Hell, No! Part III
8 Jul 2006 12:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaigouThis may end up being one of two parts for part three, since I'm sort of braindead and tired and just generally (finally) feeling the post-con blahs. But I expect only this part & one more, and the little saga will be complete, until next time that someone says, "you know, what this fandom really needs is..."
Hell, No! PartTrowa Trois
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For the record, whomever thought it'd be funny to make my cover a pink-haired beautician had better watch the hell out if I end up their Secret Santa. I'm just saying. I think HY nearly bust a gut from trying NOT to bust a gut, and I'm holding you personally responsible. I saw that smirk on your face when you dropped me off at the airport. I know you knew, and don't you dare deny it.
Anyway. Report's filed, and I still hate business trips. I think I spent two days' per diem in the hotel bar just getting over the agony. Three showers to get the jail's stink off me, and a whole bottle of vodka to forget the rest. Just so you know. You owe me.
HY's doing okay, says he's getting close to the subject, but you can probably read that in the report. He didn't say much, not like the code's that easy when we're trying to pretend to talk about my "regular clients". That's got to be the suckiest code ever, seeing how I've cut my own hair for five years now. Who came up with that crappy cover, anyway? HY knew more about styling products than I did, and I don't care if you say that means you've won the bet. So what if he knows his gel versus mousse. Anyway.
Do me a favor and get ahold of TB, would you? I don't know what LU is going to say, but I think TB needs to know about this. I didn't call DM, but I didn't want to hear him hit the roof about HY's safety, even if they are JUST FRIENDS. Hahahahaha. Anyway. The women's prison keeps asking about prisoner schedules in the men's prison, and word's gotten back to HY somehow, he's seen the flashes of light from either camera or binoculars. HY wants TB to investigate who in the women's prison might be sending code that way to the operation's subject. HY admitted he's not broken the code but he's working on it.
Thing is, I talked to the people picketing the prison, and they swear they're there for two women who refuse to accept parole and leave. That's weird enough, but the women apparently demanded their supporters sneak in two binoculars. You know as well as I do how protective HY gets about DM, even if they're JUST FRIENDS, hahahaha, so if you could, drop a word with TB and ask him to check things out?
Let MP know I won't be in tomorrow, either, would you? Got a hangover the size of Belgium, plus not all the pink is out of my hair. Damn you.
-----
Trowa sighed and switched the phone to his other ear while he shifted down, taking the corner into the prison at a more sedate pace. "I hear you, but I've got a gut sense on this." He rolled down the window, presented his Preventer-forged ID, and accepted the man's salute with a patient nod. Window rolled back up, he shifted the phone back again and waited for Quatre to finish his protests. Trowa tried not to frown. "I don't care if Noin was ready. I've read the files and--"
"You're exec, now," Quatre retorted, unwilling to back down. "You promised you wouldn't go into the field--"
"This is hardly Beirut, Quat!"
Quatre snorted. "I wouldn't call a maximum security prison a country club!"
"You think I can't handle it?" Trowa's fingers tightened on the phone as he pulled into the first visitor parking space. "I'm here. I need to--"
"You know I believe you can handle anything." Quatre sighed. "You don't have to do shit like this to prove you've still got the edge."
"You went hang-gliding last weekend. In a fifty-mile-an-hour crosswind."
"I wore protective gear this time!"
"This time," Trowa repeated, darkly.
"This isn't about me. It's about you. Noin's qualified to do this, plus there's that whole being-a-woman thing, which I'd think right there qualifies her far above and beyond you. I know you're damn good at what you do, but even you have to admit women don't have adam's apples."
"Minor surger--"
"Don't even think about it. I happen to love your adam's apple." Quatre's voice turned thick. "Sooner you get home, sooner I can prove it to you."
Trowa sighed. "When I'm done here. I'll take route 7-B, this time. If you take 3-W, we won't cross when I swing by the pet store and get some more bones for your dogs."
"They're your dogs, too."
Not that anyone outside their inner circle knew it, but Trowa didn't see reason to go there. He'd be lucky enough as it was to get four hours of Quatre's undivided attention, assuming Quatre could shake the daily tail from his office to his as-yet-unpublicized residence. Trowa hung up the phone, dragged out his briefcase, checked the hidden recording equipment with a flick of his fingers, and entered the prison. The guards looked over his ID, and ushered him into the Warden's office with wary expressions; the press was rarely kind to those who had to deal with the imprisoned wretches, innocent and guilty.
"Mr. Warner," the warden said, standing as Trowa entered. "I'm Dutton. I don't have much--" He held out his hand, startled when Trowa pressed an ID card into it. "Time," he said, then flushed at the name on the card. "Then again, maybe..." he mumbled, shoving aside two bowling balls with an overly large foot. "Err, what do I owe this visit? Is it one of our--"
"Two of your prisoners, actually," Trowa said. He took back the ID, slipping it into his jacket. "I'd appreciate if this visit stays between you and me, for at least the next six weeks. Give us that long, and you can speak how you like after that, if you choose. But for now, your discretion is appreciated."
"Oh. Right. Of course, Mister Bloom, I mean, Director Bloom, uhm. Discretion being the better part of valor and all that," Dutton replied, chuckling nervously. He pressed a button on his phone. "Synco, could you bring down the Zero-Dog gang? Someone's here to, uh, interview them."
Trowa looked around the small office, cluttered with papers and worn-out bowling shoes, and asked about a secure room for speaking with the prisoners. Dutton was more than happy to oblige, clearly intimidated by the Assistant Director of Investigations being physically present in the prison. More than as a talking head on the nightly news in the guard's coffee break room, that was. Trowa followed the man into the conference room, where he was left alone to study the smoke-stained walls and lurid chartreuse paint job that seemed to be mandatory for all prison meeting rooms.
Ten minutes later, two women entered. They were chatting softly between themselves, but when they saw Trowa, they halted, blinked, looked at each other, and then smiled widely, settling into the chairs opposite Trowa with a great deal more ease than he'd expected. Most people upon meeting him up close, said one of two things: either, "aren't you a bit tall to have been a mobile doll pilot?" or alternately, "you seemed a lot shorter in the USEN broadcasts." No one ever listened to his protests that those chairs were only comfortable if a person slouched. Annoying.
He shook off his irritation with the day in general, and fixed the two women with a level stare. "I've come a long way to speak with you," he said. "There seems to be a situation developing."
"Not enough of one," the woman with all the tattoos said.
Trowa blinked at the one on her forehead. It looked a bit too much like Duo, but maybe the artist just couldn't draw a woman very well. Rather strange to get a tattoo that said, "all his!" on one's forehead, but it did take all kinds. He noted the shape, color, and design, then dismissed it.
"We're working on it, though," the second woman said. Three earrings hung from her nostrils, two on one side, one on the other; she had four piercings in each eyebrow. All of them had tiny charms, and if Trowa squinted, he could almost make out 1X2X1. He made another mental note, and set that aside, as well.
"I hope we're not speaking of the same thing," Trowa replied, keeping his voice even. There was no way these two women could be involved with the international arms smuggling group. They were in for pedophilia, for crying out loud, and even that was hard to believe. Or not so hard, given the other tattoos he could see when the first woman shifted in her seat to clasp her hands in her lap. Trowa spread out his fingers in a welcoming gesture, easing into his comforting, casual, you-want-to-confide-in-me role. "It appears that your constant observation of the men's prison has some people on edge--"
"Duo has nothing to worry about," Tattoo-woman said. Zero, was it? Trowa racked his brains, then realized her exact words.
"Uh." He swallowed, too startled to muster a better response at first. "Excuse me, did you--"
"We know Heero's protective, but we hope he's not in prison because he started a fight defending Duo, did he?" The second woman smiled, then sighed heavily. just as he placed her nickname: Dog. He wondered why on earth anyone would call a gorgeous woman a dog. "Though that is so romantic."
"I think you're thinking of Sunhawk's story," Zero said, in an aside.
"Actually, I think it was Caroline. Didn't Sunhawk write the one where--"
Trowa cleared his throat, mildly satisfied when both women fell silent, but their smiles were a bit disconcerting. "No, he's not in prison defending...Agent--" He frowned. "No. He has a purpose, and I'm afraid your overuse of binoculars on sunny days is raising suspicions in unsavory corners."
"Duo can handle it!" Zero nodded firmly. "He'll come in, kick some ass, and save Heero."
"Do what?" Trowa blinked. Again. He was doing a lot of that, it seemed.
"Now you're thinking of Kracken's fic," Dog chided. She stopped abruptly, and gave Trowa a curious look. "Duo's not working for Quatre, is he?"
"Pardon?" More blinking. It beat letting his jaw fall open. Maybe Quatre had been right, and he should've let Noin go in. It would've taken longer, but these women were clearly too well informed to be simple voyeurs. "I think it's best if we stay on--"
"Why isn't Wufei here, anyway?" Zero looked suspicious. "He's the one who went right into the service--"
"Enough." It was time to drop the friendly, calming smile, and pull out his scarier smiles. He trained one on the two women, but to his amazement, they didn't shrink back. They didn't even pale. They just stared at him, wide-eyed, until both broke out in huge smiles.
"He's grown up so much," Dog cried, patting Zero on the arm, who nodded, clearly unable to speak.
"Okay, this is getting ridiculous," he muttered.
"Don't worry, Trowa, we're--"
"How do you--" He shook himself. He couldn't be hearing that. "Did you just--"
"What?" Dog gave him a puzzled look, and glanced at Zero, who shrugged. "Are you okay?"
"Not in ten years--I'm not--" He gathered himself with some effort, rattled unexpectedly. He could face down a great deal, but he would've liked some kind of warning. "You're mistaken. I'm Triton Bloom."
"So it's finally canon!" Zero smiled and clapped her hands, then squeezed her hands together and gave him the sappiest pleased smile ever. "You got the blood test done, after all?"
"Yes, we--no, hold on a minute." Trowa straightened his shoulders. "Look, ladies, I don't know who you are or how you know any of this, since your records indicate you've pretty much been--"
"Internet junkies," Zero offered.
"And intermittent Disneyland junkies," Dog added.
"I was going to say nobody but you probably know better than I." Trowa grunted, frustrated. "I suppose I should write this off to the fact that you can find pretty much everything on the internet."
Zero nodded, then pursed her lips. "Including smut between Wing and Deathscythe."
Trowa was glad he wasn't drinking coffee. That was a visual he'd need three weeks and damn good sex to rid from his brain.
"That's our jobs," Dog assured him. "We're professional fic-pimpers."
He didn't want to know. He wanted his friends safe, and the crazy women far away where they wouldn't hurt anyone -- and hopefully wouldn't tell anyone about their crazy theories about the Gundam pilots, not after a decade of successfully living below the radar. He had no interest blowing that now, not now that he had his own name and a good life. He ran a hand through his hair, tugged briefly, and tried one more time.
"All I'm asking," he said, slowly and clearly, "is that you refrain from using the binoculars out the window. I understand you have an innocent interest in my friends, but they have a job to do, and your actions could put them in jeopardy. You're bringing attention to them and that's the last thing they need right now."
"Not innocent," Zero said, losing the smile. She suddenly looked quite serious, and almost as scary as Une on a good day. Not quite the level of Une on a bad day, but not bad for a civilian. "We have far from innocent intentions. Just so you know."
Dog caught his suspicious reaction, and smiled charmingly. "Not malicious, we should say. We just think it seems Heero and Duo...need a little less innocence themselves. If you get our drift." She winked broadly.
"Err, they're friends." Trowa managed to keep a straight face upon hearing the words fall out of his mouth, but that was the party line, and he'd agreed to stick with it. Mostly. "And they can hardly be much of anything while they're playing roles that require they be enemies."
"That's okay. We know they'll end up together in the end," Zero replied, nodding sagely. Then she stopped, frowned, and turned to Dog. "Sol's not written this one, right?"
"I'm not sure." Dog gave Trowa a worried look. "Anyone ended up in the hospital recently?"
"Agent Catalonia had an appendectomy last month," Trowa replied, baffled.
"No, not Sol," Dog told Zero. "Sounds more like Koyote."
"Oh, well, in that case, I'm not going any further. She always whacks the pairings." Zero sat back and crossed her arms. "I'm going to hold out for a one-by-two, or I'm not playing."
"Excuse me?" Trowa belatedly recalled the warden's notes that the women were leaders of some wacko cult. Two nutjobs, Dutton had written in the margins of his notes. Trowa was inclined to agree, if only the women hadn't known some information no one should know. "A what-by-what? Please, ladies, I'm trying to help protect you, if you'd just agree to lay low for awhile on your--"
"Stalking." Zero smiled.
Trowa gave up. It was a pretty accurate assessment, after all. "Fine. Will you?"
"Depends." Dog leaned her head back, appearing to think deeply for almost a full minute, before smiling at Zero. She turned the beaming expression on Trowa, who instinctively tensed. "We'll do it, but we have terms of our own."
"Terms?" Trowa frowned. "I only have so much authority--"
The women didn't give him more of a chance to protest. He listened, blood chilling at their determination, certain they would have made some frightening pilots in their own right with that sort of single-minded dedication. He was about to wipe their requests right off the table, when Dog delivered the final blow.
"So," she said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin, "how is Quatre in the sack?"
-----
This part has one or two more scenes, but it's midnight and this will have to tide you over until tomorrow -- sorry if it's too OOC, but hey, when silly and comedy, who gives about some damn characterization standards...right?
Hell, No! Part
From h.scheibeker@pipf.gov Fri Jul 7 18:08:35 2006
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For the record, whomever thought it'd be funny to make my cover a pink-haired beautician had better watch the hell out if I end up their Secret Santa. I'm just saying. I think HY nearly bust a gut from trying NOT to bust a gut, and I'm holding you personally responsible. I saw that smirk on your face when you dropped me off at the airport. I know you knew, and don't you dare deny it.
Anyway. Report's filed, and I still hate business trips. I think I spent two days' per diem in the hotel bar just getting over the agony. Three showers to get the jail's stink off me, and a whole bottle of vodka to forget the rest. Just so you know. You owe me.
HY's doing okay, says he's getting close to the subject, but you can probably read that in the report. He didn't say much, not like the code's that easy when we're trying to pretend to talk about my "regular clients". That's got to be the suckiest code ever, seeing how I've cut my own hair for five years now. Who came up with that crappy cover, anyway? HY knew more about styling products than I did, and I don't care if you say that means you've won the bet. So what if he knows his gel versus mousse. Anyway.
Do me a favor and get ahold of TB, would you? I don't know what LU is going to say, but I think TB needs to know about this. I didn't call DM, but I didn't want to hear him hit the roof about HY's safety, even if they are JUST FRIENDS. Hahahahaha. Anyway. The women's prison keeps asking about prisoner schedules in the men's prison, and word's gotten back to HY somehow, he's seen the flashes of light from either camera or binoculars. HY wants TB to investigate who in the women's prison might be sending code that way to the operation's subject. HY admitted he's not broken the code but he's working on it.
Thing is, I talked to the people picketing the prison, and they swear they're there for two women who refuse to accept parole and leave. That's weird enough, but the women apparently demanded their supporters sneak in two binoculars. You know as well as I do how protective HY gets about DM, even if they're JUST FRIENDS, hahahaha, so if you could, drop a word with TB and ask him to check things out?
Let MP know I won't be in tomorrow, either, would you? Got a hangover the size of Belgium, plus not all the pink is out of my hair. Damn you.
Trowa sighed and switched the phone to his other ear while he shifted down, taking the corner into the prison at a more sedate pace. "I hear you, but I've got a gut sense on this." He rolled down the window, presented his Preventer-forged ID, and accepted the man's salute with a patient nod. Window rolled back up, he shifted the phone back again and waited for Quatre to finish his protests. Trowa tried not to frown. "I don't care if Noin was ready. I've read the files and--"
"You're exec, now," Quatre retorted, unwilling to back down. "You promised you wouldn't go into the field--"
"This is hardly Beirut, Quat!"
Quatre snorted. "I wouldn't call a maximum security prison a country club!"
"You think I can't handle it?" Trowa's fingers tightened on the phone as he pulled into the first visitor parking space. "I'm here. I need to--"
"You know I believe you can handle anything." Quatre sighed. "You don't have to do shit like this to prove you've still got the edge."
"You went hang-gliding last weekend. In a fifty-mile-an-hour crosswind."
"I wore protective gear this time!"
"This time," Trowa repeated, darkly.
"This isn't about me. It's about you. Noin's qualified to do this, plus there's that whole being-a-woman thing, which I'd think right there qualifies her far above and beyond you. I know you're damn good at what you do, but even you have to admit women don't have adam's apples."
"Minor surger--"
"Don't even think about it. I happen to love your adam's apple." Quatre's voice turned thick. "Sooner you get home, sooner I can prove it to you."
Trowa sighed. "When I'm done here. I'll take route 7-B, this time. If you take 3-W, we won't cross when I swing by the pet store and get some more bones for your dogs."
"They're your dogs, too."
Not that anyone outside their inner circle knew it, but Trowa didn't see reason to go there. He'd be lucky enough as it was to get four hours of Quatre's undivided attention, assuming Quatre could shake the daily tail from his office to his as-yet-unpublicized residence. Trowa hung up the phone, dragged out his briefcase, checked the hidden recording equipment with a flick of his fingers, and entered the prison. The guards looked over his ID, and ushered him into the Warden's office with wary expressions; the press was rarely kind to those who had to deal with the imprisoned wretches, innocent and guilty.
"Mr. Warner," the warden said, standing as Trowa entered. "I'm Dutton. I don't have much--" He held out his hand, startled when Trowa pressed an ID card into it. "Time," he said, then flushed at the name on the card. "Then again, maybe..." he mumbled, shoving aside two bowling balls with an overly large foot. "Err, what do I owe this visit? Is it one of our--"
"Two of your prisoners, actually," Trowa said. He took back the ID, slipping it into his jacket. "I'd appreciate if this visit stays between you and me, for at least the next six weeks. Give us that long, and you can speak how you like after that, if you choose. But for now, your discretion is appreciated."
"Oh. Right. Of course, Mister Bloom, I mean, Director Bloom, uhm. Discretion being the better part of valor and all that," Dutton replied, chuckling nervously. He pressed a button on his phone. "Synco, could you bring down the Zero-Dog gang? Someone's here to, uh, interview them."
Trowa looked around the small office, cluttered with papers and worn-out bowling shoes, and asked about a secure room for speaking with the prisoners. Dutton was more than happy to oblige, clearly intimidated by the Assistant Director of Investigations being physically present in the prison. More than as a talking head on the nightly news in the guard's coffee break room, that was. Trowa followed the man into the conference room, where he was left alone to study the smoke-stained walls and lurid chartreuse paint job that seemed to be mandatory for all prison meeting rooms.
Ten minutes later, two women entered. They were chatting softly between themselves, but when they saw Trowa, they halted, blinked, looked at each other, and then smiled widely, settling into the chairs opposite Trowa with a great deal more ease than he'd expected. Most people upon meeting him up close, said one of two things: either, "aren't you a bit tall to have been a mobile doll pilot?" or alternately, "you seemed a lot shorter in the USEN broadcasts." No one ever listened to his protests that those chairs were only comfortable if a person slouched. Annoying.
He shook off his irritation with the day in general, and fixed the two women with a level stare. "I've come a long way to speak with you," he said. "There seems to be a situation developing."
"Not enough of one," the woman with all the tattoos said.
Trowa blinked at the one on her forehead. It looked a bit too much like Duo, but maybe the artist just couldn't draw a woman very well. Rather strange to get a tattoo that said, "all his!" on one's forehead, but it did take all kinds. He noted the shape, color, and design, then dismissed it.
"We're working on it, though," the second woman said. Three earrings hung from her nostrils, two on one side, one on the other; she had four piercings in each eyebrow. All of them had tiny charms, and if Trowa squinted, he could almost make out 1X2X1. He made another mental note, and set that aside, as well.
"I hope we're not speaking of the same thing," Trowa replied, keeping his voice even. There was no way these two women could be involved with the international arms smuggling group. They were in for pedophilia, for crying out loud, and even that was hard to believe. Or not so hard, given the other tattoos he could see when the first woman shifted in her seat to clasp her hands in her lap. Trowa spread out his fingers in a welcoming gesture, easing into his comforting, casual, you-want-to-confide-in-me role. "It appears that your constant observation of the men's prison has some people on edge--"
"Duo has nothing to worry about," Tattoo-woman said. Zero, was it? Trowa racked his brains, then realized her exact words.
"Uh." He swallowed, too startled to muster a better response at first. "Excuse me, did you--"
"We know Heero's protective, but we hope he's not in prison because he started a fight defending Duo, did he?" The second woman smiled, then sighed heavily. just as he placed her nickname: Dog. He wondered why on earth anyone would call a gorgeous woman a dog. "Though that is so romantic."
"I think you're thinking of Sunhawk's story," Zero said, in an aside.
"Actually, I think it was Caroline. Didn't Sunhawk write the one where--"
Trowa cleared his throat, mildly satisfied when both women fell silent, but their smiles were a bit disconcerting. "No, he's not in prison defending...Agent--" He frowned. "No. He has a purpose, and I'm afraid your overuse of binoculars on sunny days is raising suspicions in unsavory corners."
"Duo can handle it!" Zero nodded firmly. "He'll come in, kick some ass, and save Heero."
"Do what?" Trowa blinked. Again. He was doing a lot of that, it seemed.
"Now you're thinking of Kracken's fic," Dog chided. She stopped abruptly, and gave Trowa a curious look. "Duo's not working for Quatre, is he?"
"Pardon?" More blinking. It beat letting his jaw fall open. Maybe Quatre had been right, and he should've let Noin go in. It would've taken longer, but these women were clearly too well informed to be simple voyeurs. "I think it's best if we stay on--"
"Why isn't Wufei here, anyway?" Zero looked suspicious. "He's the one who went right into the service--"
"Enough." It was time to drop the friendly, calming smile, and pull out his scarier smiles. He trained one on the two women, but to his amazement, they didn't shrink back. They didn't even pale. They just stared at him, wide-eyed, until both broke out in huge smiles.
"He's grown up so much," Dog cried, patting Zero on the arm, who nodded, clearly unable to speak.
"Okay, this is getting ridiculous," he muttered.
"Don't worry, Trowa, we're--"
"How do you--" He shook himself. He couldn't be hearing that. "Did you just--"
"What?" Dog gave him a puzzled look, and glanced at Zero, who shrugged. "Are you okay?"
"Not in ten years--I'm not--" He gathered himself with some effort, rattled unexpectedly. He could face down a great deal, but he would've liked some kind of warning. "You're mistaken. I'm Triton Bloom."
"So it's finally canon!" Zero smiled and clapped her hands, then squeezed her hands together and gave him the sappiest pleased smile ever. "You got the blood test done, after all?"
"Yes, we--no, hold on a minute." Trowa straightened his shoulders. "Look, ladies, I don't know who you are or how you know any of this, since your records indicate you've pretty much been--"
"Internet junkies," Zero offered.
"And intermittent Disneyland junkies," Dog added.
"I was going to say nobody but you probably know better than I." Trowa grunted, frustrated. "I suppose I should write this off to the fact that you can find pretty much everything on the internet."
Zero nodded, then pursed her lips. "Including smut between Wing and Deathscythe."
Trowa was glad he wasn't drinking coffee. That was a visual he'd need three weeks and damn good sex to rid from his brain.
"That's our jobs," Dog assured him. "We're professional fic-pimpers."
He didn't want to know. He wanted his friends safe, and the crazy women far away where they wouldn't hurt anyone -- and hopefully wouldn't tell anyone about their crazy theories about the Gundam pilots, not after a decade of successfully living below the radar. He had no interest blowing that now, not now that he had his own name and a good life. He ran a hand through his hair, tugged briefly, and tried one more time.
"All I'm asking," he said, slowly and clearly, "is that you refrain from using the binoculars out the window. I understand you have an innocent interest in my friends, but they have a job to do, and your actions could put them in jeopardy. You're bringing attention to them and that's the last thing they need right now."
"Not innocent," Zero said, losing the smile. She suddenly looked quite serious, and almost as scary as Une on a good day. Not quite the level of Une on a bad day, but not bad for a civilian. "We have far from innocent intentions. Just so you know."
Dog caught his suspicious reaction, and smiled charmingly. "Not malicious, we should say. We just think it seems Heero and Duo...need a little less innocence themselves. If you get our drift." She winked broadly.
"Err, they're friends." Trowa managed to keep a straight face upon hearing the words fall out of his mouth, but that was the party line, and he'd agreed to stick with it. Mostly. "And they can hardly be much of anything while they're playing roles that require they be enemies."
"That's okay. We know they'll end up together in the end," Zero replied, nodding sagely. Then she stopped, frowned, and turned to Dog. "Sol's not written this one, right?"
"I'm not sure." Dog gave Trowa a worried look. "Anyone ended up in the hospital recently?"
"Agent Catalonia had an appendectomy last month," Trowa replied, baffled.
"No, not Sol," Dog told Zero. "Sounds more like Koyote."
"Oh, well, in that case, I'm not going any further. She always whacks the pairings." Zero sat back and crossed her arms. "I'm going to hold out for a one-by-two, or I'm not playing."
"Excuse me?" Trowa belatedly recalled the warden's notes that the women were leaders of some wacko cult. Two nutjobs, Dutton had written in the margins of his notes. Trowa was inclined to agree, if only the women hadn't known some information no one should know. "A what-by-what? Please, ladies, I'm trying to help protect you, if you'd just agree to lay low for awhile on your--"
"Stalking." Zero smiled.
Trowa gave up. It was a pretty accurate assessment, after all. "Fine. Will you?"
"Depends." Dog leaned her head back, appearing to think deeply for almost a full minute, before smiling at Zero. She turned the beaming expression on Trowa, who instinctively tensed. "We'll do it, but we have terms of our own."
"Terms?" Trowa frowned. "I only have so much authority--"
The women didn't give him more of a chance to protest. He listened, blood chilling at their determination, certain they would have made some frightening pilots in their own right with that sort of single-minded dedication. He was about to wipe their requests right off the table, when Dog delivered the final blow.
"So," she said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin, "how is Quatre in the sack?"
This part has one or two more scenes, but it's midnight and this will have to tide you over until tomorrow -- sorry if it's too OOC, but hey, when silly and comedy, who gives about some damn characterization standards...right?
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no subject
Date: 8 Jul 2006 05:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 8 Jul 2006 06:59 am (UTC)Dies....just dies. I can't stop laughing. Very funny Sol! I'm still in shock that you acutally wrote this. I bet Trowa is wishing he had Heavyarms right about now. ^______^ Thanks for the laughs!
no subject
Date: 8 Jul 2006 08:51 am (UTC)*cough* Friends...
no subject
Date: 8 Jul 2006 01:09 pm (UTC)even if they're JUST FRIENDS, hahahaha
Sure.........
"I'm going to hold out for a one-by-two, or I'm not playing."
^________^
no subject
Date: 9 Jul 2006 03:20 pm (UTC)"I'm not sure." Dog gave Trowa a worried look. "Anyone ended up in the hospital recently?"
bwahahaha!