What the Camera Doesn't See
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Title: What The Camera Doesn't See: Part II
Author: Genji
Disclaimer: I don't claim to own anything but the words. The ideas belong to someone else
Warnings: read the ones in the beginning. They haven't changed.
'thoughts'
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Written story
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{Written Words}
"Dialog"
*emphasis* think italics
~*~ Change of scene
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Between the dark and daylight
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
That is known as the Children's Hour
--Henry Wadsowrth Longfellow, The Children's Hour
~*~
Quatre had opted for a private apartment away from the bustling mansion where his father resided. He didn't like being waited on hand and foot, and after a huge tiff with his one surviving parent it had become apparent that neither would concede defeat. The matter had been settled when Quatre had moved out and gotten a job in produce at the local grocery store.
The acting bug had bitten the youth when the drama club at Roanoke High had started casting for its annual musical production. That year it had been 'The King and I.' Of course the theatrical powers that make dress rehearsals a complete failure while opening night is a smash, conspired against the slight eighteen-year-old senior.
Quatre had had a cold the day of tryouts and the congestion had made it impossible to sing 'I Have Dreamed' without becoming inaudible during the high notes. Needless to say he had been relegated to the role of a monk, an almost non-speaking role with the exception of some minor chanting.
Even then, it was under the hot lights that Quatre felt truly alive, relishing the fact that his movements across the stage gave others pleasure. That knowledge alone was thanks enough for the countless hours going over the same scene ad infinitum.
Even after the final curtain call, Quatre wanted to continue acting. Of course the other thousand or so people in the area had taken up all the acting jobs. No one needed another cherubim to play the hapless protagonist, plus others had better connections and prestigious acting degrees to their name, and not simply a part in a high school play.
Quatre walked into the small apartment and smiled as a tiger cat rubbed itself against his legs, purring its greeting.
"Nice to see you too, Riyad (1)." He dropped the mail he had picked up on his way up to his apartment on the kitchen table. The refrigerator door was then opened and the Arab started rummaging through the contents for a quick, light, meal.
Riyad lightly vaulted onto the table, and with gentle paws proceeded to spread out the mail. An envelope fluttered lazily to the ground. Quatre returned to the room, tossing an apple from one hand to the other.
"Hul khalast (2)?" he asked in Arabic with a pretend glare. "You don't know that, do you, Riyad? I'm going to have to teach you Arabic one of these days." He picked up the cat up off the table.
"Are you finished going through my mail? Anything good? I see you've dropped something, monsignor." Quatre bent down and picked up the fallen letter. He read the addressee once and then smiled. "Corresponding under the pen name of Cain, Riyad? I'll take this to the post office to return to sender...but there's no return address. I suppose there's no hurt in opening it."
~*~
"So, did you see it?" Lucie twirled a lock of her long blond hair around her finger. With her other hand she held a french fry, but she didn't eat it.
"Episode three. He jumped out of a medical building and fell in a suicide attempt," Krista remarked, eyes glazing over dreamily. "Set his broken bone with his own two hands. Anyone tape it? I wanna see it again."
"I'm sure there will be reruns," the braided girl that sat directly across from her assured. "I'll be sure to tape it then."
"I don't know why you guys waste your time on this stuff," Elly remarked, helping herself to the food in the center tray.
"You're bound to us, girlie, whether you like it or not. You got us started down this destructive road," Morganna reminded as she threw her heavy mahogany braid over her shoulder. Elly had been the one who had started the tradition of watching movies until everyone's brains rotted and then driving out to the coast for some fast food and a nice conversation.
"It's not destructive, it's a healthy attraction!" Lucie defended herself and her friends.
"Krista, what is it with that far away look? You with us? Why do you always zone out when pain and gore and stuff like that comes up? You a sadomasochist or something?" Ida demanded. Her bright blue eyes focused on glazed brown ones.
Krista shook her head, banishing the thoughts that danced through her mind, making her almost oblivious to the goings-on in her outside environment. "No. What do you take me for? Some kind of pervert?" Good girls didn't have such thoughts. Good girls would be shocked at some of the things the eighteen-year-old girl had internalized.
"Well, you do read the stuff on the 'net," Lucie said sullenly. She pulled at her hair. "It's just sick to read about two guys going at it."
Krista shrugged, unwilling to mar the day with a dispute. "To each his own."
"Lucie, did you ever send that letter?" Elly chuckled amicably; being the sanest one in the quintet of lunatics she could afford to tease the others.
"Not on your life! If I'm going to write something, I want it to be eloquent and mysterious. Go ask Morg, she wrote one up as well."
"We all did," Morganna said irritably. She brightened. "If I remember correctly I saw you, Elly, getting ready to send yours. What'd it say? You were so secretive and you wouldn't share. Come on, spill."
"No. It's for me to know and you to spend the rest of your life trying to find out." Elly tossed a fry at the braided Morganna only to miss and hit the musing Ida, who was staring off into the distance. The girl blinked and quickly stilled the coming storm by saying, "We all promised to send ours, and if you didn't...well, I'll hafta sic Sandra on you."
"That's not much of a threat. She's only a puppy," Krista remarked, getting up and patting her jeans down, searching for a couple bucks to pay for her part of the meal.
"She's gonna be big. Burmese Mountain dogs gotta be b-" Her eye caught sight of the brown-eyed girl's antics, digging deeply into each and every pocket. "Kris, don't bother pretending you have money deep inside those empty pockets, I'll cover for you. You go through this routine each time we come here. This time you gotta pay for gas," Ida said, dropping a crumpled twenty on the table.
"But I'm broke-"
"You're always broke. Where does it all go?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Krista said, poking her friend in the ribs before skipping out onto the boardwalk while the rest paid their debt to a bored, greasy man, who grudgingly gave them their change.
~*~
Trowa settled down next to the blond Arab. Quatre smiled and nodded his hello. He continued to gaze across the lot, which hummed with activity during the early lunch hour. That morning they had read through the script so many times, that both actors felt that all the writers should be slowly hung, though neither of them admitted to that common belief.
[flashback...
Relena sat fuming in her chair, and sullenly listened to her coworkers read their lines. Episode four was scheduled to air in three days and both the director and head writer had laughed in her face when she suggested they retract the tape and redo it.
But she wouldn't go down quietly.
During the readings she interjected at random points, speaking in her well-known pacifist princess voice, taking out the harsh edge that usually became apparent when she spoke out of character.
"Let's build nuclear missiles and shoot them at the colonies. Whoever survives the aftermath the longest wins!" or "I'm abdicating so Dorothy can take my place. She'll make a much better leader."
It didn't help when Dorothy shouted back, upon hearing the last remark, "Guns for everyone!"
Zechs swatted the fork-eyebrowed girl across the side of the head. Dorothy turned and punched him in the gut. "I told you *not* to touch me."
Zechs straightened up and wrapped his arms around the actress, "But you were asking for it."
"Now *you're* asking for it." Dorothy elbowed the man in the ribs and skipped merrily away.
"You just KNOW she wants you," Duo said, coming from behind and clapping the blond on the shoulder.
"Oh, it's not the having, it's the getting," Zechs remarked before adding, "I haven't even begun to consider the having part."
Duo was about to respond when a crisp, clear voice interrupted, "When you are done fraternizing with the enemy, Zechs, would you be so kind as to grace us with your presence?" Trieze called, gesturing to a seat next to Noin who looked ill at the thought of being forced to sit next to the man who didn't know when to quit.
...end flashback]
"How's Riyad?" Trowa asked, pulling a bag of carrot sticks out of the brown paper bag he had carried with him. He made a mental note that he needed to go to the store sometime soon.
"A joy on cat feet," Quatre said, and let his smile change to a grin. "He's not yet one year old and he already understands what I say. You catch the game last night?"
"Got it on tape. I've been avoiding all the media so I won't find out who won."
"Up for another game of hoops after *cough* work? I'll beat the two of you this time 'round." Duo asked as he joined the pair sitting on the steps.
"You bring a ball that actually bounces?" Wufei asked from his spot in the shadows. He had traded his white garments that he wore as a pilot for a comfortable pair of jeans and a black tee. Like a chameleon he faded into his surroundings, allowing him to go practically anywhere without attracting attention, unlike Duo who couldn't have increased the amount of attention he received by going about wearing huge neon signs spelling out in gaudy orange, yellow and pink 'Celebrity.'
"Uh-huh. You gonna side with these losers?"
~*~
With decisive movements the hands plucked the petals from the roses that had been bought. The pale pink slips littered the wooden floor, like it was a church aisle after the wedding and someone has forgotten to sweep up the blossoms that a tiny flower girl threw down.
The desecrated stalks, which had been stripped of everything but their thorns, were placed in a box filled with white tissue paper. Again and again the act was repeated methodically until there were none. The box was closed, wrapped in common brown paper and addressed to an apartment not far from Winner Studios. Once that was done, the fallen whispers of dawn-tinted smoothness were swept up.
~*~
(1) Riyad (ree-YAHD) is an Arabic name meaning gardens. Cain was a farmer.
(2) 'Are you finished?' Due to the confusion my beta-readers expressed I'll translate, though it's not really necessary since it's translated in the next couple lines.
© 2001 by Genji. Please do not remove without permission.
