Dairi Nin no Keikaku Suru Gundam Wing	He was released from his iron cage at approximately 0600 hours, the morning of November 22, 1941. A cold, miserable day in Kyoto, Japan. His first sight were the mordant grey clouds, hanging in the air above, and the black rain that seemed to stream continuiously from the sky. His first sound was of the pounding of those raindrops against the structures surrounding the tunnel from where he emerged. His first feeling, the cold, bitter breeze and the soaking tears of the sky. His first smell, the water that fell around him. His first taste was the metallic flavour of blood upon his pale lips. Dairi Nin 2.3, protocal #145339, was the first of its type to be completed and, on that dreary November Thursday, the first to be released. The Dairi Nin movement required the training of this natural-born human boy from the day he was released from his mother's care.
Kou (rain fall) Weiß Kreuz	Once upon a time there was a young samurai named Fujimiya Ran. He dwelled in Edo in a large house with his sister Aya. The house was, indeed, a grand one, with many rooms and a beautifully maintained garden of vast proportions that was surrounded by a tall rock wall. The house had been in the Fujimiya family for hundreds of years, and the wooden floors were as cracked and worn as the eldest of the city. Though, it was assured that the house could never fall. It had been there for ages, and might as well be there until the end of time. The Fujimiya siblings came of great lineage, relations to the emperor, and well-known nobility across the whole of civilised Japan. Their ancestors were great and famous for their service to the country. They were a continuous string of warriors with ranks in equivalency to general, colonel, admiral, commander, and even a prince or two when one traced back that far. Though, it was a well-known fact that the current Lord of the Fujimiya house was quite different from his valiant and prideful ancestors. The Lord Fujimiya was, of course, continuing his tradition with his current samurai status, though not as awesomely as those that came before him. It wasn't that he was a coward, for he was no such thing; it was due to eleven long years of contemplation upon his destiny, and the fates of his ancestors, that had changed Ran so much from his predecessors. He had come to realise that they were all gravely deceased. Not that this wasn't common knowledge, as it is obvious that one's ancestors are usually deceased, and Ran did know this; he was a rather bright fellow, actually. It was the similarities of the ways in which they died that had so disturbed them, and the purpose that they had so served during their ill-lived lives. For aside from the Fujimiya house's great history and legend, Ran had discovered a curse. All members of the Fujimiya home were to die in the most horrible of ways. Decapitation, hara kiri, burning, trampling-- why his very own father had fallen from a tall railing at the Kyoto palace onto a very sharp boulder in the rock garden below. Even the women led ill-fated lives. Nearly every woman in the Fujimiya house had been raped and dismembered, or beaten, or whipped, his very own mother had fallen into a large vat of hot oil and perished. His aunt Meiko had even somehow managed to have a metal chain hooked onto her leg and dragged behind a cart for miles until her head was crushed by an extremely sizable rock in the roadway. And she had been one of Edo's most reveered tea masters. Ran didn't want to die in any of these fashions. In fact, the redhead would have probably been most pleased with not dying at all. Of course, that's not about to happen, is it? Life had never really been unbearable to Ran, even as his parents and relatives died in the very turn of his adolesence. Even as the suitors now began swarming in for his last living relatie, life wasn't all that bad. In fact, often it could be quite pleasant-- like when he was sleeping. It wasn't as if he had odd dreams of any sort, or anything special about his particular sleeping patterns, it was just that in sleep he didn't have to deal with anything. A lot like death, really. Though, Ran preferred not to think of such things as this. It wasn't as if it was certain events that made his life uncheerful, it was just his life as a whole. Everyone around him had missions to accomplish, ambitions and dreams to fulfill, while he had... death. All he really had to look forward to in life was "what wacky way do you think I'll go?", and other than that: nothing. He had made acquaintance with many young men with misfortunes such as his own, orphaned, depressed, generally somewhat frigid chaps. They all lived similar to himself, yet he had never met one that held no goals. Many of them desired revenge for their misfortunes-- many wished to seek out the killers of their parents or friends, and many converted to buddhism and became monks. Ran always kept the last possibility in mind. In case it should come in helpful in preventing him from some obnoxiously colourful end. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to have his brains ripped out through his nostrils while he was still alive. He, of course, had no revenge to seek, though. His parents deaths had been the faults of their own. His mother had made an accidental fall, and his father was drunk when he climbed the railing of that third-story veranda and lost his footing. What was he to do now but avoid large vats of hot stuff, alcohol, high places, and sharp rocks. And because of this, Ran didn't go outside (or into the kitchens) very much-- he preferred to remain indoors, tending to more scholarly things, like books. On the fourth day past the last full moon, when the sun was low in the east, the foyer and main hallways were opened to receive visitors at an unusally early hour. Aya and her servents gathered into the large living area, just past the foyer itself, ready to receive those who came to call this day, and Ran was not far behind, his hair still ruffled and garments in vaious states of disarray due to the early hour and his fatigue. He had been training most intensely into the night before. "Oniichan, ohayoo," The dark-haired Aya smiled fondly as her brother drew aside the paneled screen and stepped into the room, seating himself tiredly on a pillow infront of a small table. The redhead nodded his good-mornings and tried unsuccessfully to smooth his ruffled hair. "Did you have a rough night? I could hear you going at it for hours..." She watched her tired brother carefully, behind her, her two hand maidens, Tokoyo and Tomoyo chattered happily about fond things that sisters often chat about ("You stole my brush!", "I did not!", "I told you not to use it!", "You're selfish!", "It was MINE!", "Mom and Dad never liked you!", "You were adopted!", "Let go of my ear!", "Give me back my brush, damnit!", "I'm telling!"). "Hn." The redhead grunted and glanced at the panel through which he had entered, it now held the sillhouette of a young man, "Back to this again." "Is something troubling you, 'niichan?" The panel slid open and a young man entered the room, escorted by the Fujimiya's messenger/door man. The small door man ran up quickly ahead of the young man, who was now entering the room with the poise of a noble-- Ran observed, with the poise of a noodle, and one that hadn't gotten enough sleep. "Ran sama, Aya sama, this is the honourable Kazuo, son of the master Fujimoto in Kyoto. He has traveled many days to come in honour of Lady Aya." The servant bowed and left the room quickly, leaving the man, Kazuo, to stand before the two siblings. He bowed generously, with a look of confidence, standing in silence until the smiling Lady Aya bade him sit for tea. Ran merely scowled at the newcomer from his corner of the small square table. Of course, this was all routine to Aya and Ran, they had done it so many times before. A man would come and sit with them for tea, he would make his request to marry Aya and Ran would say "No". Often they would grow angry, offer to battle over Aya's hand, but none of them ever seemed to get past Ran's wit and intellect to the actual battle itself, for Ran was a man of great slyness, and cunning. Though, had they actually reached a battle with Fujimiya Ran, there was no question the suitor would still be turned away at loss of pride and wife. Ran had a fretful case of big-brother syndrome.
The Extremity Weiß Kreuz	"So, what I don't understand is: if she was cheating on her husband with his best friend, and his best friend was already cheating on his girlfriend with this other girl and then started cheating them both with his best friend's wife, then where the hell did the wife's sister come into this?!" "I've already told you." "Yea, but you aren't very clear. You said she was the extremity of the two girlfriends the best friend already had." "Yes, but with females." "...What?" "She is just like the other two girlfriends the bestfriend already had, except with females-- even with one of the girlfriends (Yokko, I think) later, but you haven't gotten to that part yet." "...So you're saying... what, exactly?" "..." "Aya?" "Why are you reading that now? That book is trashy, anyway. We should be trying to find Kudou and Tsukiyono." "Hm..." "..." "... Oh my god! She's a lesbian!" "You're still on that?" "Why didn't you just say that to begin with!?" "Why are you reading that to begin with?" "I found it in your bag!" "..." The redhead was silent in thought. "What were -you- doing with it?" The redhead glared, "It's not my book." "Then how'd it get into your bag?" "I'm also interrested in that." "But you know the story!" The redhead shrugged, "Aya chan read it once." "..." "She told me all about it." "...What the hell kind of books are you letting your sister read!? For shame!" "Shut up, Ken." "Yes, mother!" The brunett dropped the book to give Aya a very undignified look. The redhead rolled his eyes. Glares were exchanged.
Le Fils de la Matin (Son of the Morning) Weiß Kreuz	There was something that hid there behind his eyes. Something slowly accumulated after so many months of quiet dressing in the early morning and discrete footsteps down the hallway against the thread-bare carpet. Built upon by the traitorous moaning of bedroom doors closing and shutting at the budding hours of dawn. It was a thought that laid idly beneath his subconscious, slowly emerging itself into the superego with time. And too many dashes back down the hallway before the others awoke. It wasn't as if the other didn't know. It was fairly obvious with the redhead's miraculous one-eighty in attitude these past months. He was more lenient--