Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Scissored Kismets ❯ Ersatz ( Chapter 4 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Dorothy struggles to avoid Quatre as much as she can, but Relena won't let her. In yet another confrontation, Dorothy explains Quatre what she doesn't like about children's 'toys'.

Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance / Comedy | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.10.2009 | Pages: 4 | Words: 7.9K | Visits: 202 | Status: Work In Progress

CHAPTER 4: Ersatz

“Of all the toys available, none is better designed than the owner himself. A large multipurpose plaything, its parts can be made to move in almost any direction. It comes completely assembled, and it makes a sound when you jump on it.”- Stephen Baker

“The heart is making forever the head its fool.”- Francois de la Rouchefoucauld

Peace was shattered not so long after she learned to somewhat enjoy it—if not truly love it. She wasn't surprised at all. Fighting was innate in every living thing, and the heights of the urge to initiate battles could only be found on the minds of the highest thinking animals who liked to call themselves humans.

It was a funny thing, but she wasn't happy at all at war's re-entry in her life. She remembered following the gazes of the confused mob in the city plaza that evening, and the moment she glued her eyes to the giant monitor, she realized that maybe war wasn't really for her. She could no longer feel the excitement she used to have back in the first Eve War. She watched as the giant brown and gray clouds devour the details of the fight, small comet-like lights shooting here and there over the smoky scene indicating the heated exchange of ammunition and the clashes of metals. She just felt nothing save a distant longing for this to stop sooner. If she'd witnessed this a year ago, she would be experiencing euphoria, and she would do anything to get to the exact battleground just for the sake of feeling how the ground shakes and hearing how each shot screams. She knew that she would stop at nothing just to get a front row seat to the most natural theater in human life.

But for now, she knew that her battlefield wasn't the one flashing on that screen—but exactly where she was: with the people.

This war wasn't the battles of the Gundams against those new Serpents of her little second cousin.

It's the battle of the people against their inborn urge of creating wars, their own battle to help re-establish the peace that they said they want to maintain forever.

So she taunted the unmoving, gaping men. Apparently, the wagging tail analogy she spat stung them to the point that one bragged of shooting down five mobile suits in the previous war. She snorted at the little trophy and mocked them some more until they finally realized their role in the history. That was the least she could do.

Just as quickly as it has disappeared, peace came knocking back and everybody welcomed it, hopefully forever.

Dorothy scowled when the wind skidded by and almost blew her hat off. She held it in place with one hand and pawed at the flying hem of her baby blue sundress with the other, silently cursing when she felt the cold wind brush against her exposed calves.

Well, maybe world peace was back but then again sometimes she felt as though the world doesn't really include her, despite what a nagging voice inside was screaming at her. There wasn't enough peace in herself at the present moment.

This feeling was by no means connected to Mariemaia's attempted usurpation, though she wasn't denying that the event affected her to some extent. But days—months even—before that, her peace was already ruined, and she was more than sure that she was on the brink of losing her sanity.

The previous months were awful, especially after that godforsaken blind date. There were times that she would find herself crying with no particular reason but more often were the moments when she would scream at the top of her lungs out of frustration because she could no longer comprehend what she was feeling or thinking. Trying to understand them just made it a little more painful, especially when the denial part kicks in. No, she was no longer the Dorothy everybody came to know. She was a nothing but a shell of unwanted emotions right now, emotions that were dangerously sharp enough to slice through her steel being. The stress in the workplace was not helping. She sure did love playing with danger, but with this one she knew she wouldn't win. She was in no shape in fighting a losing battle, especially not one which could destroy her whole being after the game was over.

She swore she wouldn't let that happen.

But there she was now, emotionally unarmed, walking nearer and nearer to the very object that would bring her complete destruction. There wasn't a rational explanation about it but she found herself unable to refuse what Relena requested her. The vice foreign minister had intentionally cleared up her schedule for the day without informing her, and her yellow private shuttle was already set to travel to L3-X18999 thirty minutes prior to her knowledge of the request. There were arguments of course, but in the end she was still the one sent sulking aboard her own shuttle. How dare that girl! Wasn't the silent treatment she was giving her enough?

Deep inside she knew she could snub the whole thing and just send someone else to accomplish Relena's stupid favor. Or at least have her servants just contact him up via video phone. But somehow, there was a part of her that wanted this. She could sense her best friend's ulterior motive there, but at the moment she didn't seem to care.

After all, she was a masochist… right?

Then it would count normal for her to meet her favorite fetish…though all the while she had to push away, with disgust, the thought of her missing him.

“Excuse me, miss? I'm sorry but you can't loiter around here.”

Dorothy started when she felt a hand cupped her elbow. She narrowed her eyes at the brown fingers, spun around and found herself face to face with a construction worker. She had to look up even though the man was no more than a couple of inches taller than her. The fake sunlight made the beads of sweat on his brow glitter, couples of them pouring down all over his face from the damp hair that disappeared behind his scarlet fez.

She furrowed her brow, rubbed her eyes and studied his face more intently. His face was all wet, but his handlebar mustache appeared to be dry. Waterproof? She had to stifle a giggle when the said fuzz twitched slightly at her silence.

“It's dangerous here. Construction, as you can see,” he said thickly, wiping his forehead with his arm. “But if you're lost, I'll be glad to help you find your way.”

“No, thank you, sir,” she responded with a smirk, “but I'm not lost. I'm actually looking for Mr. Winner.”

The man raised a bushy brow. “Master Quatre?”

She said, “Yes,” and her mouth was still open to add that the vice foreign minister has a message for him when a louder voice boomed behind her, leaving her gaping like stupid.

“Hey, Ahmed!” another construction worker, with the same red fez but with a pair of sunglasses perched up on his nose, came trudging towards them. A malicious smile was adorning the sheen mask of sweat on his face. He looped his arm around the shoulders of the said Ahmed and tugged him a little down to his direction. “You never told me you're a pedophile.”

Ahmed pulled himself out of the hold and gave the other man a small jab at the cheekbone. “You need to get rid of those sunglasses every once in a while, Abdul.” He cocked a nod in Dorothy's direction. “She's a winsome young lady, not a baby. And she's looking for Master Quatre.”

The blonde pressed her lips into a predatory smile at Abdul when the sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose to reveal curious eyes. She gave him a small nod.

“The vice foreign minister sent me here,” she said coolly, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. “I have a message for Mr. Winner.”

The men exchanged meaningful looks.

“Master Quatre's with the Captain right now,” Abdul informed, pushed his glasses back up and quirked a toothy grin. “I think they're taking a break, the last time I saw them. I'll go get him for you.”

He waved a sweaty hand in farewell, but stopped in mid-stride, turning around to face her fully again. She could feel his eyes studying her up and down from behind those black lenses. “Who shall I say is waiting? I mean, does Master Quatre know you personally?”

She sneered. “Yes. Dorothy Catalonia.”

“Dorothy Catalonia,” Abdul muttered under his breath, tilting his head. When he thought it didn't ring any bell, he shrugged, smiled, then turned and strode away to where large piles of metal sheets loomed against the bright artificial sky.

“I need to get back to work, Miss Catalonia,” she heard Ahmed politely stated, pulling out his fez to fan himself with it. His brown mane was plastered flat to his skull, but some stubborn strands were standing out in funny places. “Master Quatre will be here soon enough. He's too much of a gentleman to keep a beautiful woman waiting.”

She let a disdainful smirk out but before she could retort, Ahmed stormed away from her with a wink. She scowled at his retreating form, then drank in the surroundings. She listened to the cacophony of the drilling, metal colliding with each other, and the shouted commands of construction workers strewn across the site. When the noises didn't pass to claim her whole attention as she anxiously waited, she sought for other things that could at least ease her. She didn't find it at the site, but in her mind.

The Winner corporation had shouldered the responsibility of reconstructing colony X18999 after the war. The corporation does have real estates and a handful of smaller businesses in the colony so it was understandable that the corporation would somehow aid in the repair of the place. But Dorothy was a little perplexed when she learned that Quatre was in the place himself, working as a construction worker with his band of faithful Arab comrades whom she was informed were former paramilitary group members back in the war.

He was being too kind for his own good. He was now a businessman, the wealthiest in the solar system. He could hire hundreds of workers to serve him. And his business and political adversaries could hire hundreds of assassins to kill him. Was he so thick to not even think of that?

Her thoughts were disturbed when she felt a butterfly squeeze on the shoulder.

“Miss Dorothy,” she heard his voice after the touch was gone. She exhaled and absently nudged her chest to will her heart to stop drumming hard before whirling around to face the speaker.

“Hello, Mr. Quatre Winner.”

An eerie sensation washed over her when she saw him. The organ in her chest disobediently slammed loudly against her sternum again, as if desperate to get out of her denying body. Of course he was still the same. His eyes were still the brightest pair, their color still mysteriously changing between the shades of blue and green, and the warmth and sincerity in them never faltering. He was clad in the same clothes as Ahmed and Abdul except that he wasn't wearing a fez but a dark yellow construction helmet with a pair of goggles sitting on it.

His proximity yanked her mind back to what happened in their `date' not so long ago. Recalling those moments made her ache to feel the warm refuge of his arms again, but she knew that her exaggeratedly overbearing side would pester her for being a shameless doormat, just like what it did to her back when she had laid her raw sadness in front of him…

But God, she wanted to pull him closer!

…yet at the same time, she wanted to push him away.

Damn him and whatever one may call this disease he imposed on her.

He flashed a smile. “It's been quite a while. How are you?”

“I'm very well, thank you,” she managed to say without her voice quivering. “Miss Relena sent me here. She's extending an invitation.”

Quatre arched a brow. She saw him stole a glance at the clipboard he was clasping with his right hand. “Invitation?”

Dorothy cocked an upward nod. “A party to permanently mark the beginning of true peace, Miss Relena had said.” She made sure that no scorn was mixed with the sentence before she continued. “It's a masquerade ball, just a little gathering. Our dear vice foreign minister said your presence there was important, even if it's by no means a political or business function.”

He tipped his head to one side, causing his helmet to slip down and cover his eyes. He pushed it back up with a finger to reveal that, that lopsided smile she was now so accustomed with.

“I'm sure to attend,” he happily stated. He pressed his mouth shut in a thin beam, but she could readily tell he wanted to say something more. He held his clipboard up and thumbed away what it seemed like dirt, or ink, from the file fastened to it. Whether it was a poor delaying tactic or just a way of teasing her to ask what he else he was thinking or wanted to say, she didn't bother to know.

Heaving a sigh, she looked away and folded her hands behind her back, glowering past the wide brim of her hat and at the false clouds that hovered above them. She thought of another topic to fill in the silence, but for some peculiar reason she found herself suddenly uninterested in talking, her attention now arrested by the clouds. She pursed her lips, attempting to figure out what animals those swimming gossamer things were making. She made out a cat, a dog, an elephant…

“You could've just sent it through e-mail or the vid phone,” Quatre pulled her out of her hush-hush childish stance. She looked back at him and saw a bit of his creased brow behind his damp bangs, his eyes running over the file.

“I don't mean to disturb your work,” she spat with a frown, haughtily jutting her chin out. “Of course I thought of extending the invitation through the most convenient ways, and I would have done that if only Miss Relena didn't conspire with everyone around me to send me here forcefully. I don't care whatever her intentions were. This is anyway one of the only things a war thrash could do for the heroine of our times.”

Quatre glanced up at her. “Don't say that. You're not a war thrash.”

And he's doing that again. Did he really have to attempt to make everyone happy, to assure that even the ugliest creatures have a sparkling beauty inside? Even if it means lying in every chance he gets? They locked stares for a couple of heartbeats, then the helmet slipped down again to cut his line of sight and their unspoken battle of wills.

With a predatory leer, she scooted to him and propped the rim of the helmet up with her trigger finger before he could reach up to do it himself.

“What would you know of me, Mr. Winner?” she breathed flirtingly to his slightly surprised, slowly reddening face. She leaned an inch more so that their noses touched and their breaths mingled.

He stiffened at the contact and Dorothy expected him to balk.

He didn't.

The electric blue hue of his eyes glowed to weaken the green, and with its sudden flaring up was something…something very frightening, yet unreadable, making it more dangerous. Dorothy never liked anything she couldn't fully read.

“Do you really want to hear what I know about you, Miss Dorothy?” he muttered the challenge to her mouth. She let out a gasp and backed away, and it took her a moment to transform the surprised expression to a furious one.

“Don't you talk like you know me inside out,” her acidic hiss spewed out of her gnashed teeth.

The Arab didn't even flinch at her vitriol. He exhaled and pulled the annoying headgear off. “I may not know you completely, but I can sure bet that I know you better than anyone around you.”

A grimace crept to her lips. She wasn't certain if this was because of the awful truth he so confidently threw to her face or because of the new sets of sore imprints her fingernails were leaving in her palms. She didn't bother knowing which the real cause was. Both reasons were annoyingly irrational for her to lose control of her temper.

Quatre tucked the helmet under his right arm and ran his free hand on his perspiration-laden locks. He blinked up at the clouds.

“The clouds were fascinating things, don't you think?” he asked serenely, his cheeks still smudged with bright magenta.

Dorothy would have agreed with him if he asked that earlier. But she was fuming now, and all what she desired at this moment was to contradict whatever he says, to patronize him. To downgrade his little beliefs, even if that means gainsaying some of her own.

“I don't see anything out of the ordinary in those formless lumps of water vapor.” She huffed.

He dropped his eyes back to her and blinked twice, surprised. Inwardly, she laughed, chalking one point to her imaginary scoreboard as she got to have him the reaction she wanted. The helmet slid off his arm as he gaped at her, but he caught it in one fluid motion before it even disconnect with his skin.

“But you were just looking at them like…” He sought for the right terms to complete his statement in a way like he was tweaking an unpalatable ort wedged between his teeth. Dorothy happily jotted another point for her when he visually sagged and officially decided to leave the sentence unfinished with a sigh.

He casted his eyes down and he smiled a tired but blissful smile. “When I was a kid I used to refer to them as my own personal Play-Doh. I've got a lot of playthings then, all of which cost a fortune, but none of them could ever equal the price of the clouds for me. I couldn't shape them with my hands like I would with ordinary modeling clay, but I could mold them into anything I want by just imagining. I thought it was magic.”

Dorothy concentrated all the ripe condescension she hoarded to that smirk plastered on her lips, but she didn't say anything. Quatre lifted his eyes from the ground and focused them to her—past her. He was looking at her but was definitely seeing something else.

“I marveled at the zoo that I could sculpt with them, though at times I'd cry when I couldn't straighten the neck of the giraffe or when I thought the rhino was just too thin. Once, I asked my nanny if I should put the lion cub in a cage the first time I imagined it and she told me to let it roam free. Everyone in the mansion didn't know what to do to me when I bawled at the top of my lungs because the cub never came back.”

He giggled. Dorothy had to twist her face into an unsightly scowl so that she could transform the unpermitted smile that broke across her face. She cursed under her breath.

“The zoo wasn't the only place I could build with them,” he stated with a tiny hint of silly smugness. “I also established my own castle—and even my own colony!”

He blinked twice. Dorothy was sure he was seeing her now.

“Do you know that my first car was a combi coupé?” he asked playfully. “Yes. A fluffy white one. That was the only car I own that I haven't got the chance of driving around the colony.”

She silently watched as different expressions flit in and out of his countenance, and the ambience seemed to thicken with nostalgia. Dorothy didn't like such an atmosphere. She had to break it.

“You're born in a colony, am I correct?” she asked, displaying an insulting mimicry of his one-sided smile.

Quatre's eyes narrowed with curiosity. He gave her a quick nod. “Why?”

“It seems that you're quite drawn to artificiality. Third-rate, third-hand artificiality, to be precise.”

The look of surprise that pinched his face was priceless, and Dorothy had to permit herself a snort of triumph.

“How can you say that?” he questioned, brow creased. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

Dorothy noted the raise of his voice for half an octave and the edge of irritation that tinged it. Apparently, he wasn't pleased about the topic. She grinned devilishly at Quatre's blank space in her imaginary score board. “I used to have toys, too, Mr. Winner. Some toys just serve as objects of entertainment for kids. And most of them, like art, just imitate reality.”

He waited for her to continue. His eyes betrayed his patient pretense.

“You could've picked up a battalion of toy soldiers and play war. You could've tied a cape around your neck and play superman. Or,” she inserted a smirk, “you could've tugged your teddy bear and play house with your nanny. They're all the same anyway; they only replicate reality…directly. Oh, you could've picked everything, but you picked up the clouds!”

Wind blew Dorothy's hat off her head. Her hair swirled wildly behind her as she quickly clawed the hat back to her head before it goes too far for her to reach it. The wind had tousled Quatre's locks as well, but he seemed not to care, even if some of the bangs threatened to dip into his eyes in those haphazard angles.

“I'm sorry but I can't see your point,” he impassively whispered, so low that he might have just said it to himself.

“I haven't shown you my point yet,” she answered in the same fashion, though more underscored was the scorn she juxtaposed with it. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What I mean to say, Mr. Winner, is that you're making an imitation of an imitation of an imitation. Toys, like what I'd said, are artificial in themselves alone. An imitation is abhorrent enough to itself. Then you imitated the existence of toys in those clouds. And as far as everyone around here knows, the clouds in this colony were poor copies of the real clouds on Earth. Machine-generated. Wonderfully false.”

Quatre's jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to counter-attack those statements, like he wanted to defend something—anything. But for an enigmatic reason, he chose to be silent. She caught a glimpse of his hands, now balled up into fists, their knuckles protruding against the almost translucent skin that covers them. For a scant second she thought the very bones might tear the skin. She reached out and enveloped one of his hands in her own and caressed it with her thumbs. He stiffened at the gesture, the fist loosening.

Dorothy smiled her usual sneer. “My sincere apologies, Quatre Raberba Winner. I'm only here as a messenger, not a nuisance. I must go now.”

Yes, she was going to leave it like this. Let his own emotion burn him up after she'd gone. Smirking, she gently slid her hands away from his, but his fist quickly unrolled and reached out to grasp one of her hands. She caught her breath at his firm touch. When she glared up at his face, his face held not even the slightest hint of the silent anger—or so what Dorothy acknowledged as anger—he had just a second ago. Instead, he put on that celestially calm expression with the highlights of a nauseatingly sweet smile.

“I think I don't mind at all,” he said sotto voce, leaning a bit closer. “At least I've seen and talked to you. I've missed you, I think.”

Dorothy lost her will to glare upon hearing his faltering last words. Their stares locked for a while until Dorothy pulled her hand out of his in a hurry like he suddenly became caustic.

“I should be on my way now,” she announced indignantly. She felt heat. Damn it, was she blushing?

“Are you going to the ball as well?”

She halted in mid-turn. “Yes. Miss Relena insists for my presence.”

“Then may I have the honor of escorting you?”

Dorothy realized that Quatre's scoreboard was chalked with two points already. She frowned and felt the heat spreading to her neck. What now? Refuse or Accept? Emotions…or pride? The minute of silence that passed between them seemed to last for an eternity. And in that eternity, Quatre's smile never lost its hope.

“Miss Dorothy,” he said to cut the hush, “I want to be your escort.”

At that moment, at that showcase of overconfidence, Dorothy decided she was more of a wise and proud person than an emotionally intelligent one.

Only, her lips wouldn't cooperate. If there was a part of her body that knew what she really wants—or needs—aside from her heart, it was her lips. They were heart's co-conspirators. They have touched something that they shouldn't. They didn't really control what she was saying, of course, but they certainly knew when or where to do their job. So now they stayed pressed in a thin line that kept the harshest version of her decline to his offer from spilling out.

Quatre's smile widened. “I hope this silence means yes.”

He gave her a small bow to signal his departure. Dorothy couldn't talk yet, as her lips were still glued shut by an unknown force. She was only able to open them short enough to breathe out through her mouth, and by that time the blonde angel was already gone.

Quatre turned her back to Dorothy, suppressing a giggle when the image of her semi-confused, semi-furious expression with her visual embarrassment in those dark pink smeared across her cheeks and neck clung to his mind.

He turned around the corner. When he was sure he was out of Dorothy's earshot and she couldn't see him anymore, he set the giggles free. He was also well aware that he himself was flushed, and he was happy. Dorothy didn't give him an official answer to his offer, but he'd do what he could just to at least dance with her at the ball. He could almost imagine her fully masking her face or changing her hairstyle just for the sake of her not being recognized, but any disguise wouldn't hinder him to find her.

His Space Heart was enough. And he was confident that he could still manage even if the word `Space' would be omitted.

Humming to himself, he raised the clipboard to eye level and stared at the invitation to the masquerade ball that Relena had just sent him hours prior to Dorothy's arrival. Relena had warned him about a `surprise package' that would arrive after the invitation. At first he thought it must have been business related or just a friendly gift, and he was surprised when Abdul told him that a `lost princess' was waiting for him in the middle of the dangerous construction site. The word `princess' would have been connected to Relena, though he was doubting that she would come here personally to deliver a package.

“Master Quatre?” Abdul had asked with a sly grin as Quatre motioned to excuse himself and meet the `princess'. “Let me guess your favorite fairytale.”

Quatre had raised a brow. Did he even like fairytales? And did Abdul have just said someone's waiting for him? What's with the talking?

Abdul had laughed. “Rapunzel, right?”

He'd flinched. “What?”

“Come on, master Quatre. I know you like Rapunzel. Otherwise you wouldn't have picked her as your girl.”

Girl? Quatre was confused. He saw Rashid's amused face in his peripheral vision. “What are you talking about?”

Abdul had rolled his eyes. “Rapunzel, master. The princess with the long, long blonde hair.”

Quatre's lips twitched in a small frown. “I don't get it.”

“Who's it, Abdul?” came Rashid's booming voice. Quatre and Abdul looked up at him.

Abdul had scratched his head underneath the fez, realizing that his little teasing didn't work. He'd turned to Quatre with a goofy smile.

“Miss Dorothy Catalonia.”

The name rooted Quatre's feet to the ground. A heartbeat later, without another word, he quickly turned on his heels and half-run to find his fairytale goddess.

He smiled sheepishly at the memory, but it vanished quickly when he recalled the blind date. Relena had informed him that Dorothy had refused talking to her after the set-up. The honey blonde brushed away his apologies and assured him that it was nothing serious, that Dorothy would sooner or later go back to normal.

Quatre often wonders where Relena got spare time to trouble herself to play cupid between him and Dorothy. He knew she was too busy even to have time for herself, and for that he was ashamed. He hadn't even stopped his nightly phone calls…

“I think it's a little inappropriate to set up a tryst in a construction site. It's a good camouflage, though.”

Quatre looked up to meet Rashid's eyes. He frowned at the giant man.

“It's not a tryst. She just forwarded a message from Miss Relena.”

“Is that message too classified that a big business icon had to come here herself?”

“Yes,” Quatre lied, shifting his eyes back to the invitation, his index and middle finger crossed beneath the clipboard. “Way too classified.”

“Will it hurt to know a little of it?”

The boy blinked. It was the first time Rashid pried into something that he'd just declared `secret'. Quatre knew the captain didn't believe him. Quatre felt as though the giant was aware that he...has a big crush on Dorothy. He sought for an appropriate answer, then found something that wasn't entirely a lie. He gave him a wink. “Of course not, Rashid.”

“What was it about?”

He innocently showed him a sweet smile.

“Clouds,” he said.