to the barbed wire that surrounded the Perimeter and crossing point. Duo could see they were trying to listen to what sound the flutes would make as the wind blew through them, making them twirl in the fading light, but he knew they wouldn’t hear them. The song the flutes played was for the dead alone. “Is that the last of them?” Duo looked up to the owner of the hand on his shoulder and saw Colonel Haden looking at him, concerned. Blinking owlishly, Duo gripped the mug tighter to hide the tremble in his hands and looked out into the field. “What?” “Is that the last of them, those wind flutes you fixed up?” Duo nodded, draining the last of the mug and wishing he had more, “Yeah, that’s the end of them. Seven by seven by seven, or twenty one. Your dead will stay dead, at least until you get another idiot General down here without a Charter-Damned clue as to what’s going on.” The Colonel had the grace to flush, slightly, “Ah yes, well, I did apologize, and I mean it. Problem is that the further from the wall you get, the less they’re willing to believe the Charter exists. It’s easier for ‘em to believe we’re all cracked than to think that the dead don’t like to stay dead and that people can go round with magic.” ‘That’s all fine and well,” came a voice from Duo that wasn’t actually his own, “but my master is drenched, cold, exhausted and hungry from cleaning up {your} mess for the last two days, and he wasn’t in great shape before then. Do I have to tell you to get him inside and in front of a fire, now that the dead are no longer a threat for the next ten minutes, or can you figure that out for yourself?” “Heero!” Duo admonished the white cat draped around his neck, “that was rude.” The cat yawned, making the small bell on his collar tinkle quietly, and then nipped lightly at the boy’s earlobe, his nearest target. “It was necessary. And it’s true. Or did you plan on staying up {another} twenty-four hours?” The Colonel could feel the boy was trembling underneath his hand, and wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before. It was easy to forget that someone like the Abhorsen was human too. Tugging on his shoulder, Colonel Haden pulled him inside headquarters, and his lounge. The boy sat down easily with a gentle push, and the Colonel watched as he leaned close to the fire, his familiar, or whatever he wanted to call that infernal cat, unwrapping from his neck and hopping onto the back of the couch, stalking towards Haden with a forceful air. Ignoring the cat, Haden poured another mug of tea for the Abhorsen, hoping it would warm the pale boy. It was hard to think of him as the Abhorsen, he was so very young. He looked to be sixteen, perhaps seventeen at the most. But his strange violet eyes and solid stare made his seem ancient, startlingly so. Then again, things were always different over the wall. He pressed the tea, this time almost full of milk and sugar, into the Abhorsen’s hands, along with a package of saltines, just to hold him over until he could order a full service from the mess. The Abhorsen stared at the tea for a moment, then smiled weakly. “Thanks. I’ll never get used to drinking tea in a mug. At home, it’s always these delicate little things…” Haden laughed, perhaps a little too loudly, and clapped the boy across the back, signaling to a snooping soldier to approach even as he grinned at the violet-eyed teen. “Yes well, those things don’t hold enough for a good drink around here. S’ides, these last longer. Don’t break if you look at ‘em wrong.” He turned back to the soldier, who was sweating nervously from being caught snooping where he shouldn’t have been, and the grin broadened, “You go to the mess and bring back a service, some soup and fresh bread and whatever’s warm. Two, no, three servings,” he added, casting a glance back at the cat.” “I’m partial to fish,” called the cat. “If you have those anchovy things, I’d be mindful not to kill you in your sleep one day…” The soldier blanched and fled to follow his orders while the cat purred quietly, ignoring the half-hearted glare Duo sent his way. Haden scrutinized the Abhorsen for a few moments as the teen drained his mug, then stepped forward, grabbing the first aid box from his desk and kneeling down in front of the pale teen, “Abhorsen, your hands…” Duo looked at his hands and muttered in surprise. The cuts he’d gotten from carving the flutes were raw and swollen; the deepest one across his palm was still bleeding sluggishly through the strip of material he’d bound it with. Haden pulled the mug from his hands and moved to wrap them with gauze, but Duo pulled away. He shook his head, a tiny smile on his lips, though it didn’t really reach his eyes, “Don’t bother with that stuff boss, I can’t handle the bells if my hands are wrapped. Don’t worry, once I cross the wall I’ll find a charter stone and heal them.” “And then you’ll pass out in the middle of God-knows-where. You must sleep my master. Or do you expect me to carry you back home? Must I do {everything} myself?” The Colonel watched the white cat pounce into the Abhorsen’s lap and begin to lick at the wounds, causing the teen to flinch though he did nothing to stop the cat. Haden saw why as the smaller nicks began to disappear, and the blood began to clot on largest cut. Thinking of something, he questioned the Abhorsen, “Why did you hurt your hands so badly? The last Abhorsen made the flutes without a problem, but this is the second set you’ve made, and you always cut up your hands…” Duo smiled without humor, scratching Heero behind the ears as thanks for healing his hands. “I’ve never been any good at whittling, that’s all. I know the spells and the principal to making a wind flute, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. And I never had anyone to teach me.” “What do you mean? I thought—” Before the Colonel could finish he was interrupted by a flurry of knocking at the door. Opening it sent a young soldier tumbling inside, catching himself before he completely fell on his face and managing to give the Colonel some form of salute before breaking into a rushed “Message for the Abhorsen sir!” Standing, Duo moved towards the soldier who couldn’t have been nineteen, fresh out of recruitment. The soldier saluted Duo, though it wasn’t necessary, and handed the teen the message in the form of a small, red, sparrowhawk. The Colonel made to speak but Duo hushed him, lightly stroking the bird’s head and speaking clearly, “I am the Abhorsen, Duo Maxwell. Speak your message.” The bird’s head twitched as charter magic bloomed around it, swirling around Duo and brushing across the silver mark across his forehead, before it spoke in a female, worried voice, “Abhorsen! We’re under attack… there’s so many dead… they’ve broken the charter stone. We can’t stop them, and the fog… Please, help us. Ganel Village. We’re trying to find water. Please-” The bird chirped and began to preen its wings, happy the message had been delivered. The Colonel, forcing himself to sound relaxed, tucked his thumbs into his belt loops and leaned back onto his heels, looking at the strange little bird. “Care to tell me what that was about? Or was I just imagining that bird was talking?” The Abhorsen shook his head and the Colonel noticed the trembling was gone, replaced with the steal resolve he was used to seeing. Holding the bird lightly, Duo answered, “It’s charter magic. The message is impressed onto the egg, and the hatching is sped up through magic. The bird is full size in hours, and will deliver the message to whomever it’s meant for.” Duo stepped outside, Heero jumping up to his shoulder quickly to avoid the mud and wet of the base pathways. Tossing the bird into the air, he watched it fly over the way before he turned back to the Colonel. “Thank you for the tea, but I have to leave right away.” “You can’t leave!” Haden surprised even himself with the force of his outburst, but he pressed on, “You haven’t’ eaten yet. You haven’t slept for the last seventy-two hours, and like your cat said, I don’t know when you slept {before} you got here. You’ve been carving all day and fighting the dead all night, you need to rest before you go anywhere!” The Abhorsen shook his head, already heading for the gate that would lead him through the perimeter and to the wall. “I can’t rest, not until I find that village and stop the dead. It’s my duty.” “I won’t let you pass.” Duo chuckled, “Colonel, I’d almost say you sound petulant. Please,” he added, eyes soft, “Don’t make me force my way through. I don’t want to harm you or your men, but I {must} go.” The Colonel shook his head. “I really can’t stop you, can I?” The cat around Duo’s neck sighed loudly, “Now you know what I put up with. Just let us through already, we’re loosing light as it is.” The Colonel stopped at the observation platform and barked out orders. “I want a crossing garrison assembled {now}. The Abhorsen is leaving.” Soldiers scrambled to follow the orders and the Colonel watched with a calm eye. Feeling a light tap on his shoulder, Duo turned to see the soldier from before at his side, holding out a large basket. “I-I h-h-heard you w-were leaving before you c-c-c-could eat. Cook made you a b-b-b-ba-b-b- Cook made you lunch.” He glanced nervously at the white cat draped around the Abhorsen’s neck and added “T-there’s some anchovy tins t-there too.” Duo gripped the soldier’s arm warmly and smiled. “Thanks, that’ll help me out a lot. Thank you, and thank the cook for me, ok?” The soldier nodded and scurried off, leaving Duo with the basket, where the scent of fresh bread wafted to his nose and made his stomach growl loudly. Ignoring it, he approached the group of soldiers lined up in front of the Colonel and nodded. At that, the Colonel barked another order and they moved forward, the soldiers surrounding the Colonel and Duo as a kind of wedge. They didn’t expect any sort of attack with the sun so clear ahead and no wind from the north to carry the magic across the wall, but there were rules to follow. As such the group stopped just before the Wall, forming two lines, one on either side of the two in the centre. The Colonel gripped Duo’s forearm and shook his hand firmly. “Take care of yourself.” Duo nodded, but didn’t reply. Leaving the group, he walked towards the wall and the now-destroyed gate that once stood as an entranced, now only wooden shards and rusted hinges proving it existed at all. Stepping through to the Old Kingdom he increased his pace, breathing the crisp fall air, welcome after the dank humidity of a late spring in Ancelstierre. The change in weather wasn’t the only difference between the Old Kingdom and Ancelstierre, Duo thought. They don’t have paperwings for one. He smiled and lightly patted the nose of his paperwing, a craft that flew with magic. It was shaped like a slim canoe, with hawk wings, made of hundreds of sheets of laminated paper. The green eyes painted on the front were partially sentient, the result of a thousand charter spells all bound together. Painted in the colours of the Abhorsen, blue and silver, it was Duo’s main source of transportation throughout the Old Kingdom. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, July 11th, 2003
1:40 am	Beginings of new fic.... ************************************************ Though his hands were shaking, Duo gratefully accepted the steaming mug of tea from the Colonel and drank deeply, ignoring the heat and burning his tongue in order to warm his stomach and hands, still numb from the journey into death. Watching as a pair of soldiers carefully tied the last wind flute to the barbed wire that surrounded the Perimeter, Duo could see they were trying to listen to what sound the flutes would make as the wind blew through them, making them twirl in the fading light. “Is that the last of them?” Duo looked up at the owner to the hand on his shoulder and saw Colonel Haden looking at him, concerned. Blinking owlishly, Duo gripped the mug tighter to hide the tremble in his hands and looked out into the field. “What?” “Is that the last of them, those wind flutes you fixed up?” Duo nodded, draining the last of the mug and wishing he had more, “Yeah, that’s the end of them. Seven by seven by seven, or twenty one. Your dead will stay dead, at least until you get another idiot General down here without a Charter-Damned clue as to what’s going on.” The Colonel had the grace to flush, slightly, “Ah yes, well, I did apologize, and I mean it. Problem is that the further from the wall you get, the less they’re willing to believe the Charter exists. It’s easier for ‘em to believe we’re all cracked than to think that the dead don’t like to stay dead and that people can go round with magic.” ‘That’s all fine and well,” came a voice from Duo that wasn’t actually his own, “but my master is drenched, cold, exhausted and hungry from cleaning up {your} mess for the last two days, and he wasn’t in great shape before then. Do I have to tell you to get him inside and in front of a fire, now that the dead are no longer a threat for the next ten minutes, or can you figure that out for yourself?” “Heero!” Duo admonished the white cat draped around his neck, “that was rude.” The cat yawned, making the small bell on his collar tinkle quietly, and then nipped lightly at the boy’s earlobe, his nearest target. “It was necessary. And it’s true. Or did you plan on staying up {another} twenty-four hours?” The Colonel could feel the boy’s trembling through his hand on his shoulder, and wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before. It was easy to forget that someone like the Abhorsen was human too. Tugging on his shoulder, Colonel Haden pulled him inside headquarters, and his lounge. The boy sat down easily with a gentle push, and the Colonel watched as he leaned close to the fire, his familiar, or whatever he wanted to call that infernal cat, unwrapping from his neck and hopping onto the back of the couch, stalking towards Haden with a forceful air. Ignoring the cat, Haden poured another mug of tea for the Abhorsen, (not a boy, even if he’s far too young, he’s the Abhorsen, don’t forget that), this time almost full of milk and sugar, and pressed it into the Abhorsen’s hands, along with a package of saltines, just to hold him over until he could order a full service from the mess. The Abhorsen stared at the tea for a moment, then smiled weakly. “Thanks. I’ll never get used to drinking tea in these things. At home, it’s always these delicate little cups…” Haden laughed, perhaps a little too loudly, and clapped the boy (damnit he’s not a boy, on the outside yes but on the inside) across the back, signaling to a snooping soldier to approach even as he grinned back at the violet-eyed boy (oh for… Forget it!). “Yes well, those things don’t hold enough for a good drink around here. S’ides, these last longer. Don’t break if you look at ‘em wrong.” He turned back to the soldier, who was sweating nervously from being caught snooping where he shouldn’t have been, and the grin broadened, “You go to the mess and bring back a service, some soup and fresh bread and whatever’s warm. Two, no, three servings,” he added, casting a glance back at the cat. “I’m partial to fish,” called the cat. “If you have those anchovy things, I’d be mindful not to kill you in your sleep one day…” The soldier blanched and fled to follow his orders while the cat purred quietly, ignoring the half-hearted glare his master sent his way. _________________ ~I am the Breeze of Wisdom, I am the Wind of Insanity.~ ~Djana (Comment on this)
1:36 am	Stroke I didn't write this, and it's not fantastic...... But I like it a lot. Especially the part about titans and ideals. Imagery.....strong.....sleep....lacking..... A stroke of the quill upon the paper; Yet with that simple gesture brought The mightiest army out of its hiding- The power of unadulterated thought. The beginning of a Crusade of Truth Delivered not by the Sword nor Staff Yet rather with a single, lone mind… Not for self, but on posterity’s behalf. The Reckoning of Reality formed In the Quiet Rebellion of Solitude The medium of the future contained In what the readers may now conclude. The power’s vested in the hearts of all Yet the will to rise forth is held by few, Despite the words ringing out loudly They are no good if not used for a Coup! So throw up down your vile weaponry And raise up your voices in utter protest! Rise up with the truth that no army can stop And use your ink reeds for Verity’s Quest. Again, it all starts with the stroke of a quill, With one person. One idea. One belief. Rage against the fallacies of society… And make doubters cry in disbelief. For the only thing mightier than the gods Are the Titans who remain alongside their ideals. To be frank, we need more people to stand up And show society how each of us truly feels. So I, for one, shall write on, despite lack of hope Because the only thing left to do in this world Is to birth new concepts, new motifs, and open The wings of ideas who have still not unfurled. (Comment on this)
Monday, July 7th, 2003
6:15 pm	Chapter 3!! Chapter three of Identity comes out today. I shall post said chapter here as well. :P It's funny, I haven't started on the x-over yet, and I think i'll title it Abhorrsen, JTN, even though I'd planned on writing yesterday- I worked on a Music Video instead.. for shame! But I've got a good 3 hours of comp time coming, so I shall sitdown and write... though My Muses are poking me to finish Gundam Through Oz..... hrmm.... *evil grin* Identity 3 is MUCh longer, and i'm happy (8 pages!) Identity Rating: R for Violence Genre: Drama/Action Archive: GW Addiction Pairing: 1+2 2+5 1+2+5 Warnings: OC pov that switches (Painlessly, I promise) Violence, Swearing and Gang warefare. Blurb: Doing better, really. Much longer chapter this time around. Remember- the amount of feedback I receive is DIRECTLY proportional to how quickly the next chapter appears. Contact: Writerz_bloc@yahoo.ca is a good choice, or you can hit my new Livejournal, just for writing stuff. http://www.livejournal.com/users/elemental_fic/ ******** Chapter 3 ******** Duo was so frustrated he wanted to scream, but instead he pressed his back against the wall of the club and let the heavy beat burrow into his bones. He’d been here a week. {A week}! Not only had he found absolutely nothing to do with OZ yet, but he’d also been completely unable to mingle with much of the other gangs. That was probably the only thing outwardly suspicious about the whole area. Everything else that was going on, Duo could understand, even rationalize with. But what on Earth could have managed to scare the piss out of every gang in a ten mile radius? That fear was his only lead, and in that case, what the hell would OZ want with a gang? I’m missing something, some important piece, Duo thought, unconsciously shifting aside as a couple slammed into the wall next to him, pressed so firmly together he couldn’t tell where one stopped and another started. There’s got to be something working here. Intel says it’s OZ, but I’m not sure. If it’s just some rival gang, why haven’t they shown their colours yet? You have to be visible for intimidation to {work}! I need to report back to Quatre tonight. Then I’ll just have to keep poking around some more. I’m not leaving until I know what’s going on. Of course, I’m really not going to find out anything in here… I can barley hear myself think. Duo sighed, remembering a past discussion that was almost an argument. Of of his first missions with Heero and Wufei had been of the “Sneak and Seek” variety. Trying to convince them why he’d needed to go to a club, especially when he’d already admitted he probably wouldn’t find out anything of real importance, hadn’t been easy. It took them a bit to grasp the idea of being ‘seen’. If he was supposed to play the part of a dealer or hustler, he couldn’t just show up in the middle of a bar one day and expect people to come to him. You needed to be seen, people had to get used to you. And the best way to do this was to stay in their peripheral vision- school, clubs, and the street. If someone gets used to you, they almost forget you’ve only been here a week. Especially when they’ve got more important things on their minds. At least they’ve improved, Duo thought. Surprisingly enough, Heero and Wufei had gotten much better at accepting his own way of doing things since they first met. And they both now trusted his advice, which was a hard won victory in its own right. And he had to admit, he enjoyed working with the two. There was definitely some chemistry, though how much remained to be seen. He’d admit he liked them in a second - lying to himself about his own feelings was dangerous at the best of times. Knowing himself was one of Duo’s greatest strengths, at least in his own mind. But what about Heero and Wufei? Sometimes, Duo felt like they were walking on glass around him, afraid they might break something. Other times, all he wanted to do was smack them with a haddock for ignoring him completely. He kind of wished one of them would get their heads out of their collected asses and do {something}, even if it meant only being friends. He could live with that, especially with a war going on. But this not knowing was driving him crazy. It was midnight, and technically, he had school in the morning, but he’d quickly learned that the classes didn’t even take attendance. If you came, you came. If you didn’t, oh well. Pushing up from the wall and leaving its heartbeat-like rhythm behind, Duo strolled out into the open air, meandering around the city as though he had nowhere to go, and ever so subtly heading back to his safe house. It was one AM by the time he got in, shimmying through the fire escape on the third floor. The building was condemned, but with the exception of the rats, Duo could find no problems with it. Booting up his laptop, he waited for the scramblers to give the clear symbol before jacking the radio into the USB port. “Hawks Nest, this is Darkchild, over.” Duo waited two full minutes, then repeated the message. This time, the radio crackled to live, static laying over the reply like a thick blanket. “Darkchild, this is Hawks Nest. Arabian here. Over.” “Arabian, Alice fell through the Rabbit Hole and met the Mad Hatter. But how did she fall into the Looking Glass? Over.” “Darkchild, Alice didn’t fall, she stepped through freely. Over.” Duo reached over and the static immediately cleared, now that he knew that the signal was secure on both ends. Chuckling lightly, relaxed into a more comfortable position. “Hey 04, just a status report, nothing big. I’ve found jack and shit here all week. But I’ve got a gut feeling something’s going on, so I’m staying at least another seven. What’s new on your front?” “01 and 05 are back from that last mission. You should have been here, they were practically spitting at each other. They couldn’t walk on their own, so they were holding each other up, but they wouldn’t admit they were hurt. Trowa took one look at them and laughed, so I think it was worth it. They’re fine now, just caught the base’s explosion from behind. You having problems?” “Nah. Just annoyances. If OZ is here, they’re too well hidden. But something’s got the gangs running scared. I just have to keep snooping around. Did the data extract succeed?” “Yes. As soon as those two wake up, we’re going over the info. I’ll pass anything relevant on to you then. When should we schedule the next contact?” “Two days. Unless something comes up on your end. Use the Emergency frequency, or leave something with one of my drop points.” “Acknowledged. Sleep well.” Duo grinned, “You too, little bro. Darkchild out.” Duo leaned back against some packing crates and stifled a laugh as he pictured Wufei and Heero staggering into the house, each of them yelling at the other. It did make a funny mental image, and what was worse was that Duo could see it far too easily. There was some form of rivalry going on between those two, he just didn’t know what. Talking to Quatre was nice, even if they couldn’t risk visual contact this far apart. OZ had a tendency to monitor radio frequencies, though much less strictly than they did the digital channels, which was why the pilots had chosen to use them in the first place. Unplugging the computer and slipping it into his backpack, Duo froze, the small, fine hair on the back of his neck beginning to stand. Someone was in the house. Used to this, Duo had everything back in his bag within thirty seconds, the only proof he’d even been in the room the dust he’d disturbed as he’d slept. Heading for the fire escape, he headed up, not down, planning to lose whoever it was along the rooftops. Swinging up and around, he almost vaulted onto the roof, taking a moment to look over the ledge at the base of the building, where at least ten soldiers were standing. Swearing, he took off, sprinting across the debris-strewn rooftop. Pausing at the edge, he leaped across the foot-wide gap to the next roof, landing quietly. Shifting his backpack so it sat more securely across his shoulders, he paused to listen for pursuit, cursing quietly under his breath as a shout went up and someone spotted him. Using the raised lip of the roof as cover from the gunfire now aimed near his head, Duo ducked and headed along the side of the building, jumping as soon as he hit the edge, and rolling as he landed on the next roof, this one shingled and steepled. Sliding down the opposite side of the soldiers, Duo controlled his fall with one hand, ripping his fingernails as they scraped against the harsh surface. When his feet met the eavestrough he kicked hard, yanking it from the building even as he grabbed it with his free hand and used it to swing down to the ground, landing hard on his right ankle and rushing forward before he’d really regained his balance. The sounds behind him faded, then grew stronger as a second group joined the first. Taking a quick right through an alleyway, Duo came up to a brick wall, maybe seven feet high. Using the garbage cans and a few crates he was almost overtop when he heard pounding footsteps draw near, then stop. Fire burned in his shoulder and he cried out, pitching forward and already twisting to lessen the impact of the fall. Something in his hand cracked loudly enough to be heard above the gunfire and shouts behind the wall, but he moved forward again. Ducking behind an old store, windows brown from dust, he grinned as he reached his target. Lifting the cover up with one hand, he shifted it aside and stepped down onto the rusting metal ladder embedded directly into the tunnel. The moment his head was underground, he reached over again and slid the cover back in place, climbing ever steadily down into the darkness of the sewer below. ******** “By God, that’s the seventh one this week!” Someone cried, though I didn’t even look to see who. “The second one today.” Another replied, but I kept my eyes towards the entrance. I already know what they were talking about, after all. An emergency crew was loading another teen onto a stretcher just inside the Emergency Entrance. His friends stood off to the side, worried, even as his blood was drying on the front of their matching jackets. His jacket was gone, and his white shirt all Crew members wore was stained red. He was screaming, a wretched, gurgling sound the ward and I were almost beginning to get used to hearing. Almost. They had him strapped into the stretcher in moment, hands and legs restrained as he tried to fight off imaginary monsters that flew in front of him. As they pushed him passed, I could see that the vessels in one of his eyes had burst, making him look all the more deranged, or perhaps pitiful, as blood bubbled from his throat. The silence that followed after him was so thick I could feel it in the air, a weighted blanket that made everyone study the tiles, or the ceiling, or their nails, just to keep from making eye contact. Seeing someone their age, the two gang members inched towards me, shock still controlling most of their minds. “Hey, is he- is Tank gonna be ok?” This one had bright red hair, obviously dyed, spiked a good three or four inches off of his head. The white and black bandanna normally worn at all times by Crew members was being twisted in his hands so tightly I expected to hear the material rip. “You docs can fix em up, right?” This boy was younger, though less frightened. His bandanna wasn’t on his head, and I suddenly remembered seeing bandannas wrapped around each of the victim’s wrists, black with blood. They waited as I thought of an answer, and I paused before I could meet the first one’s eyes again. “No. He’s not the first one we’ve had like this, you know. They all hemorrhage- they bleed inside their brain, and we can’t fix it. The only thing we can do is stop the pain, for a while.” I paused, “Does he have family?” They were silent, mouths hanging open, shocked, I think, because I hadn’t told them everything would be alright. The younger one nudged his friend, and he blinked rapidly, almost coming out of a dream. He shook his head, eyes staring somewhere past me, “Nah, I’m his cousin, but that’s all he’s got left. I guess… he was all I had left too.” I ignored the crack in his voice as I turned, heading for the triage room out of instinct. As I’d thought, he was dead before I even walked into the room, Dr. Weiss massaging her temples as another nurse began unstrapping the body. Nodding to them both, I looked at ‘Tank’ for a long moment, before removing the silver ring on his forefinger and collection of dog tags around his neck. True to Crew tradition, one of those tags was his own, but the rest belonged to friends and family he had lost. A kind of remembrance. And now, they would have to be passed on. They were still waiting when I returned, the red-head collecting himself enough that he accepted the tags and ring quietly, though he failed to keep the tears at bay. When they left, Jacques, the intern who’s been ribbing me for weeks now, slung an arm around my shoulder. “Wow Dita,” he squeezed my shoulder gently, “you {do} have a soul. I hope you realize I just lost a bet because of that.” I had a lot of comments I could have said, a thousand and one reactions, each of them scathing, but in the end, I just twisted his hand back until he let go, then walked off. When Dr. Weiss passed by, she smiled without humor. “Go home Dita, get some rest. You should have left hours ago.” I knew that myself, but nodded and checked out, grabbing my pay stub from my mailbox on the way out. It was dark, incredibly dark. I’d smashed my watch fighting with the first gang victim of the shift, smacking my hand against the wall when he lunged forward, trying to free his secured hand. I guessed it was close to two am, so I most definitely wasn’t planning on school in the morning. After a night like this, I knew I’d need the sleep. ‘Tank’ would have been our fourteenth victim to come in like that in the last two weeks. All gang members of various gangs, all hallucinating, all dead with hemorrhaging within the hour they would arrive. If we included those who died before they even got to the hospital, or were found dead, that number was thirty. What the hell was going on? I took the longer route home preferring to stick to the better lit streets, even if it added fifteen minutes or so. Crossing on Ridge Street, I could hear sirens and gunfire, muffled, so a few blocks back, to my right. It almost seemed out of place, considering how quiet things had been, but I couldn’t really expect the peace to last forever. Ridge Street is aptly named, since it’s a street that was once built directly on a ridge on a hillside. Now, God knows how much later, it’s a road flanked with sidewalk, the grass rising dramatically to the right, and moving into some of the ‘upper-class’ housing, even as it seemed to drop straight down to the left, making it look almost as if that part of the ground just disappeared. It’s an interesting area, and I remember playing on it when I was really small and we had the occasional blizzard that would close the streets. Me and dad would climb onto my carpet sled at the very top of the hill, and sled down, across the road, and drop down the hill, sometimes for almost two whole minutes before we stopped in the parking lot of a little coffee and sandwich joint. Then we’d have hot chocolate and head back, climbing all the way around just to do it all over again. I turned down onto Pape and was startled out of my nostalgia when the lid to the sewers slid off in front of me. A figure tumbled out and lay on his back for a few seconds before wrenching around and meeting my stare with his very vibrant purple eyes. He groaned and stood, swaying a little from side to side. He was backlit, so I couldn’t see him very well, though I could certainly smell him. “What the hell were you doing in the sewers Max? Are you drunk?” He seemed to stop swaying mid-swing, so he was standing tilted a little to the right. He grinned a little too quickly for me to be fooled as he moved closer to the sewer again. “Yeah, Deet’s. I had a bit much and pissed off some punk so I’m—” A gunshot went off and a shout replied, somewhere a little closer than the last ones I’d heard, and Duo visibly flinched. Spinning wildly, he stepped up to the sewer, missed the ladder, and slipped and fell, head hitting concrete as his arms windmilled, one catching me hard in the eye. He wasn’t moving. I looked from him to the right, where the noise was slowly but steadily growing stronger, and back to him again. I reached down to shake him awake, but yanked my hand back instinctively when his shoulder felt wet. Cursing my stupidity, since the sewer wasn’t the {driest} place around, I wiped my hand on my scrub pants, then stared in mute horror as it left a deep, red stain across my knee and thigh. Quickly I checked Max, finding a bullet hole under the strap of his backpack, bleeding rather profusely. I ripped several strips from the bottom of my shirt, using them to pad the wound and hopefully stop the bleeding until I got him home. Heaving Max up, I slung him over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry, the only one I could manage considering how close we were in size. I was worried about the bleeding, considering his head and shoulders were now somewhere around my waist, but there wasn’t anything I could do, unless I planned to leave him there. I took the short cuts, crossing through backyards and empty lots, pausing to listen if I thought I heard pursuit. We’d almost made it home when Max groaned, and I carefully lowered him, exhaustion making every limb scream in protest. I closed my eyes, just for a second, and he was already sitting up when I opened them again. Somehow I wasn’t too surprised. “Can you walk? We’re almost at my place?” He wet his lips and glanced around, unsure. “Where..?” I shrugged, “They’re maybe three, five minutes back, if we’re lucky.” I stood again, and offered him a hand up, which he took. Slinging one arm around his shoulders, and using the other to support his waist, we staggered quietly through my backdoor, hidden from prying eyes by both the darkness, and the dead bushes that surrounded the house. I hadn’t fully pulled the door behind me when mom appeared, eyes wide and cheeks rosy. She swayed a little on her feet as well, though it wasn’t from being hurt. The bottle in her hand was maybe three quarters empty, which was good since she liked to swing it from side to side as she spoke. “Oh, Dita hun, you brought a boy. He’s a nice boy. Didn’t I always tell you you need a nice boy?” I sighed, “Yes mum.” “I did tell you. Good. You run along and pay dear. Shameful, bringin a boy into that mess of a room. You keep that door shut young lady.” She sloshed her bottle for added effect, “I don’t want to hear you two, I’m taking a bed. I mean a nap. I’m goin to nap.” Mum staggered over to the couch, putting the bottle down with almost comic care, then collapsed on the sofa, asleep before she’s stopped moving. Max just looked at me and I walked him upstairs, too embarrassed to really meet his eyes. I know I was blushing, but I was pointedly ignoring it. “Alright, mom’s a drunk. At least she’s a nice drunk.” He nodded in agreement and I wondered how many mean drunks he knew, but by then we’d made it upstairs and into my room. I had his shoes and bag off in an instant, taking more time as I peeled back the jacket, hoping not to disturb any blood clotting but needing to address the wound. I ended up having to cut the shirt off, though it was ruined anyway from the blood and sewer filth. He was lucky, once th blood was washed away, the wound was clean, with a definite entry and exit point. Whoever had shot him was using .12 bullets, and for some reason that made me think they were trying to keep him alive. .12’s leave much less mess as an exit wound, where the higher caliber, like a .22 or .45, would tear a bloody hold the size of a fist out your back if it hit. I bandaged the wounds, Max uncharacteristically quiet, and I worried about infection. I had some antibiotics here, strong ones, but not many. I decided I could grab something stronger from a supply cart at work tomorrow, just to be safe. Considering how rank he smelled and how dirty his hair was, I didn’t really want him sleeping in my bed like that, so I levered him up and to the bathroom. Obviously dazed, Max did little to argue, which had me wondering if he’d been concussed in that fall, or if it was just from blood loss, another possibility. He stayed quiet until I moved to undo his belt, when he promptly jumped up, swayed, grabbed his head as if to steady the room, then spoke a little too deliberately for me to believe. “Dita, thank you, but I can clean myself up. You just go on, and I’ll do this. I’ll be fine on my own, I’d done it a million times before. You just go. Ok?” He planted himself firmly, hands still to his head, and I smothered a grin, nodding solemnly and pointing out the towels, soap, and shampoo before I left. He closed and locked the door behind me, and I headed downstairs to check the locks on the doors and windows. I went back upstairs and tossed the shirt into a garbage bag, as well as cleaning up my med box I’d torn apart minutes ago. When I figured I’d waited enough, I went to the bathroom door and called out softly, “Max? Max, you alright?” There was silence on the other end, and I chuckled lightly, without much humor as I jimmied the door open and found Max asleep on the toilet seat, naked except for his socks. I ran water for the bath, removed his socks, and maneuvered Max into the tub. I’ve done this so often with patients that the human body, male or female, is nothing new to me. Max’s, however, was probably the worst I have ever seen. He was covered in small scars, larger scars, yellowed and green bruises all over his torso. This wasn’t his first bullet wound; I found one in his upper arm, one to his side, and one clean through his calf, all long healed and scarred over. His ankle was swelling, and I suspected he’d sprained it somehow, and I found his pinky and index finger broken on his left hand, so I put them in a splint. His right hand was a bloody mess, looking like he’d dragged it across a sander, two fingernails gone and another half torn off. I cleaned everything thoroughly with a hydrochloride-based cleanser, hoping to prevent the infection I knew was dammed likely. When he was clean, I unbound his hair, turning on the showerhead to rinse most of the gunk out before working the shampoo into his scalp. That hair was {real}, not a weave. Something about that fact made me cautious, or at least respectful, though I’m not certain why, and I made sure it was thoroughly dirt free before wrapping him up in a towel and staggering with him across the hall to my bed once again. I dried him thoroughly, re-dressing the wounds already as they bled through the first bandages, and put him in a pair of my dad’s old sweatpants, which swam on his tiny frame, but the elastic waist held well enough for now. I began to brush his hair, knowing full well what it would look like if he slept with it wet, and Max stirred, eyes blearily swinging around the room. “Status?” he croaked. I thought for a second. “You’re injured, but safe. You need to stay still, or you’ll re-open the wound. You may be concussed, so I’ll have to wake you every hour tonight. Don’t worry,” I repeated, “you’re safe.” He nodded blankly. “Thanks H’ro. Is Fei back yet?” I paused for a second, perhaps a second too long as Max started to stir and tried to sit up. “Is he ok? Where’s Fei? Is he hurt..?” I pushed him lightly back down on the bed and crossed my fingers. “Fei is still out, but he’ll be back soon… he had to go shopping.” Max chuckled at that. “Heh. Wufei {hates} shopping…” And then he was back asleep. I brushed and braided his hair, tying off the end with an old elastic from when my hair was longer, then looked at the clock. 3:45. I’d wake Max up at 4:45, and an hour after that, until I didn’t worry about the concussion any longer. Stepping back, my foot knocked his backpack, and I kneeled down, deciding to see just what he had inside. When I found the laptop, I grinned, curiosity gaining the better of me as I plugged it in and booted it up. Even if it had nothing on it, I could probably learn a lot about Max from the comp’s memory. And heck, I was bored. A password screen popped up before the boot program, and I took a wild stab at the answer. Then another, then another, then another. I was about to reach over and grab a crack disk, a disk programmed to run a bypass code through most computer systems, when a little figure appeared on the screen, and Max’s voice floated through the speakers, slightly tinny, but as sarcastic as hell. < [Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<what [...] do,>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.] Chapter three of Identity comes out today. I shall post said chapter here as well. :P It's funny, I haven't started on the x-over yet, and I think i'll title it Abhorrsen, JTN, even though I'd planned on writing yesterday- I worked on a Music Video instead.. for shame! But I've got a good 3 hours of comp time coming, so I shall sitdown and write... though My Muses are poking me to finish Gundam Through Oz..... hrmm.... *evil grin* Identity 3 is MUCh longer, and i'm happy (8 pages!) Identity Rating: R for Violence Genre: Drama/Action Archive: GW Addiction Pairing: 1+2 2+5 1+2+5 Warnings: OC pov that switches (Painlessly, I promise) Violence, Swearing and Gang warefare. Blurb: Doing better, really. Much longer chapter this time around. Remember- the amount of feedback I receive is DIRECTLY proportional to how quickly the next chapter appears. Contact: Writerz_bloc@yahoo.ca is a good choice, or you can hit my new Livejournal, just for writing stuff. http://www.livejournal.com/users/elemental_fic/ ******** Chapter 3 ******** Duo was so frustrated he wanted to scream, but instead he pressed his back against the wall of the club and let the heavy beat burrow into his bones. He’d been here a week. {A week}! Not only had he found absolutely nothing to do with OZ yet, but he’d also been completely unable to mingle with much of the other gangs. That was probably the only thing outwardly suspicious about the whole area. Everything else that was going on, Duo could understand, even rationalize with. But what on Earth could have managed to scare the piss out of every gang in a ten mile radius? That fear was his only lead, and in that case, what the hell would OZ want with a gang? I’m missing something, some important piece, Duo thought, unconsciously shifting aside as a couple slammed into the wall next to him, pressed so firmly together he couldn’t tell where one stopped and another started. There’s got to be something working here. Intel says it’s OZ, but I’m not sure. If it’s just some rival gang, why haven’t they shown their colours yet? You have to be visible for intimidation to {work}! I need to report back to Quatre tonight. Then I’ll just have to keep poking around some more. I’m not leaving until I know what’s going on. Of course, I’m really not going to find out anything in here… I can barley hear myself think. Duo sighed, remembering a past discussion that was almost an argument. Of of his first missions with Heero and Wufei had been of the “Sneak and Seek” variety. Trying to convince them why he’d needed to go to a club, especially when he’d already admitted he probably wouldn’t find out anything of real importance, hadn’t been easy. It took them a bit to grasp the idea of being ‘seen’. If he was supposed to play the part of a dealer or hustler, he couldn’t just show up in the middle of a bar one day and expect people to come to him. You needed to be seen, people had to get used to you. And the best way to do this was to stay in their peripheral vision- school, clubs, and the street. If someone gets used to you, they almost forget you’ve only been here a week. Especially when they’ve got more important things on their minds. At least they’ve improved, Duo thought. Surprisingly enough, Heero and Wufei had gotten much better at accepting his own way of doing things since they first met. And they both now trusted his advice, which was a hard won victory in its own right. And he had to admit, he enjoyed working with the two. There was definitely some chemistry, though how much remained to be seen. He’d admit he liked them in a second - lying to himself about his own feelings was dangerous at the best of times. Knowing himself was one of Duo’s greatest strengths, at least in his own mind. But what about Heero and Wufei? Sometimes, Duo felt like they were walking on glass around him, afraid they might break something. Other times, all he wanted to do was smack them with a haddock for ignoring him completely. He kind of wished one of them would get their heads out of their collected asses and do {something}, even if it meant only being friends. He could live with that, especially with a war going on. But this not knowing was driving him crazy. It was midnight, and technically, he had school in the morning, but he’d quickly learned that the classes didn’t even take attendance. If you came, you came. If you didn’t, oh well. Pushing up from the wall and leaving its heartbeat-like rhythm behind, Duo strolled out into the open air, meandering around the city as though he had nowhere to go, and ever so subtly heading back to his safe house. It was one AM by the time he got in, shimmying through the fire escape on the third floor. The building was condemned, but with the exception of the rats, Duo could find no problems with it. Booting up his laptop, he waited for the scramblers to give the clear symbol before jacking the radio into the USB port. “Hawks Nest, this is Darkchild, over.” Duo waited two full minutes, then repeated the message. This time, the radio crackled to live, static laying over the reply like a thick blanket. “Darkchild, this is Hawks Nest. Arabian here. Over.” “Arabian, Alice fell through the Rabbit Hole and met the Mad Hatter. But how did she fall into the Looking Glass? Over.” “Darkchild, Alice didn’t fall, she stepped through freely. Over.” Duo reached over and the static immediately cleared, now that he knew that the signal was secure on both ends. Chuckling lightly, relaxed into a more comfortable position. “Hey 04, just a status report, nothing big. I’ve found jack and shit here all week. But I’ve got a gut feeling something’s going on, so I’m staying at least another seven. What’s new on your front?” “01 and 05 are back from that last mission. You should have been here, they were practically spitting at each other. They couldn’t walk on their own, so they were holding each other up, but they wouldn’t admit they were hurt. Trowa took one look at them and laughed, so I think it was worth it. They’re fine now, just caught the base’s explosion from behind. You having problems?” “Nah. Just annoyances. If OZ is here, they’re too well hidden. But something’s got the gangs running scared. I just have to keep snooping around. Did the data extract succeed?” “Yes. As soon as those two wake up, we’re going over the info. I’ll pass anything relevant on to you then. When should we schedule the next contact?” “Two days. Unless something comes up on your end. Use the Emergency frequency, or leave something with one of my drop points.” “Acknowledged. Sleep well.” Duo grinned, “You too, little bro. Darkchild out.” Duo leaned back against some packing crates and stifled a laugh as he pictured Wufei and Heero staggering into the house, each of them yelling at the other. It did make a funny mental image, and what was worse was that Duo could see it far too easily. There was some form of rivalry going on between those two, he just didn’t know what. Talking to Quatre was nice, even if they couldn’t risk visual contact this far apart. OZ had a tendency to monitor radio frequencies, though much less strictly than they did the digital channels, which was why the pilots had chosen to use them in the first place. Unplugging the computer and slipping it into his backpack, Duo froze, the small, fine hair on the back of his neck beginning to stand. Someone was in the house. Used to this, Duo had everything back in his bag within thirty seconds, the only proof he’d even been in the room the dust he’d disturbed as he’d slept. Heading for the fire escape, he headed up, not down, planning to lose whoever it was along the rooftops. Swinging up and around, he almost vaulted onto the roof, taking a moment to look over the ledge at the base of the building, where at least ten soldiers were standing. Swearing, he took off, sprinting across the debris-strewn rooftop. Pausing at the edge, he leaped across the foot-wide gap to the next roof, landing quietly. Shifting his backpack so it sat more securely across his shoulders, he paused to listen for pursuit, cursing quietly under his breath as a shout went up and someone spotted him. Using the raised lip of the roof as cover from the gunfire now aimed near his head, Duo ducked and headed along the side of the building, jumping as soon as he hit the edge, and rolling as he landed on the next roof, this one shingled and steepled. Sliding down the opposite side of the soldiers, Duo controlled his fall with one hand, ripping his fingernails as they scraped against the harsh surface. When his feet met the eavestrough he kicked hard, yanking it from the building even as he grabbed it with his free hand and used it to swing down to the ground, landing hard on his right ankle and rushing forward before he’d really regained his balance. The sounds behind him faded, then grew stronger as a second group joined the first. Taking a quick right through an alleyway, Duo came up to a brick wall, maybe seven feet high. Using the garbage cans and a few crates he was almost overtop when he heard pounding footsteps draw near, then stop. Fire burned in his shoulder and he cried out, pitching forward and already twisting to lessen the impact of the fall. Something in his hand cracked loudly enough to be heard above the gunfire and shouts behind the wall, but he moved forward again. Ducking behind an old store, windows brown from dust, he grinned as he reached his target. Lifting the cover up with one hand, he shifted it aside and stepped down onto the rusting metal ladder embedded directly into the tunnel. The moment his head was underground, he reached over again and slid the cover back in place, climbing ever steadily down into the darkness of the sewer below. ******** “By God, that’s the seventh one this week!” Someone cried, though I didn’t even look to see who. “The second one today.” Another replied, but I kept my eyes towards the entrance. I already know what they were talking about, after all. An emergency crew was loading another teen onto a stretcher just inside the Emergency Entrance. His friends stood off to the side, worried, even as his blood was drying on the front of their matching jackets. His jacket was gone, and his white shirt all Crew members wore was stained red. He was screaming, a wretched, gurgling sound the ward and I were almost beginning to get used to hearing. Almost. They had him strapped into the stretcher in moment, hands and legs restrained as he tried to fight off imaginary monsters that flew in front of him. As they pushed him passed, I could see that the vessels in one of his eyes had burst, making him look all the more deranged, or perhaps pitiful, as blood bubbled from his throat. The silence that followed after him was so thick I could feel it in the air, a weighted blanket that made everyone study the tiles, or the ceiling, or their nails, just to keep from making eye contact. Seeing someone their age, the two gang members inched towards me, shock still controlling most of their minds. “Hey, is he- is Tank gonna be ok?” This one had bright red hair, obviously dyed, spiked a good three or four inches off of his head. The white and black bandanna normally worn at all times by Crew members was being twisted in his hands so tightly I expected to hear the material rip. “You docs can fix em up, right?” This boy was younger, though less frightened. His bandanna wasn’t on his head, and I suddenly remembered seeing bandannas wrapped around each of the victim’s wrists, black with blood. They waited as I thought of an answer, and I paused before I could meet the first one’s eyes again. “No. He’s not the first one we’ve had like this, you know. They all hemorrhage- they bleed inside their brain, and we can’t fix it. The only thing we can do is stop the pain, for a while.” I paused, “Does he have family?” They were silent, mouths hanging open, shocked, I think, because I hadn’t told them everything would be alright. The younger one nudged his friend, and he blinked rapidly, almost coming out of a dream. He shook his head, eyes staring somewhere past me, “Nah, I’m his cousin, but that’s all he’s got left. I guess… he was all I had left too.” I ignored the crack in his voice as I turned, heading for the triage room out of instinct. As I’d thought, he was dead before I even walked into the room, Dr. Weiss massaging her temples as another nurse began unstrapping the body. Nodding to them both, I looked at ‘Tank’ for a long moment, before removing the silver ring on his forefinger and collection of dog tags around his neck. True to Crew tradition, one of those tags was his own, but the rest belonged to friends and family he had lost. A kind of remembrance. And now, they would have to be passed on. They were still waiting when I returned, the red-head collecting himself enough that he accepted the tags and ring quietly, though he failed to keep the tears at bay. When they left, Jacques, the intern who’s been ribbing me for weeks now, slung an arm around my shoulder. “Wow Dita,” he squeezed my shoulder gently, “you {do} have a soul. I hope you realize I just lost a bet because of that.” I had a lot of comments I could have said, a thousand and one reactions, each of them scathing, but in the end, I just twisted his hand back until he let go, then walked off. When Dr. Weiss passed by, she smiled without humor. “Go home Dita, get some rest. You should have left hours ago.” I knew that myself, but nodded and checked out, grabbing my pay stub from my mailbox on the way out. It was dark, incredibly dark. I’d smashed my watch fighting with the first gang victim of the shift, smacking my hand against the wall when he lunged forward, trying to free his secured hand. I guessed it was close to two am, so I most definitely wasn’t planning on school in the morning. After a night like this, I knew I’d need the sleep. ‘Tank’ would have been our fourteenth victim to come in like that in the last two weeks. All gang members of various gangs, all hallucinating, all dead with hemorrhaging within the hour they would arrive. If we included those who died before they even got to the hospital, or were found dead, that number was thirty. What the hell was going on? I took the longer route home preferring to stick to the better lit streets, even if it added fifteen minutes or so. Crossing on Ridge Street, I could hear sirens and gunfire, muffled, so a few blocks back, to my right. It almost seemed out of place, considering how quiet things had been, but I couldn’t really expect the peace to last forever. Ridge Street is aptly named, since it’s a street that was once built directly on a ridge on a hillside. Now, God knows how much later, it’s a road flanked with sidewalk, the grass rising dramatically to the right, and moving into some of the ‘upper-class’ housing, even as it seemed to drop straight down to the left, making it look almost as if that part of the ground just disappeared. It’s an interesting area, and I remember playing on it when I was really small and we had the occasional blizzard that would close the streets. Me and dad would climb onto my carpet sled at the very top of the hill, and sled down, across the road, and drop down the hill, sometimes for almost two whole minutes before we stopped in the parking lot of a little coffee and sandwich joint. Then we’d have hot chocolate and head back, climbing all the way around just to do it all over again. I turned down onto Pape and was startled out of my nostalgia when the lid to the sewers slid off in front of me. A figure tumbled out and lay on his back for a few seconds before wrenching around and meeting my stare with his very vibrant purple eyes. He groaned and stood, swaying a little from side to side. He was backlit, so I couldn’t see him very well, though I could certainly smell him. “What the hell were you doing in the sewers Max? Are you drunk?” He seemed to stop swaying mid-swing, so he was standing tilted a little to the right. He grinned a little too quickly for me to be fooled as he moved closer to the sewer again. “Yeah, Deet’s. I had a bit much and pissed off some punk so I’m—” A gunshot went off and a shout replied, somewhere a little closer than the last ones I’d heard, and Duo visibly flinched. Spinning wildly, he stepped up to the sewer, missed the ladder, and slipped and fell, head hitting concrete as his arms windmilled, one catching me hard in the eye. He wasn’t moving. I looked from him to the right, where the noise was slowly but steadily growing stronger, and back to him again. I reached down to shake him awake, but yanked my hand back instinctively when his shoulder felt wet. Cursing my stupidity, since the sewer wasn’t the {driest} place around, I wiped my hand on my scrub pants, then stared in mute horror as it left a deep, red stain across my knee and thigh. Quickly I checked Max, finding a bullet hole under the strap of his backpack, bleeding rather profusely. I ripped several strips from the bottom of my shirt, using them to pad the wound and hopefully stop the bleeding until I got him home. Heaving Max up, I slung him over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry, the only one I could manage considering how close we were in size. I was worried about the bleeding, considering his head and shoulders were now somewhere around my waist, but there wasn’t anything I could do, unless I planned to leave him there. I took the short cuts, crossing through backyards and empty lots, pausing to listen if I thought I heard pursuit. We’d almost made it home when Max groaned, and I carefully lowered him, exhaustion making every limb scream in protest. I closed my eyes, just for a second, and he was already sitting up when I opened them again. Somehow I wasn’t too surprised. “Can you walk? We’re almost at my place?” He wet his lips and glanced around, unsure. “Where..?” I shrugged, “They’re maybe three, five minutes back, if we’re lucky.” I stood again, and offered him a hand up, which he took. Slinging one arm around his shoulders, and using the other to support his waist, we staggered quietly through my backdoor, hidden from prying eyes by both the darkness, and the dead bushes that surrounded the house. I hadn’t fully pulled the door behind me when mom appeared, eyes wide and cheeks rosy. She swayed a little on her feet as well, though it wasn’t from being hurt. The bottle in her hand was maybe three quarters empty, which was good since she liked to swing it from side to side as she spoke. “Oh, Dita hun, you brought a boy. He’s a nice boy. Didn’t I always tell you you need a nice boy?” I sighed, “Yes mum.” “I did tell you. Good. You run along and pay dear. Shameful, bringin a boy into that mess of a room. You keep that door shut young lady.” She sloshed her bottle for added effect, “I don’t want to hear you two, I’m taking a bed. I mean a nap. I’m goin to nap.” Mum staggered over to the couch, putting the bottle down with almost comic care, then collapsed on the sofa, asleep before she’s stopped moving. Max just looked at me and I walked him upstairs, too embarrassed to really meet his eyes. I know I was blushing, but I was pointedly ignoring it. “Alright, mom’s a drunk. At least she’s a nice drunk.” He nodded in agreement and I wondered how many mean drunks he knew, but by then we’d made it upstairs and into my room. I had his shoes and bag off in an instant, taking more time as I peeled back the jacket, hoping not to disturb any blood clotting but needing to address the wound. I ended up having to cut the shirt off, though it was ruined anyway from the blood and sewer filth. He was lucky, once th blood was washed away, the wound was clean, with a definite entry and exit point. Whoever had shot him was using .12 bullets, and for some reason that made me think they were trying to keep him alive. .12’s leave much less mess as an exit wound, where the higher caliber, like a .22 or .45, would tear a bloody hold the size of a fist out your back if it hit. I bandaged the wounds, Max uncharacteristically quiet, and I worried about infection. I had some antibiotics here, strong ones, but not many. I decided I could grab something stronger from a supply cart at work tomorrow, just to be safe. Considering how rank he smelled and how dirty his hair was, I didn’t really want him sleeping in my bed like that, so I levered him up and to the bathroom. Obviously dazed, Max did little to argue, which had me wondering if he’d been concussed in that fall, or if it was just from blood loss, another possibility. He stayed quiet until I moved to undo his belt, when he promptly jumped up, swayed, grabbed his head as if to steady the room, then spoke a little too deliberately for me to believe. “Dita, thank you, but I can clean myself up. You just go on, and I’ll do this. I’ll be fine on my own, I’d done it a million times before. You just go. Ok?” He planted himself firmly, hands still to his head, and I smothered a grin, nodding solemnly and pointing out the towels, soap, and shampoo before I left. He closed and locked the door behind me, and I headed downstairs to check the locks on the doors and windows. I went back upstairs and tossed the shirt into a garbage bag, as well as cleaning up my med box I’d torn apart minutes ago. When I figured I’d waited enough, I went to the bathroom door and called out softly, “Max? Max, you alright?” There was silence on the other end, and I chuckled lightly, without much humor as I jimmied the door open and found Max asleep on the toilet seat, naked except for his socks. I ran water for the bath, removed his socks, and maneuvered Max into the tub. I’ve done this so often with patients that the human body, male or female, is nothing new to me. Max’s, however, was probably the worst I have ever seen. He was covered in small scars, larger scars, yellowed and green bruises all over his torso. This wasn’t his first bullet wound; I found one in his upper arm, one to his side, and one clean through his calf, all long healed and scarred over. His ankle was swelling, and I suspected he’d sprained it somehow, and I found his pinky and index finger broken on his left hand, so I put them in a splint. His right hand was a bloody mess, looking like he’d dragged it across a sander, two fingernails gone and another half torn off. I cleaned everything thoroughly with a hydrochloride-based cleanser, hoping to prevent the infection I knew was dammed likely. When he was clean, I unbound his hair, turning on the showerhead to rinse most of the gunk out before working the shampoo into his scalp. That hair was {real}, not a weave. Something about that fact made me cautious, or at least respectful, though I’m not certain why, and I made sure it was thoroughly dirt free before wrapping him up in a towel and staggering with him across the hall to my bed once again. I dried him thoroughly, re-dressing the wounds already as they bled through the first bandages, and put him in a pair of my dad’s old sweatpants, which swam on his tiny frame, but the elastic waist held well enough for now. I began to brush his hair, knowing full well what it would look like if he slept with it wet, and Max stirred, eyes blearily swinging around the room. “Status?” he croaked. I thought for a second. “You’re injured, but safe. You need to stay still, or you’ll re-open the wound. You may be concussed, so I’ll have to wake you every hour tonight. Don’t worry,” I repeated, “you’re safe.” He nodded blankly. “Thanks H’ro. Is Fei back yet?” I paused for a second, perhaps a second too long as Max started to stir and tried to sit up. “Is he ok? Where’s Fei? Is he hurt..?” I pushed him lightly back down on the bed and crossed my fingers. “Fei is still out, but he’ll be back soon… he had to go shopping.” Max chuckled at that. “Heh. Wufei {hates} shopping…” And then he was back asleep. I brushed and braided his hair, tying off the end with an old elastic from when my hair was longer, then looked at the clock. 3:45. I’d wake Max up at 4:45, and an hour after that, until I didn’t worry about the concussion any longer. Stepping back, my foot knocked his backpack, and I kneeled down, deciding to see just what he had inside. When I found the laptop, I grinned, curiosity gaining the better of me as I plugged it in and booted it up. Even if it had nothing on it, I could probably learn a lot about Max from the comp’s memory. And heck, I was bored. A password screen popped up before the boot program, and I took a wild stab at the answer. Then another, then another, then another. I was about to reach over and grab a crack disk, a disk programmed to run a bypass code through most computer systems, when a little figure appeared on the screen, and Max’s voice floated through the speakers, slightly tinny, but as sarcastic as hell. <<What the hell are you trying to do, dumbass? You can’t crack MY child. Go ahead, keep trying. You’re only going to fail. Nyah!!>> Frowning, I popped the disk inside and heard the computer read it. It should activate automatically, and if I was lucky it’d be done in five to ten minutes. The figure on the screen changed. Now it was a small, cartoon-ish version of Max with little batwings and a scythe. <<You’re joking, right? You’re trying to use a crack on MY computer? Get some imagination, here, have it back- oh, I wiped it for you too. *burp*>> The computer spit the disk out, and that little crease between my eyebrows appeared, like it always does when I’m about to tear through a project. Cracking my fingers, I looked at the clock. 4:15. Half an hour left. I looked back at the computer. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got. Tapping the enter key I got the password screen this time, though the figure of Max had migrated to its top left corner and was spinning the scythe around lazily. <<Bring it on.>> *** (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, July 6th, 2003
12:52 pm	And so it begins.... Well, I'v been planning on making one of these for a bit now, but what with all the feedback I've been recieving, and my plans on my newest fic, I finally got off my butt and did something. So onto fanfic news: Identity chapter 2 was much, much shorter than I was planning, but once I hit the end of Dita's pov, I didn't want to continue. Muses are picky sometimes. On the plus side, I'm getting great feedback from said story, so it keeps me writing I'm working on chapter three right now, and it may be done by tonight. I finished Abhorrsen, the third book of Garth Nix's trillogy, so I'm ready to start my newest fic idea, which is going to put the GW boys into an Au world... mmm.... might, magic, death. Only problem is that this thing is going to be EPIC in size...... But like it anyway! I'll probably post chapters and snippts up here fairly regularly, so those actually paying attention can get advance goods on the fics. >:P *hands out cookies* I don't know if ANYONE is even going to visit here, but if you, drop me a line ^.^ I give you cookies! Current Mood: accomplished Current Music: Canta Per Me- noir (Comment on this)