~ My ~ Fair ~ Princess ~



By Alexia Goddess



Prologue



The night was cold, rainy, deary, and utterly detestful for everyone
except those clad in glittering jewels and warm mink coats over satin
and silk suits or gowns. Those wearing such things were quickly
ushured, under umbrellas to shed the rain, to buggies or shiny
automobiles, or even gilded carraiges, where they were borne away to
warmth and comfort and satin nightgowns and chocolates and a warm
dinner of roasted ham and glazed cherry tarts.

For those whom had no such luxuries, however, the stormy winter evening
on the streets of London were miserable indeed. Boys dreanched in rain-
water shivered uncontrollably under the eaves of the back entrance of
the grand theatre, where the upper class folk were pouring out of.
Women, men, and children alike rushed to cover up their wares to save
them from harm till the rain had passed. Street vendors closed up and
moved their stalls under shelter, street urchins and guttersnipes and
prostitutes huddled wherever they could.

Street flower girls hurried to cover baskets of flowers, potted and
unpotted, least they be drowned or ruined. One such girl, with lovely
azhure eyes, visible even under the thick dirt and grime that covered
her from head to foot, paused in her mad dash to help a fellow flower
girl up. The flower girl, younger than her, smiled her thanks, and both
moved to finish the task of protecting the many blooms.

When all that could be saved as so, the azhured eyed girl, basket full
of wrapped and bundled flowers on her arm, hat sopping and drooping,
walked quickly towards the shelter of the high, pillar-supported roof
of the theatre exit, where first class folk were still pouring out.

She stood, rubbing her hands and shivering while leaning against a
pillar, and watched the woman and men in their finery, laugh despite
the rain. Of course they laughed. If their fine garments got soaked,
there was always a warm fire and hot chocolate and a seamstress to
replace the ruined clothing when they got home. Nothing for them to
worry about. Catch a cold? Call for the finest doctor. Get hungry? Stop
at the fanciest restraunt on the way home.

The young woman, out of habit, lifting a small mini boquet of red wild
roses and white lilacs towards an elderly noblelady that stepped close
to her.

"Buy aye flow'r from aye 'umble flow'r gurl, foine missus?" Despite her
heavy street accent, her voice was sweet, and instead of sneering at
her, the elderly woman only threw her a glance and stepped away. The
azhure eyed woman sighed and retracted her slightly outstretched arm.

It was always the same. The only ones who ever bothered to even look at
her kind enough to even consider buying a few small, broken flowers
from a poorly speaking, filthy, unwashed guttersnipe flower girl were
middle class people, or perhaps some very lucky lower class folk. But
upper class? Nah. What do they care for some tiny blossom? They only
need pick up one of them telly phones and have a whole bloomin' bunch
of 'em delivered fresh to their doorstep, with bows and ribbons, too.

"Say there, miss," A young man stepped forward. His hand was curled
around a small something slightly. She looked at him, slight hope in
her bright eyes. Perhaps she would be able to afford a bit of bread for
dinner, afterall.

Immediately she held out her best mini boquet.

"Fancy aye noice flow'r, good soire?" She asked, managing to keep her
tone humble. The young man was no older than her, but dressed in a
trimly cut suit with a brisk top hat and thick wool cloak, and a
blooming white rose in his coat pocket.

"Yes, please," He said, his voice and language perfect british. He
dropped a few pennies into her palm, careful not to actually touch her.
Then he walked away, without so much as a thank you. The woman didn't
expect any; it was always the same. He had only said please, most
likely, out of habit. She looked at her palm. Still, money was money.

She bit her lip and looked towards where a vendor had moved his stall
under the protection of the theatre exit roof. The aroma of sweet bread
and coffee drifted to her temptingly. She pocketed her few pennies,
along with the other three or four, and made her way over to the stall.

When she was just about there, however, and about to get in line, she
spotted something that made her freeze. Curled up into tight and small
as possible was the shivering, huddling, unmistakable form of a child.
Faintly, the woman could hear little sobs. She left her place in line
at the stall and moved towards the child. She crouched before the poor
thing, and gentle touched its shoulder.

The child whipped is head up and bit its lip against a scream of
fright.

"Don-don' 'urt me, miss," The child, a little girl no more than seven,
sniffed, tears running down her face.

"Oh, child," the woman's heart was filled with pity and compassion. "I
won' lay aye fing'r on yee if ya don' wan' me to. What are yee cryin'
for?" The little girl sniffed.

"Cuz me momma gone dead and me fath'r disopeered, and I gots no'here to
go." The girl sobbed. "And I ben cold an' 'ungry..."

The woman ran a hand over the girl's dirty, uncovered hair. Making a
split second choice, she took off her coat and wrapped it around the
child, the stood, after laying a tender kiss on the little girl's
cheek, and went towards the vendor stall. There she purchased as much
sweet bread as she could and a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

She made her way back to the little girl and handed the child the two
largest loaves, and the cup. She tore the small loaf in half, kept one
half for herself, and handed still the bigger half to the little girl
as well. The child's eyes were wide, she opened her mouth to protest,
but a look from the woman and her own stomach's fierce yowls stopped
her, and she bit into the bread fierosiously.

"What be yer name?" The woman asked. The girl swalled.

"Marie." She said. The woman smiled.

"My, that be a lov'ly name."

"'ank yee," The girl thanked her through a mouthful of bread. "Wha'
yur name?"

"Mine?" The woman asked. The girl nodded. The young woman smiled.
"Relena," She said. "My name be Relena."

"Thats o perty name, miss," Marie said shyly. Relena laughed and hugged
her.

"Thank yee, Marie, thank yee."





~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~





The man, standing in the shadows, smiled. Yes, this particular
guttersnipe would do nicely for the Proffessor's wager. Very nicely,
indeed.

The man replaced his tophat on his head, and dashed to the sidwalk,
hailing a cab.





To Be Continued...




Short, I know, but its a prologue. Anyone guessed what this is from,
yet? I was watching 'My Fair Lady' a few days ago, and this has just
been nagging at me. At first I intended it to be Sailor Moon, but I've
done so many Sailor Moon fanfics (not on fanfiction.net) that I knew I
wouldn't finish the thing, so Gundam Wing was the next best.

Any suggestions as for casting for the professor and colonel Pickering
and Freddie and such??? HELP!

Anyhoo, hoped you enjoyed. This is rather a test, really, to see if
there is an audience for this. If I get enough positive reviews, then
I will continue, if not...*shrugs*

Ja ne!


-Alexia Goddess



*ALL STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY*