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| We Need a Drinking Thread | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jan 21 2009, 12:09 AM (395 Views) | |
| Deleted User | Jan 21 2009, 12:09 AM Post #1 |
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Trowa had no idea where to post, so he wandered from room to room hoping something would give him an idea soon, and grateful he'd given the clown outfit a pass. Also grateful he'd reconsidered the Zechs costume, though it would have been much more comfortable than the Victorian era tux he'd kept from a previous board. If there was anyone who could pull off the brooding prince look complete with epaulets and a silver bucket on his head, it was Trowa. But he figured everyone would be dressed like Zechs at this thing, so he rented the Janus mask instead. We won't mention the original sheep ensemble. Hmm...only the first paragraph and the crack had started already. Damn. He passed by a door and heard familiar voices inside. A gallery? Trowa was momentarily at a loss to decide whether to enter and intrude on the conversation or just keep walking until he found the main body. Body? There was a nice body in the gallery. He backed up against the wall beside the door and eavesdropped a few minutes out of sight trying to figure out who that was. Identifying someone by sight was a lot harder at a masquerade ball than identifying a voice. Voices didn't seem to change much over the years, but appearances seemed to change plenty. Where had he heard that voice? Something about it was so memorable and conjured images from the war, but where exactly? "You were connected to the war, and you were not part of OZ." Someone who'd recognize a member of OZ? That should narrow the list a bit. Noin? Sally? Lady Une? No, their voices all figured in the occasional nightmare, and this didn't sound like any of them. Trowa moved closer to the doorway to peek inside. He couldn't be sure until he saw the eyebrows, and that was currently impossible with her mask in place. Still, there was only one person who could be attached to that voice. It had to be the coquettish knockout on the Libra who'd run Quatre through with a sword. She'd filled out nicely. Probably packing a battle-axe now. Who was that she was talking to? The braid looked familiar, but the rest of him didn't. It took Trowa a few minutes to place it, but the singularity of Duo's voice was unmistakable. Trowa deliberated, wondering if he should interrupt to say hello, then decided a bracer would be a good idea. Everyone seemed to be drinking champagne, but he hoped the butler had a tray of those cocktails with the little parasols in them. No such luck. He grabbed a glass of champers and looked around for anyone else who seemed familiar. It was annoying to lift his mask every time he wanted to drink, but he'd be damned if he was going to drink through a straw. The problem was he hadn't kept up with anyone during the past decade, even though he'd promised at the time that he would. Things just got away from him at the circus, and he never seemed to have time for anything else. Everyone looked so different, but there were reminiscent features here and there. It just felt so uncomfortable to walk up to someone and start a conversation. He'd always hated these kinds of affairs with their attendant small talk and pleasantries. He emptied his glass and looked around for the butler. What I need is another drink. |
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| Duo Maxwell | Jan 21 2009, 04:12 AM Post #2 |
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Resident Depressive
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At first, he didn't recognize the other man. He'd known he was being watched while speaking to Dorothy, but the face escaped him. And then Duo caught the glimpse of a tale-tell bang. The rest, as they say, was history. He strolled up the man as if they were the best of friends (which, they probably were, if any of the other RP's were indication), and clapped Trowa on the back. "Hey stranger! You want me to pretend I don't know who you are, or should we get to the drinking already? How the hell have you been, man?" In all honesty, this was his first contact with another gundam pilot since the wars. He didn't know he was this starved for contact with his fellow mates until he found himself slobbering all over Trowa's grown-man appearance. The sweepers were one thing, Hilde even another--but this? A comrade-in-arms? This was different. "How's peace treating you?" Although Duo said it lightly, there was a strong current of I understand, underneath it. Peace wasn't easy for any of them--that was why he'd avoided the other pilots in the first place. |
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| Deleted User | Jan 21 2009, 05:06 PM Post #3 |
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Trowa turned around when slapped on the back and was happy to find Duo standing there dressed as Maxwell's Demon. Appropriate, though Trowa hated to think what Duo Maxwell would do with hot gas. Trowa was definitely spending too much time around Motley Sis lately, and slapped himself soundly. Actually, this whole first paragraph would have been a lot funnier if he'd had a mouth full of champagne, but never mind. He'd catch up with the butler later. "Hey, Duo," he replied, as if he'd last seen Duo only yesterday. At least that hadn't changed. Duo still oozed the same familiar warmth that had taken him by surprise during the war. Duo had always had that startling humanity that made you think there was no one you'd trust more with a baby, but you'd be shocked to discover just how dangerous he really was. Suddenly, Trowa had a premonition about disembodied thumbs. No, he didn't. But wouldn't it be funny if he did? He looked his old friend up and down, trying the pinpoint the changes. It was hard to see just what was behind the mask, but Trowa was used to seeing only half the picture anyway. One of these days, I really need to get these bangs cut. From what he could tell, Duo was now sporting a rough beard and mustache. Well, that ended any possibility of 3x2 on this board. More damn. Maybe they could go to a good barber together later. There was nothing like the camaraderie that developed when two men faced a razor or a pair of shears together. "I've been all right. How about you?" Somehow he knew how Duo would answer that even after all this time. It had been ridiculous to hide from the other pilots at the circus all these years when a simple reunion at a ball ten years later brought it all back. It seemed he couldn't escape the past no matter how much he tried, and maybe it would be cathartic to talk to someone about it sometime—someone who'd been there and knew just what he'd gone through. "Peace..." "Everyone's a pacifist between wars. It's like being a vegetarian between meals." "Peace..." "Peace is the result of love, and if love were easy we'd all be good at it." "Peace...sucks." Okay, I think we all know by now that Trowa's a git. But at least he reads Colman McCarthy. |
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| Duo Maxwell | Jan 21 2009, 07:09 PM Post #4 |
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Resident Depressive
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Don't I know it. "Like a Hoover, man." Another waiter swung by with fresh drinks--probably the same one from before--and Duo swiped a glass for each of them. He handed Trowa the second one and took a long drink before he summoned the warmth back up again. No use crying over spilt milk, as they say. Or rotted corpses. Whatever. "Been workin' as a Sweeper the last five years or so. Hilde's my... um... boss." Duo had the grace not to blush, but only barely. "I fly all the insane, disaster-friendly suicide missions. Got injured a time or two. Reminds me of the old days, keeps me sane. If you're feeling nostalgic..." He left the offer open. Despite how good his crew really was, none of them were half as good a pilot as Trowa Barton. He'd trust only three others in his place. Maybe it was time they all returned to their roots? And speaking of. What was so bad about facial hair? Wufei thought it was really sexy! Trowa was darn lucky Duo didn't have sideburns, because the possibility was a strong one. He wondered if the Black Widow thought his facial hair offensive too. The nerve of some people! "So, I see you have the same haircut. Neat." Honesty, now that he thought about it--having the same hairstyle ten years later was pretty sad. There must be a metaphor in there somewhere. Duo tugged on his braid and thought about disembodied thumbs. "Nope. Nothing's changed here." |
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| Deleted User | Jan 22 2009, 03:10 AM Post #5 |
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Trowa was grateful for the drink and thanked Duo with a nod of the head. Still no parasols. Rats. "You're a lot braver than I, working as a sweeper. You must see a lot of...the war." The ugly remains of it, anyway. For a moment, Trowa wondered whether Duo ever ran across any bodies. The vacuum of space should keep things in a kind of stasis, almost fully preserved from the moment of death. Or so he'd always believed. A fuselage drifting through space without a breach might tell an interesting tale of its pilot's last moments. Trowa didn't want to know, though. Not really. He was grateful the circus was as far from the war as one could go. Or was it? War was a circus. "I'm tired of the past. I've tried to forget everything, and avoid reminders. I don't think I could be a sweeper, Duo, but thanks for the offer. If I'm ever down on my luck..." Well, hopefully he'd never have to find out. There was certainly nothing short of homelessness that could compel him to salvage space wrecks. "So how about the rest? You married? Any kids? I haven't had time." Too busy for relationships. Too busy for entanglements of any kind. Someday he'd die without ever having been alive. He was getting too serious. Time for another drink. He finished off the current one and signaled a passing waiter for another. He could hear Cathy's voice inside his head telling him not to get loaded. Fine, he'd keep track. This was drink #3. His lucky number. "Have you seen anyone else from the old days since you've been here? I mean, besides Dorothy? She seems to be doing well. I wonder whether Heero, Wu Fei or Quatre will come tonight?" |
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| Duo Maxwell | Jan 22 2009, 10:58 PM Post #6 |
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Resident Depressive
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Duo was trying very, very hard to be chipper, but Trowa was obviously not feeling the love, here. He sighed. The wonders I've seen... Blade Runner, gotcha. To be honest, doing the kind of work he did wasn't easy, and it never had been. More than once he'd finished in a state of shock, only to return home later and drink himself sick. Hilde probably knew--she gave him the missions, after all, she'd read all the reports. But it was something Duo handled on his own, never spoken, and never thought upon. At least, where none could hear him. For Duo, it had evolved into a form of therapy. Over the years, he'd grown less terrified of the tragedies that had struck, less wondering if he'd been the cause to let these souls die such awful, tragic deaths. Instead, he aided them back to safety. He took the bodies home and returned them to their families--if they had none, he gave it a proper cremation, and said words of respect. Then he spread the ashes in the ocean--the ocean, because for him, it was the miracle of Earth itself. Duo said nothing to Trowa's response, although part of him wished he could. He wanted to say, You have to acknowledge your past. You have to acknowledge you were in that war. To pretend otherwise is futile, and it's an insult to anyone who has ever died in your name. Instead, because that was really sort of sanctimonious, Duo just nodded quietly until Trowa got to the crack parts. "So how about the rest? You married? Any kids? I haven't had time." "Me either, dude. Probably for the best, because my kid would turn into some little girl with a big gun who's afraid of hamburger and disembodied thumbs. Just saying." Duo paused. "But Hilde does like to think we're married. She beats me." He grinned cheerfully. "Haven't seen anyone else. We could go to the ballroom |
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| Hilde Schbeiker | Jan 22 2009, 11:03 PM Post #7 |
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Mistress of Pain
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Hilde wandered back over to Duo after having snagged a drink of her own. "Yo, boychick. Did I hear you mention Heero? Or was that strikethrough just for Trowa's ears only?" She nodded at the man in question. "How are you? Lions doin' great, I assume, feeding them manmeat and whatnot?" |
| "I'm sure I can provide more entertainment than a window cleaner. It might even be better than watching pigeons." | |
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| Deleted User | Jan 23 2009, 01:41 AM Post #8 |
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There was a Heero thread? Trowa had been so busy trying to get drunk in this thread it hadn't occurred to him they might have those cocktails with the little parasols elsewhere. "Hey, Hilde," Trowa replied, briefly wondering how he knew this was Hilde. Well, who else would call Duo a boychick? "Great to see you again." Wait, had he ever seen her before? He couldn't remember every damn thing from ten years ago. Let's pretend he'd run into her on the Libra at some point and move on. They were both on board within two episodes of each other. That had to count for something. "Oh yes, the lions are fine. We feed them small children from the L2 sector whenever we run out of Meow Mix. They seem to like it." This was something of a joke, as Trowa had thought it a good idea to try developing a sense of humor when he'd first received an invitation to this gig. His lions actually preferred children from the L1 cluster. "Speaking of L1, did one of you mention another drinking thread a moment ago? I agree it would be great to see Quatre and Heero again. And see if they have cocktails." With that, he grabbed an arm from each of them and dragged them to the other forum. >> |
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3:29 PM Jul 11