When We Were Young 8
3 Jan 2006 11:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaigouDRAFT
rating: PG-13. Hrm. I think most of them are, except 6.
warnings: conflict-based. this one isn't quite a direct conflict, but implies it.
pairings: duh. 3+4.
Chilled on fandom now, thank you, but only because![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
amejisuto had a post that reminded me no one owes me anything, and I don't owe anyone else anything -- other than the same diplomatic courtesy you'd get in person. Bandai, I love your show, but save me from some of your followers.
Sometimes, including me. Ep17 & 18 analyses coming in the next few days.
---------
Quatre sent back the first draft with a one-word response: unacceptable.
The second draft got a slightly longer note: you've got to be kidding.
The third draft, he didn't bother with creating a file to attach to the first; he simply deleted the entire file and replaced with the words: stop wasting my time with this bullshit.
Iria called him two days later, saying she'd just landed in Brussels.
He met her at the airport, and she wheeled her way gracefully through the security checkpoint, raising her chin so he could lean over to kiss her on the cheek. It felt strange, once again, to tower over her; when they'd first met, she'd topped him by a head, easily. Outside the airport, his car waited, and he helped her into the backseat, threw folded up her wheelchair and stowed it in the back along with her one piece of luggage. Ensconced in the car beside her, he gave her a slight smile.
"You didn't bring very much," he observed.
"I'm only here for lunch, or lunch and dinner, if need be." Iria laughed. "You haven't guessed by now? I'm here on a mission from Miriam."
Quatre groaned. "It's about the pre-nup."
"Did you give them any idea who'd you be asking?" Iria said it casually, but she glanced sideways a bit more sharply than her soft tone might have warranted.
"No. Not a word." Quatre slunk down in the seat, crossing his arms. "Given I'm living with someone, I guess it wasn't hard for them to figure out."
"So have you actually asked him?"
Quatre shook his head. "I'm working on it."
"How does one 'work on' proposing?" She chuckled, and patted him on the knee. "Don't tell me you're nervous."
He made a face, somewhere between a grimace and a sheepish smile.
"Don't be. Besides, if you can survive getting a decently fair document out of our sisters, proposing will be a piece of cake." She smiled, and leaned against him, comfortably close. "So tell me, what's in this document that has you sending back such messages to Miriam? It sounded like a fair list to me."
Quatre explained; the entire list with its myriad details took him the entire ride to the restaurant, the whole of lunch, and an hour after that over coffee. At the end, Iria was silent for a very long time, stirring her coffee idly as though operating on auto-pilot. Finally she stirred, giving him an odd look; a fine line had appeared between her brows, and a muscle in her jaw flickered much like their father's often had when he was particularly annoyed.
"I say screw the bitches," she announced.
----
I know it stops abruptly, but I just ran out of mental steam. Maybe I'll finish later.
rating: PG-13. Hrm. I think most of them are, except 6.
warnings: conflict-based. this one isn't quite a direct conflict, but implies it.
pairings: duh. 3+4.
Chilled on fandom now, thank you, but only because
amejisuto had a post that reminded me no one owes me anything, and I don't owe anyone else anything -- other than the same diplomatic courtesy you'd get in person. Bandai, I love your show, but save me from some of your followers.Sometimes, including me. Ep17 & 18 analyses coming in the next few days.
---------
Quatre sent back the first draft with a one-word response: unacceptable.
The second draft got a slightly longer note: you've got to be kidding.
The third draft, he didn't bother with creating a file to attach to the first; he simply deleted the entire file and replaced with the words: stop wasting my time with this bullshit.
Iria called him two days later, saying she'd just landed in Brussels.
He met her at the airport, and she wheeled her way gracefully through the security checkpoint, raising her chin so he could lean over to kiss her on the cheek. It felt strange, once again, to tower over her; when they'd first met, she'd topped him by a head, easily. Outside the airport, his car waited, and he helped her into the backseat, threw folded up her wheelchair and stowed it in the back along with her one piece of luggage. Ensconced in the car beside her, he gave her a slight smile.
"You didn't bring very much," he observed.
"I'm only here for lunch, or lunch and dinner, if need be." Iria laughed. "You haven't guessed by now? I'm here on a mission from Miriam."
Quatre groaned. "It's about the pre-nup."
"Did you give them any idea who'd you be asking?" Iria said it casually, but she glanced sideways a bit more sharply than her soft tone might have warranted.
"No. Not a word." Quatre slunk down in the seat, crossing his arms. "Given I'm living with someone, I guess it wasn't hard for them to figure out."
"So have you actually asked him?"
Quatre shook his head. "I'm working on it."
"How does one 'work on' proposing?" She chuckled, and patted him on the knee. "Don't tell me you're nervous."
He made a face, somewhere between a grimace and a sheepish smile.
"Don't be. Besides, if you can survive getting a decently fair document out of our sisters, proposing will be a piece of cake." She smiled, and leaned against him, comfortably close. "So tell me, what's in this document that has you sending back such messages to Miriam? It sounded like a fair list to me."
Quatre explained; the entire list with its myriad details took him the entire ride to the restaurant, the whole of lunch, and an hour after that over coffee. At the end, Iria was silent for a very long time, stirring her coffee idly as though operating on auto-pilot. Finally she stirred, giving him an odd look; a fine line had appeared between her brows, and a muscle in her jaw flickered much like their father's often had when he was particularly annoyed.
"I say screw the bitches," she announced.
----
I know it stops abruptly, but I just ran out of mental steam. Maybe I'll finish later.