What the Camera Doesn't See
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Title: What the Camera Doesn't See: Part V
Author: Genji
Warnings & Disclaimer: See Part I
Denotationgs:
'thoughts'
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Written story
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{Written Words}
"Dialog"
*emphasis* think italics
~*~ Change of scene
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The tree is known by his fruit.
--Mathew 12:33
~*~
Trowa sighed and opened the common room's door, which had just been rapped at furiously before. A bush, suspended in mid-air, greeted him. No, someone was holding it. That became apparent as an arm snaked out of the foliage, trying not to do more damage to the already lacerated skin. Attached to the disembodied limb was a clipboard. Trowa took it, signed it and gave it back, only to be presented with the heavy, potted bush. The youth brought the plant in and set it next to Quatre's green stalks. The limbs were bent under the weight of unripened fruit.
The youth stood back and analyzed the raspberry bush bearing his favorite produce, before he pushed the branches aside and proceeded to look for a card in between the inner and the outer containers. His fingers touched paper and he pulled it out, only to reveal that it was shredded ribbons of that material. On one side of the narrow strips there were typed words.
His hand ventured back into the nether region between ceramic outer barrier and plastic inner. More scraps of processed tree pulp became apparent and Trowa added the new findings to the growing pile. When all the pieces had been 'rescued' from the darkness the small bush had so generously provided, he carried the slips to the table, which had been unfolded earlier in the day. Normally the card table spent the days leaning up against the wall, but for some inexplicable reason it had been used.
With an aura of inexhaustible patience, Trowa started to piece together the paper puzzle.
~*~
Ida sat on the floor, a furry canine ball of energy had finally settled down into the well-used lap. Elly lazed about on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. She was not in the best of moods, since her boss enjoyed, for some sadistic reason, burning the midnight oil. Her job was geared towards becoming an author. The girl had spent her teen years bent over a keyboard, pounding out her magnum opus. It was an intricate work, but the publishers scoffed at her because of her age, and now she was waiting for anyone to take her seriously. The writer she worked for was just starting out and it had taken some major greasing of the wheels to get the internship-like post.
Morganna lay sprawled on the floor, trying to coax a frightened calico out from its niche under the couch. The feline yowled in protest, having not become yet conversant with the furry newcomer that was now residing in its old, accustomed place.
Lucie sat on the floor, the remote control in her hand as she played and paused whenever she decided she had a good view of her choice character. She rolled her R's in preparation of what she would do when a certain someone would appear on screen.
"STOP!" Krista yelled as the scene where Duo was helping Heero walk after the 'skydiving without opening one's parachute' bit came on. Lucie grumbled slightly, but complied, as Krista got ready to throw the nearest object, which just happened to be a hard cover edition of {The Arabian Nights}, at the blonde's head.
"Morg, you gotta draw me this. Only put Trowa where Duo is-- the two soldiers finding relief in each other's arms. That's the way to go. Mmmm," Krista drooled, the possibilities of what might happen between the Heavyarms pilot and the former assassin.
"I'm not a machine, Kris. I've gotta be inspired."
"Well, then get inspired," Krista pouted, and the scene moved on. She ran her hands through Ida's cropped hair. It was a running joke that the two were paired off, but the joke had gotten the brunette wondering as she let her fingers comb her own shoulder length hair. She was more confused than anything. There was something about just being around her best friends that made her feel safe. But she wouldn't go down that road; it would ruin anything that had been achieved over the last eight years since the two had met.
The room erupted in comments as Darlian's daughter emerged on screen, since Lucie had fast-forwarded the tape to the end. A couple pillows were thrown at the TV before Elly threatened them all with certain death. She watched carelessly, unsure of whether she wanted to stay or go, and when she closed her eyes there were eyes staring back at her. Some of her own creation, others belonged to those that would never be hers. She sighed and watched Morganna carelessly twirl the end of her braid.
'You're bound to us, girlie, whether you like it or not. You got us started down this destructive road.' Morganna had said it. It seemed so long ago now.
"Morganna, give me a plot idea for this 4 x 3 you wanted me to write. I have the worst time coming up with fresh ideas," Kris wheedled, pulling away from Ida and standing up. She walked across the room, ejected the video, much to Lucie's dismay, and inserted one of the Escaflowne tapes. As the credits played, Krista announced, "Dibs on Van." The almost-Heero look-alike was practicing his swordsmanship in the dark, and the girl let out a contented sigh.
"He sounds like Trowa," Lucie remarked, raising the volume to hear the actor's smooth voice.
"Heero's looks and Trowa's voice..." Krista sighed. "I could go for a guy like that." She was about to continue, but was cut off by an Elly-launched pillow.
Krista, laughing, threw herself on her attacker, screaming, "You'd be killed five times before you hit the ground-- if I were Heero."
~*~
Quatre watched the set listlessly.
"For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,
Carry them here and there, jumping o'er times,
Turning the accomplishments of many years
Into an hour-glass: for the which supply,
Admit me Chorus to this history;
Who prologue-like your humble patience pray,
Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play."
"Yo! What's with the Shakespeare? Planning on leaving us for the theater? Why would you give up the glory of this for 'Henry the Fifth'?" Duo asked, a glass of water clutched in his right hand. He was wearing his civvies, as the American called the clothes they came to work in. A pair of khaki cargo shorts sat on his narrow hips while a gray tee was draped over his shoulders. He sat down next to the jeans-clad Quatre.
"You know Shakespeare? They never did a good job with it at high school."
Duo grinned and remarked, "School wasn't worth my time. They had a decent library, though. It was the rhythm and the couplets and stuff that drew me to that little forgotten corner where I could read to my heart's content. His tragedies were sorta like this," Duo gestured to the set and continued. "My fave was "Othello". You gotta love Iago. He's simply devious in that play. Actually, he's considered as one of the dude's best creations."
Quatre gave a half smile, "And it's filled with dirty jokes. The general really didn't have a right to call Desdemona all those awful things. She was not a whore. Not a wench."
"Chill out, man. It's only a play written by a dead dude. She was fictitious, ya know? Simply the product of a guy not hindered by writer's block, unlike the sorry excuses we have for writers. They don't know if they wanna write Trowa out or what. An' Relena's not improving their mood any. Always bugging them to make Heero either actually kill her, or tell him to shove off. I have a feeling there's gonna be another self-degradation scene, with a 'Heero! Hurry, please come and kill me' scream from Miss. Hotshot herself."
"She's gonna destroy them one of these days. Personally, I think they're taking her character a little to the extreme. But-" Quatre shrugged, "I really can't argue with the writers. What will Trowa do if he is thrown outta a job?"
"Probably finish that puzzle first, then go to college, or something. Maybe nose 'round here for a job-- not here, here, but, you know, the general vicinity."
"Puzzle?"
"Oh, you haven't been into the dressing room today, have you? Of course not, you're still in *normal* clothes. Wufei's god knows where, Yuy'll be coming in later today and Trowa's in the common room-thingy, and you and I are out here, in our civvies. 'Course we really don't have uniforms to speak of, but that's beside the point.
"Yuy's talking about causing some serious trouble with wardrobe. Spandex and a tank, god I feel sorry for him. 'Course I also feel sorry for wardrobe people when they finally meet face to face. I don't know where they got the idea for the Sanc Kingdom garb. There are wa-ay too many frills and ruffles.
"But we were talking about Trowa, right? Yeah, he has some paper scraps, I think he shredded something important and now he's trying to piece it together. It's gonna be a long day for him, must've been, like, 10 pages down the tubes."
"Aa."
~*~
Trowa applied pressure on the last strip of tape. It was finished, well the first page was. It looked like the beginning of a story.
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Title: Chains
Author: Kagetsu
Pairing: 4 x 3
Rating: NCS-17
Warnings: bondage, language, lemon, PWP, yaoi, possible OOC
Notes: If you're a minor, hit delete. Shield your eyes from my ramblings
Dedication: This one goes out to you, Kuri Kumi. Thanks for the pic...
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Trowa stopped reading, and wondered. What the hell was a lemon? Who was Kagetsu? Yaoi? He'd hear something about it in passing, but not into great depth. He read on.
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Trowa open his eyes and immediately knew that something was wrong, like the way he knew when he hit a wrong note, instinctively after years of experience. He tried to sit up, tried to stretch, but found that to be impossible. This set off alarms and the mercenary tensed, not needing to look to know that he wasn't in his bed, unclothed and chained to the furniture with his hobbles about his feet connecting to the cuffs he wore on his hands, leaving his ass very exposed. Memories drifted back to the days before he had become a pilot.
He shuddered, and let his green orbs scan the room. It was darkened, save for some strategically placed candles, casting eerie, forever changing shadows onto the walls. The youth struggled against his bonds with lion-like strength. But to no avail, the metal didn't even so much as groan under his exertion. A voice drifted out from the darkness, liltingly. Light and supposedly innocent, but no one innocent would have placed the Heavyarms pilot in such a position.
"I've been waiting for you, Trowa."
"..." He struggled even though his mind had already deemed such actions as useless.
"Fight it all you want, but such resistance is futile."
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The page stopped there, and Trowa looked with dismay at the pile of paper ribbons and put the reconstructed paper aside.
'What the hell? Why am I being written about? Duo was right. Only wackos watch the show, so why should I expect any better?' Trowa thought and gathered up the slips, tossing the entire collection into the trash.
He didn't need to read that sick excuse for a story. Trowa turned and his eyes rested on the bush on the counter. Half of him wanted to chuck the plant out the window and deal with the consequences of an irate producer. The other half told him that it was a waste of a good raspberry bush. He hadn't seen one around since he had moved from cold, snowy New York to balmy south Roanoke. He sighed, and walked out of the room, disgusted with himself and Kagetsu, whoever that was.
~*~/center>
© 2001 by Genji. Please do not remove without permission.
