Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The Edulcoration of Duo Maxwell ❯ Día de Los Muertos ( Chapter 21 )

The Edulcoration of Duo Maxwell - 21/?

~~~~~~~

Note: This fic was written in response to Nova Una's challenge to the 1x2ML to write a Gundam Wing/Pretty Woman fusion fic with Heero in the Julia Roberts role and Duo in the Richard Gere role.

Warnings: AU, yaoi, coarse language, violence, angst, citrusy situations, suggestive dialog, significant (read that as major, MAJOR) deviation from Pretty Woman script as I see fit. Gratuitous insertion of red herrings throughout.

Spoilers: None for GW, quite a bit for Pretty Woman.

Disclaimer: I don't really need to be Captain Obvious here, do I? No ownership, no money being made, yadda yadda. Written for fun, not profit.

Edulcorate (verb) - To free from harshness (as of attitude); to soften

~~~~~~~

Chapter 21 - Día de Los Muertos

Relena couldn't concentrate on her homework. How she could possibly be expected to finish school when the foundation of her world was in danger of collapsing was beyond her, but she knew if she couldn't handle the stresses of juggling high school with her personal problems, she wasn't cut out for the business world. It was only going to get harder after she graduated.

She found herself biting her pencil as she worried over the accounting ledger in front of her. She should have taken precalculus instead.

"Miss Relena?"

She looked up at the welcome interruption. She half hoped Pagan had known she needed a break and had brought her a light snack, but instead he seemed a bit unsure of himself.

"Yes, Pagan?" she encouraged.

"There is a phone call for you," he said, clearly at a loss.

She was just as perplexed. "For me?"

He nodded, but didn't look particularly pleased.

Her stomach fell. It wasn't Dorothy, calling to continue her sparrow-on-a-string game, was it?

She got up to answer the phone in the hall, gripping the doorframe tightly as if to ground herself before picking up the headset that was lying next to the antique looking phone.

Pagan hovered in the background, but at a respectable distance, as she placed the phone to her ear.

~~~~~~

Duo took a moment to admire Heero's appearance. He had been right in his color selection.

Heero was dressed entirely in silk, but each piece had a different texture. His crisp shirt was crane gray, and the tie was nearly the same shade. His jacket and pants were a deep granite color.

This time Duo didn't resist the urge to touch the impossibly soft fabric. It had a slight sheen, but it had a matte, rather than a shiny, appearance nonetheless.

"They say that clothes make the man," Duo said, letting his fingers run along the jacket's lapel before stepping back and shaking his head. "Not true. The man makes the clothes."

Everything fit as if they'd been custom-tailored, which they had. The cut of the jacket hinted at the hidden strength in Heero's slim figure instead of hiding it altogether. He looked every bit as dangerous as a panther, and just as sleek.

Duo had wanted to rejoice when Heero hadn't deigned to put the wig on, but was disappointed that the contact lenses remained. He supposed he couldn't have everything.

Heero returned the scrutiny. Duo was immaculately dressed in black from head to toe, a burnt carmine silk handkerchief in his breast pocket the only relief in color. His dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top, giving a casual appearance to his otherwise formal attire. Duo caught his speculation, and Heero gave him one of those mysterious smiles before leaving Duo alone in the bedroom.

He'd been impressed with Duo's taste. His grandfather would have been pleased, he mused, with the harmonious appearance they made, both individually and as a couple. He nearly balked at the idea of the two of them as a 'couple,' but Duo had said in the beginning that he wasn't sure what he wanted from Heero during the week.

Unless Heero's intuition was off, Duo was going to attempt to put a different spin on their so-called relationship, at least to the world beyond the walls of the penthouse suite.

~~~~~~

Quatre had not left the bar since he'd gotten there earlier that day, and Trowa was growing weary of his mood swings. He went from flirtatious to bold to amused, then finally to pissed and back again.

"Quatre," he said, when one of the blond's potential clients left him at the bar. Quatre was apparently waiting for a decision one way or another. His back was to Trowa, and his attention was sweeping the crowd in case he didn't get the answer he wanted.

"Mmmm?"

"You've lost a significant amount of money to Otto over the past few days, haven't you?"

Quatre's voice was rather sullen. "Not that much."

"Heero was ready to take your head off the other night because you lost all the rent money."

"Heero wasn't REALLY mad," Quatre said defensively. "He knew that I wouldn't let things get too far out of hand."

That seemed contradictory to the murderous gleam in Heero's eyes Trowa had seen the night that he'd headed up the stairs and hauled Quatre outside. The same night that Quatre said Heero had managed to successfully land a rich client. It gave him pause.

He hated to accuse Quatre of lying, but the man had the most annoying habit of twisting things to suit his purposes. He was, Trowa thought, 'creatively honest.'

"When was the last time you did more than a hand job in the bathroom, Quatre?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

"That's none of your business," Quatre said stiffly, turning his head to look at Trowa over his shoulder. His aquamarine eyes were sparking with anger.

"It is when you conduct your 'business' on these premises."

"It's not like you're in risk of being shut down by the cops," Quatre defended himself, turning his back to the bar again.

Trowa took a deep breath. "That's not the point."

"Then what IS the point?"

Trowa wanted to throttle him, so help him, he really did.

"The point is, why do you always accuse Otto of cheating when he wins?"

"Because he's so miserable!" Quatre blurted out.

Trowa was silent for a moment, but not long enough for the blond prostitute to make himself scarce.

"Care to explain that?" he asked, keeping his voice level, calm, and without inflection of any kind.

"Not particularly."

"The others are starting to think Otto is a cheater as well. It's rather unfair of you."

That did the trick. Quatre turned around and stared at Trowa beseechingly.

"He's broadcasting his misery all over the place! I can't play a decent game with all that...noise around me!" Quatre slammed the side of his fist on the countertop in frustration. On the heels of that outburst, he pushed himself away from the bar and, to Trowa's surprise, walked right out the door.

~~~~~~

The gallery at 2525 Michigan Avenue was one of many in the massive building. Their destination was one of the lofts. Duo was sure they'd eventually run into Meiran and Wufei, and looked forward to that meeting with a bit of trepidation, considering the last, and only, time Wufei had gone anywhere near Heero.

Heero's face alternated between an expressionless mask, usually when others came within his personal space, and that sexy little smile he bestowed upon Duo and only Duo.

It finally hit him. Not that Heero was flirting with him, but that he was doing so to keep him off balance. Duo recognized the tactic, as it was one he used all the time, and, in fact, had used it on Heero.

It didn't prevent him from enjoying it.

Heero seemed drawn to a variety of art styles. Duo found him studying a sculpture called "Black Millenium Broken Pencil Structure" according to the placard.

"Like it?" Duo said, leaning over Heero's shoulder.

"Hmmmm."

"It's..." Duo had no words for the tower of black pencils that resided in the glass case.

"Ugly," Heero inserted, not taking his eyes off it.

"Then why..."

"Just because I don't find it aesthetically pleasing doesn't mean I don't find it symbolic."

"I see." At least, I think I do, Duo thought. He left Heero to meditate or analyze or whatever he was doing in front of the pencil sculpture.

His attention was drawn to a colorful steel structure titled " A Novia Do Malandro" and was therefore several yards away from Heero when he heard someone yell a greeting from across the room. He turned instinctively, even though he didn't recognize the name.

"A la madre! Yuy!"

At first Duo expected the shout was directed toward one of the artists, several of whom were mingling with the guests on various floors, but he was stunned to see an excited Hispanic man gesturing wildly and babbling in Spanish at Heero, who apparently had yet to acknowledge him.

"¿Es realmente usted? Pensé que estaba muerto!"

Finally Heero turned from the glass display case to look at the man. His posture was relaxed, and he raised his shoulders as if in question. Duo wanted to move closer to hear what was being said, but thought he'd find out less if Heero saw him out of the corner of his eye.

Heero's words were soft, but Duo would swear he heard a few Japanese phrases. Why would he speak Japanese to a South American?

The man looked up at Heero's face intently, squinting, even. Whatever he saw there made his expression become one of chagrin. He apologized profusely in English, then realized a few other guests were looking at him curiously.

He spared Heero one more look, begged his pardon again, and left, smiling confidently at anyone who happened to gawk at him as he made his way through the crowd. He acted as if he hadn't just embarrassed himself in front of everyone.

Everyone wears a mask, Duo mused. He waited for Heero to decide to join him, and he gave up the sculpture display in favor of a wall of paintings.

Heero rejoined him at Russ Andrade's Brute Force but said nothing about the brief exchange, so Duo didn't bring it up either. Apparently it had been a case of mistaken identity.

Apparently.

But Duo knew that sometimes things weren't always as they seemed.

~~~~~~

Meiran was the picture of elegance despite the bold red color of her slip dress. Duo didn't think he'd ever seen her dressed in anything that called so much attention to herself. It looked good on her. She was positively vibrant.

She greeted him warmly, going so far as to embrace him lightly, and then she smiled at Heero. She didn't force him into a handshake this time, but gently rested her right hand on his arm for a fraction of a second as she expressed her delight in seeing him again.

Wufei's look was shuttered, but Duo hadn't exactly expected anything more. As for Heero, his posture was deliberately relaxed. Just like it had been when the man had approached him earlier.

Duo's knowledge of Spanish was limited to legal terms, basic conversational buzz words, and typical phrases needed by tourists, although he could follow most of a conversation if the words were spoken with painful slowness.

One word had jumped out at him when the man accosted Heero.

Whoever he thought Heero was, he'd assumed he was dead.

tbc

~~~~~~

Warning: Excessive author's notes ahead!

Día de Los Muertos - Day of the Dead, celebrated on November 2nd, following Día de Todos Los Santos - Day of All Saints (November 1st). The souls of the innocents (those who died as children) are honored on All Saint's Day followed by a celebration on November 2nd for those who loved ones who died as adults.

So why did I choose that as the chapter title? Because I'm a pain in the ass. Or I thought it had some deeply symbolic message to impart, just like half the hints I drop all over the place.

My deepest thanks to shinigami2174 for cleaning up my butchered Spanish and for enlightening me on Día de Los Muertos. Muchas gracias!

Sparrow-on-a-string: Taken from the story of the same name, written in 1969 by Alice Scanlan Reach. Long story short, the husband in the tale, Harry, is married to a cruel woman, Eddie, whom he'd known since the age of five or six. Eddie's personality is highlighted early in the story via flashback. She'd cured an injured sparrow, then delighted in releasing it. The sparrow soared skyward, then faltered, fluttering to the ground, as a result of the long, 'but not too long,' string she'd attached to its leg. It is later used as a metaphor in the story for a false sense of freedom that is only to be snatched away at the last minute.

crane gray: a purplish gray that is bluer and duller than dove gray, bluer and slightly less strong than granite, darker and slightly redder than zinc, and bluer and darker than cinder gray

granite gray: a purplish gray that is redder and slightly stronger than crane, darker than dove gray or cinder gray, and redder and deeper than zinc -- called also metallic gray

burnt carmine: a moderate to deep red that is slightly bluer than cadmium purple -- called also old red, purple lake

In Chapter 20, Heero mentioned Gloria Moses (an artist mentioned in the brochure) and Duo mentioned Mikel Alatza. Now that you know they went to the BGH Gallery, I can include links to representative samples of their works, as well as that of some of the other artists mentioned, for those interested.

Those who aren't, the chapter is over. I feel like Ferris Bueller. Go along now, shoo! Come back when Chapter 22 is ready!

Here are the art links. I have to be able to "see" things to write most of the scenes, so I had a lot of pieces in mind.

One of Moses' pieces can be seen here: http://www.artla.com/artists/paint/moses/mgblue.htm?46,38

Mikel Alatza: http://www.artla.com/artists/paint/alatza/altzmgrm.htm

The steel and lacquer piece, A Novia Do Malandro, that Duo moved to after leaving Heero with the pencil tower: http://www.artla.com/artists/sculpture/howe/hbnovia.htm?33,43

And of course, the pencil sculpture itself, Robert Levine's "Black Millennium Broken Pencil Structure" can be seen at http://www.artla.com/pages/bw/index.html

Andrade's Brute Force: http://www.artla.com/artists/paint/andrade/rabrute.htm

Are you all 'art'ed' out now?

As I side note, I wanted desperately to feature Bermudian artist Louisa B. Flannery's Feather and Bone and Feather and Bone #2, but could only find her Bird Leg print (from which the other two stem). I could have faked it, but my memory of the prints have faded. I tend to be drawn to vivid prints, surrealism, and fractals, so the fact that I was so taken by a trio of black and white prints was surprising. I actually met Flannery at the Hamilton Art Museum, and she was immensely flattered when I told her the same. My one regret was that I was unable to buy a reproduction of any of the prints, not even a postcard!