~The First Act~
"Yes, two tickets, please. Um, what seats do you have available?
Dress circle is fine. Yes, thank you. Credit card.
Quatre Winner. Um, yes, yes, that Quatre Winner. No, I
insist upon paying. Really, I'd feel very bad if- All right, thank
you. Yes, thank you very much."
Quatre hung up the phone and slowly exhaled. Sometimes being well-known could be such a hassle. Even mundane acts such as ordering a couple of tickets for a show became huge ordeals. He smiled ruefully as he took a sip of his coffee. There he was going again, the spoiled rich kid. But who could blame him for being on edge tonight?
He got up from his chair and walked over to the window. The sun was setting over the New York Harbor, making leftover holiday decorations lining the streets smoulder a deep orange. From his office on the thirty-second floor, the people below looked like dolls hustling to and fro. He took another sip of his coffee as the soft glow of coming dusk painted his face. What a beautiful evening it was going to be.
The sound of his door opening roused him from his reverie. As he turned around, a radiant smile lit up his face.
"Trowa! It's been far too long!"
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"It's been far too long that we've been going without a unified code of law."
"But Mr. Ramirez, the current laws seem to be functioning just fine at the present time-"
"At the present time, Ms. Noventa, yes," sighed Farrel Tercero Ramirez. "But remember, this is one unified nation we're dealing with. We can't leave everything to the jurisdiction of individual regional governments. It has to be addressed sometime, and I say that we address it now." He paused to look at Sylvia Noventa, who sat staring stonily at some random point beyond his left shoulder, and narrowed his eyes. "You're just afraid that I'm going to get my way, aren't you?"
"I just feel that there are more important issues-"
"This is about unity, Ms. Noventa. Regional laws cannot remain in conflict with federal laws. Look away, pretend it isn't there, but that won't solve anything. Eventually it all will come to a head. I could give so many examples from history, the U.S. Civil War, for instance. And, you're right, I am trying to bring about change for the better. Or, rather, what is, in my opinion, the better. Believe me, I'm not trying to pin the end of the world on these issues. But we have to deal with things one part at a time. One part at a time, Ms. Noventa. You know that-"
The buzz of the intercom cut him off. With a sigh, Farrel pressed the blinking red button. "What is it?"
"The representative from the L-5 cluster is here to see you, sir."
"Send him right in."
"Yes, sir."
The intercom clicked off.
"We'll continue this conversation later, Ms. Noventa," said Farrel as he rose. "Though I doubt that it will do either of us much good. You're too pretty of a girl to be wasting your life in politics. Too nice. Get out while you can."
He threw her a wink as he held the door open for her. Sylvia stiffly rose and walked out, a troubled expression on her face.
"Thank you for time, Mr. Ramirez."
Farrel watched her as she walked down the hallway. Tiredly, he leaned upon the door.
"Dios mío..." he muttered. "I'm only trying to do what's right. You wouldn't think it would be this hard."
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"You wouldn't think it would be that difficult just to buy a couple of tickets. But that's what happens when everyone knows your name." Quatre sighed. "You can't understand how much I envy you. Would you like some coffee?"
Trowa shook his head and glanced at his watch. "You said the show was at eight. We'd better get going if we're going to eat beforehand."
"Oh! Right!" Quatre hastily set his mug down on his desk, grabbing his coat from his chair with one hand and wiping up some spilled coffee with the other. "It's only about seven blocks to the theatre. One thing I've learned rather quickly is that for shorter distances, it's usually much quicker to walk than to drive here! You don't mind, do you? I mean, driving is no problem, if you'd rather we did that."
"Walking's fine."
As Quatre locked the office door behind them, he cast another look at Trowa. He really hadn't changed much since he'd last seen him. A little taller, but the essentials were all still there- the one-of-a-kind hair, the beautiful eyes, the intriguing I-know-something-you-don't-know deadpan. Unlike usual, he was dressed up- rare was the occasion when Quatre saw Trowa wearing anything more formal than jeans- rather muted greys and blues, but it was just as well that his clothing stole no attention from the rest of him.
"You look quite nice tonight," Quatre commented as the two rode down the elevator.
"I might say the same for yourself. You don't usually get this dressed up for work, do you?"
"Well- I-" Crap. Quatre hadn't had any time to change his clothes, but it was true that he usally didn't go to work in three-piece suit that was one step down from a tux. "We're going to the show. I figured I needed to get dressed up for that."
"Mm-hm."
"Trowa Barton, are you doubting my honesty?"
"You're such a pathetic liar that there's never any doubt."
The elevator came to a stop with a slight lurch and a soft ding. Quatre smiled as the door slide open.
"We have a lot of catching up to do."
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"We have a lot of work to do if we plan on being out of here some time before the next month," Zechs said, wincing as he surveyed the grand mess of their apartment.
"The important thing is that we're getting out of here," Noin reminded him. Finally, she thought to herself. Perhaps moving back to some semblence of civilization would help them to take their minds off the past and have something of a new start. There wasn't much need for them on Mars anymore. The Preventers would probably have positions opens for them, especially since Heero-
The phone rang. Noin hastily rose from beside the box on the floor to switch on the vid-phone.
"Hello?"
"Noin! How are you doing?"
At the sound of that famliar voice and sight of that familiar face, Noin felt some of the stress which had building up for the past months- years- immediately begin to melt away. She smiled as she rubbed her tense forehead. "I've been better."
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"I've seen better handwriting from a fourth grader, Maxwell."
"Hey, don't be lookin' the gift horse in the mouth, 'fei, jeez," Duo whined. "You asked for his address, I gave it to ya."
"It will do me no good if I can't read it."
Duo heaved himself out of his chair and grabbed a pen from the can on the counter. With a labored sigh, he walked over to Wufei, an expression of pure matyrdom upon his face. Snatching the scrap of paper on the table, he ostentatiously re-wrote the address in ridiculously huge letters.
"There. Can ya read it now?"
"I never said I couldn't read it. I just said that you had the penmenship of a fourth grader."
"Christ! Anal-retentive chink," he muttered, tossing the pen on the table.
"What did you just say?"
Duo grinned. "I always know how to get you to listen to me."
The Chinese man stood and grabbed the scrap of paper. "I'll be seeing you around. As if I could avoid you," Wufei grumbled, walking away.
"I'd like to see you try!" Duo laughed, then sobered. "He... isn't always there..."
Turning around, Wufei stopped in the doorway. He nodded once. And left.
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...and left. Finally. The store clerk sighed with relief. She didn't like that guy. He was frightening. Unsettling. He always seemed to be looking over his shoulder, as if something were following him. Nothing was, of course. But his gaze was so intense, his fear so real- she'd find herself glancing nervously over her shoulder as well. She could never wait until he left.
He had to have some sort of problem. Normal guys his age didn't hang out in toy stores and just stand there, staring at dolls and teddy bears.
[The First Prophecy | The Second Act]