The tall boy closed his eyes, trying to conjure up a thought that would take him away from this gloomy day, but melancholy clung to him, forcing him to think nothing but depressing thoughts. He fingered the flute in his hands, playing silently a song that had no name, but was full of heartache and despair, the epitome of loneliness.
He wished, not for the first time, that his blond haired friend were near, to make it worthwhile to lift the steel tube to his lips and actually play the notes that were running through his head, to hear the mournful melody of the violin that would accompany the wind-like tune of his instrument. However, Quatre was gone at the moment, and he was left alone in the house with Wufei, who was simply content with worshiping Nataku. He turned to go back to his room, to brood, or surf the net, he wasn’t sure.
However, he heard the door open. Trowa paused, hoping against hope that it was Quatre who had returned. But (Alas!) the cheery voice, with an undercurrent of laughter warned him of Duo’s arrival. Also, upon hearing the braided pilot shout, “Itai!” followed by a extremely short silence, Trowa knew that the ‘perfect soldier’ was with the talkative boy. He shook his head sadly, and sidled off to his room, efficiently avoiding the two boys that had just arrived.
Trowa placed his flute next to the half clown mask, which lay upon the beaten up desk. He opened the well-used laptop that accompanied him from place to place, one of the few constants in his inconsistent life. More out of habit than expectation, he logged onto the net and checked his mail. His efforts were rewarded with a note of invitation to Atlantic City from Quatre. Without any alteration of facial expression, his entire outlook on the day changed. He e-mailed his acceptation to the invite, and within minutes was packed.
A disturbance in the hall pulled him away from his broodings, as with practiced hands he closed the small duffle that contained enough clothing and personal articles for the weekend excursion. He opened his door to find Duo lugging a trunk, almost as long as the braided was and twice as wide, down the hall. The blue-eyed boy brightened at the sight of the impassive pilot.
"Trowa, man! Can you help me with this? I wish it wasn’t so unwieldy as it is, but you can only fit so many poker chips in a duffle bag, and then there’s no room for your clothes!"
Trowa nodded, figuring that he wasn’t the only one that had been invited on the trip. It was so like Quatre to invite them all. He should’ve known. Trowa helped Duo down the hall, and loaded the vast trunk into the back of a ‘borrowed’ jeep. He turned to go back into the house, and paused five feet away from the door, where Heero was standing in the frame, the light coming from behind, making his features indistinguishable in the dark of his face. The stoic boy tossed Trowa the duffle bag that the green-eyed pilot had packed earlier before returning into the depths of the house. Duo was dancing with impatience when Trowa returned, stowing the small bag in the backseat.
"Is he coming?" Duo queried, swinging his braid back and forth in eagerness.
"Who?"
"Heero. Is he coming?"
Trowa shook his head.
"Someone must hold down the fort," came the dangerously quiet voice, laced with steal. Heero was once again in the doorway, holding onto the case that housed Trowa’s laptop.
Duo pouted, "Honestly!! You never know how to have any fun, Hee-chan."
"Hn."
Trowa relieved him of the laptop and placed it next to his duffel bag. Then, after placing the cover on the jeep, they were off on the ten-hour drive from their base to Atlantic City, Duo chattering non-stop about how he was going to drive the casinos out of business. It was going to be a long ride, but Trowa was too intent upon seeing his friend again to care. He had packed his flute.
