Reality Storm 8 ficbit
Oct. 26th, 2003 02:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sakon76I *was* going to sleep. Then I pasted that Rattrap quote into the Reality Storm: Chapter Eight file and realized that the first scene *is* today with its smoke and ash. And suddenly I needed to relisten to "Invincible." And I started writing. And I can't find my car CD binder, so I don't know where Loreena McKennitt's "The Mummer's Dance" has gone to, so I couldn't write the last scene from it but only from the memory of it. Oh, yes, and I appear to be using the fanon that Seiji is konketsu (half-blooded) and that his father is American. Or, at least, I think it's fanon. In any case, enjoy. Bonus points for anyone who can pull all of the Troopers' virtues out of the last section.
Thick clouds of acrid smoke fogged in the ground. Wufei dropped from his Gundam's cockpit, coughing already. He crawled forward on all fours, obedient to a half-remembered drill. The air would be clearer near the ground. He wouldn't have exited Nataku except that the heat sensors (one of the few systems still working) had shown the fires caused by the flaming wreckage of the Aries had all gone out. The forest was cool. The smoke, though, and the silence, were overpowering.
Beneath Wufei's choked half-coughs and gasps for purer air he heard noise. Stilling himself, breathing as shallowly as he dared, Wufei listened. To his left, branches snapped and dry pine needles crunched beneath boots. He coughed again, sleeve over his mouth to try to muffle the sound, and looked up.
An indistinct form moved through the smoke. On its forehead blazed a kanji, the same golden orange as a sunrise. It was the character for "justice."
Wufei's blood ran cold. "Nataku," he whispered hoarsely.
*
Heero did not believe in magic. Magic armor, in fact, was so far out of the sphere of what he did believe in as to be laughable.
He wasn't laughing when Touma easily hefted what had to be half of an Aries over one shoulder and toted it to the clearing that had been designated as a scrapyard. Duo had already begun cannibalizing the Aries' usable parts, hooting with excitement whenever he found something one of the Gundams particularly needed. Everyone was practically in the ex-Sweeper's employ now. It irked Heero to have to admit that Duo's salvage facility was greater than his own.
*
Softly, that night, they talked of war, ten faces gathered around coffee tables, sprawling on sofas, leaning against walls, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Words of wars fought and wars that were still being fought in times yet to come. Shadows flickered across faces more quickly than the candle flames summoned by Ryou could account for. Horror, too, was there, at their own actions and at the actions of others.
"To fight against humans..." Shuu said softly, his hands knotted. Yet in his face there was no condemnation, only sympathetic pain.
Heero frowned. "It's either war or slavery."
"My father is American," Seiji said softly. "It was once like that there. The American colonists fought for their freedom against a king who did not grant them their rights."
Duo smiled a little, but there was a savage edge to his expression. "Rights is one thing, but unlike America, the colonies can't survive if we're cut off. We can't win for trying."
"So you kill."
"We kill those who kill our people," Quatre rebutted Touma. "Is the difference between a swift death in battle and the slow death of starvation so great?"
"On L2... we don't have water, we don't have heat. You Earthlings don't know what you take for granted."
Shin barked a laugh. "You've never felt the oceans pulse in your veins, never felt them choking on poison and human waste. We all have ashes in our mouths."
"Shin..." Ryou said, reaching for his friend. Shin flinched away. "Naaza didn't know what he was doing."
"He knew. He didn't care."
"The United Earth Government knows what they're doing to the colonies. They don't care either."
Duo looked at Trowa. "I thought you didn't care as much?"
Trowa's shrug was minimal.
"It is the right of the repressed to rise up against their masters and throw off the foot on their necks," Wufei said, "acting to have their voices heard. Each person has the right to be heard, even if their needs are not met. Yet the Earth government has a stranglehold on the media; they deny the colonies even voices."
Eyes met in a circle around the room, five hearts slowing to beat as one, a sure, calm pulse with one voice.
"That's not right," said Ryou, spokesman.
*
Duo lay on his back, examining the ceiling. Thoughts ran through his head, a touch of wonder at the existence of magic in the world, pain at the pain unburdened to new allies, futile wishes for the way things might have been, a burning ache to know what was happening back in his own world, impatience at not being able to work fast enough, not having enough hands or advanced enough parts for the Gundams even with the parts the Aries had so kindly donated....
"Do you think their armors still exist in our time?" Heero asked suddenly. Duo blinked and turned his head to look at his roommate, who he'd thought was asleep. Instead Wing's pilot looked up at the ceiling.
"Dunno. Can't see why they'd've been destroyed," he answered.
"I wonder if they have wearers then, or if they've been forgotten."
Duo blinked. That almost sounded like Heero being philosophical. "You thinking of trying to find them?"
Heero remained silent for a moment, then replied in the same soft tone he'd been using all along, "No."
Duo waited for more, but didn't get any. Sighing, he rolled his head and stared up at the ceiling again. "I hate being in limbo like this. I mean, it's nice, they're great guys and all, but... this isn't where I belong. This isn't what I need to be doing, you know?"
"Yeah," Heero answered softly.
*
Wufei sat on the porch's railing, one foot stretched out before him, his back against one of the support posts. In his arms was held his sword and before his eyes the sun rose. The fires of the day before caught glory in the air, transformed symphony and wove poetry into a light that stole his breath.
How many sunrises did Earth people miss, complacent in the resources they had, never knowing lack or oppression?
How would Meiran have acted, seeing the day begin like this with her own eyes?
Wufei's eyes blurred and he closed them for a moment.
When he opened them again, five figures in armor stood in the yard before him, watching the sunrise in what seemed to be a reverent silence.
When the lower edge of the sun cleared the mountains, they turned to one another and began to battle, moving in eerie grace like a dance, like a pattern, like a kata long known and perfected, each move known beforehand, each blow's force avoided with ease, each attack delivered in an affirmation of love, of care. This was a fight for the sake of mutual bonds, of faith heart-deep and just action leading to righteous result.
It was a dance of reassurance, and Wufei felt his heart lifted by it as he watched ancient warriors move.
Thick clouds of acrid smoke fogged in the ground. Wufei dropped from his Gundam's cockpit, coughing already. He crawled forward on all fours, obedient to a half-remembered drill. The air would be clearer near the ground. He wouldn't have exited Nataku except that the heat sensors (one of the few systems still working) had shown the fires caused by the flaming wreckage of the Aries had all gone out. The forest was cool. The smoke, though, and the silence, were overpowering.
Beneath Wufei's choked half-coughs and gasps for purer air he heard noise. Stilling himself, breathing as shallowly as he dared, Wufei listened. To his left, branches snapped and dry pine needles crunched beneath boots. He coughed again, sleeve over his mouth to try to muffle the sound, and looked up.
An indistinct form moved through the smoke. On its forehead blazed a kanji, the same golden orange as a sunrise. It was the character for "justice."
Wufei's blood ran cold. "Nataku," he whispered hoarsely.
Heero did not believe in magic. Magic armor, in fact, was so far out of the sphere of what he did believe in as to be laughable.
He wasn't laughing when Touma easily hefted what had to be half of an Aries over one shoulder and toted it to the clearing that had been designated as a scrapyard. Duo had already begun cannibalizing the Aries' usable parts, hooting with excitement whenever he found something one of the Gundams particularly needed. Everyone was practically in the ex-Sweeper's employ now. It irked Heero to have to admit that Duo's salvage facility was greater than his own.
Softly, that night, they talked of war, ten faces gathered around coffee tables, sprawling on sofas, leaning against walls, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Words of wars fought and wars that were still being fought in times yet to come. Shadows flickered across faces more quickly than the candle flames summoned by Ryou could account for. Horror, too, was there, at their own actions and at the actions of others.
"To fight against humans..." Shuu said softly, his hands knotted. Yet in his face there was no condemnation, only sympathetic pain.
Heero frowned. "It's either war or slavery."
"My father is American," Seiji said softly. "It was once like that there. The American colonists fought for their freedom against a king who did not grant them their rights."
Duo smiled a little, but there was a savage edge to his expression. "Rights is one thing, but unlike America, the colonies can't survive if we're cut off. We can't win for trying."
"So you kill."
"We kill those who kill our people," Quatre rebutted Touma. "Is the difference between a swift death in battle and the slow death of starvation so great?"
"On L2... we don't have water, we don't have heat. You Earthlings don't know what you take for granted."
Shin barked a laugh. "You've never felt the oceans pulse in your veins, never felt them choking on poison and human waste. We all have ashes in our mouths."
"Shin..." Ryou said, reaching for his friend. Shin flinched away. "Naaza didn't know what he was doing."
"He knew. He didn't care."
"The United Earth Government knows what they're doing to the colonies. They don't care either."
Duo looked at Trowa. "I thought you didn't care as much?"
Trowa's shrug was minimal.
"It is the right of the repressed to rise up against their masters and throw off the foot on their necks," Wufei said, "acting to have their voices heard. Each person has the right to be heard, even if their needs are not met. Yet the Earth government has a stranglehold on the media; they deny the colonies even voices."
Eyes met in a circle around the room, five hearts slowing to beat as one, a sure, calm pulse with one voice.
"That's not right," said Ryou, spokesman.
Duo lay on his back, examining the ceiling. Thoughts ran through his head, a touch of wonder at the existence of magic in the world, pain at the pain unburdened to new allies, futile wishes for the way things might have been, a burning ache to know what was happening back in his own world, impatience at not being able to work fast enough, not having enough hands or advanced enough parts for the Gundams even with the parts the Aries had so kindly donated....
"Do you think their armors still exist in our time?" Heero asked suddenly. Duo blinked and turned his head to look at his roommate, who he'd thought was asleep. Instead Wing's pilot looked up at the ceiling.
"Dunno. Can't see why they'd've been destroyed," he answered.
"I wonder if they have wearers then, or if they've been forgotten."
Duo blinked. That almost sounded like Heero being philosophical. "You thinking of trying to find them?"
Heero remained silent for a moment, then replied in the same soft tone he'd been using all along, "No."
Duo waited for more, but didn't get any. Sighing, he rolled his head and stared up at the ceiling again. "I hate being in limbo like this. I mean, it's nice, they're great guys and all, but... this isn't where I belong. This isn't what I need to be doing, you know?"
"Yeah," Heero answered softly.
Wufei sat on the porch's railing, one foot stretched out before him, his back against one of the support posts. In his arms was held his sword and before his eyes the sun rose. The fires of the day before caught glory in the air, transformed symphony and wove poetry into a light that stole his breath.
How many sunrises did Earth people miss, complacent in the resources they had, never knowing lack or oppression?
How would Meiran have acted, seeing the day begin like this with her own eyes?
Wufei's eyes blurred and he closed them for a moment.
When he opened them again, five figures in armor stood in the yard before him, watching the sunrise in what seemed to be a reverent silence.
When the lower edge of the sun cleared the mountains, they turned to one another and began to battle, moving in eerie grace like a dance, like a pattern, like a kata long known and perfected, each move known beforehand, each blow's force avoided with ease, each attack delivered in an affirmation of love, of care. This was a fight for the sake of mutual bonds, of faith heart-deep and just action leading to righteous result.
It was a dance of reassurance, and Wufei felt his heart lifted by it as he watched ancient warriors move.
