[fic] One Morning In Babel
Title: One Morning In Babel Words: < 1350
Characters: Noin, Trowa; mention of Wu Fei, Zechs Disclaimer: :P
Rating: PG Warnings: dorkiest Noin ever.
Notes: all_unwritten prompt 902: postcard
Expect no discernible plot. Also, I find my own sense of humour hilarious.
"Morning, Lu."
Lucrezia, caught in the act of repressing a yawn, straightened from her slump on the cafeteria table. With most Preventers agents from her department momentarily following a first aid refresher course she had not expected company.
"Oh, morning, Trowa. Shouldn't you be giving someone CPR now?"
He sat down opposite her, on a noisily protesting chair. If Lucrezia had to nominate one thing at Preventers Headquarters for a more generous budget, it would be 'cafeteria comfort'.
"Evaluation coming up. Heard you have one too; worried?"
"No, no, not at all. You?"
He shrugged. "Not really. You look depressed, though."
"I do? Oh!"
She mustered her most Italian flail and smiled like an oaf; a nifty attack of confusing-people's-senses she had watched Duo launch on many occasions.
"That's funny, because I'm not depressed at all! I've only received five rejection slips thus far, the Senator's diarrhoea is much better now, and Zechs recently sent me a postcard from that monastery he joined; he says he's never felt more at peace. Why would I be depressed?"
The silence that hung between them was only briefly broken by the squeak of Trowa's left eyebrow raising - though perhaps it was only a coinciding shift of his weight on that worn seat. Lucrezia bit her lip, realizing she had never told Trowa about her side-job as a Harlequin novelist, and her colleague may not have partaken in the intelligence that she had been taking care of her mother's cat since the woman moved to a seniors' home.
"...How recently did you receive that card from Zechs?"
"The other week. He must have been praying or meditating a lot to get really stiff fingers, because his handwriting was all over the place. Anyway, I'm glad he's happy."
"Yeah, I know what you mean." Trowa crossed his arms and leaned back, evoking a harmony of groans and squeaks from his chair. "I feel the same way about Duo."
Lucrezia smiled. "Oh, I haven't seen him in ages! Have you talked to him lately? How is he doing?"
"Apparently he's never been happier now that he and Howard have finally dared to profess their saucy man-love for each other. They've sold their salvage business, bought a tugboat, and plan to adopt orphaned baby seals as soon as their honeymoon is over."
"What? Duo and Howard?" She entertained a distasteful image or two and shuddered involuntarily. "Well, as long as they're happy. But.. 'saucy man-love'..?"
"His words, not mine. Incidentally, the postcard he wrote this on came in last week too, and was damned near illegible. Must have been stormy at sea."
It took several long seconds for this information to sink in, but when Trowa failed to keep his face straight any longer-and the thought occurred to Lucrezia that monasteries and tugboats don't generally stock postcards-she felt the blistering heat of shame creep over her face.
"Damn it. They got drunk together, didn't they," she muttered.
"I reckon so. The bastards."
"All right, all right," she said with a dismissive flail. "So I like to believe in happy endings! We don't see many of those in our jobs - succeed at protecting an ambassador from a deranged protester throwing mollies, and watch the man turn into a vegetable from a stroke fifteen minutes later. I need to believe the people I care about find their peace, even if that means they have to shave their heads, wear burlap sacks, and live far, far away from me. If that makes me naïve, silly, or stupid, then so be it!"
She ended with a big pout, lowering her head to hide that-no doubt-monstrous blush behind her bangs. The chair Trowa sat on creaked and cried with the rhythm of his shaky movements as he burst out laughing. It had been a long time since she had heard Trowa expressing his mirth at an audible volume; Lucrezia decided she could have gone without hearing it for another long time.
Trowa eventually managed to find some restraint and cocked his head.
"Yes, you're a git. Don't feel too bad, though. The card they sent Wu Fei was ultimately cause for the utter annihilation of the fourth floor coffee machine. I don't know whether he actually believed it came from Sally, but it sure ruffled his feathers. I bet Une won't go easy on him when he has his evaluation."
Lucrezia shrugged, looking at a small huddle of secretaries and receptionists entering and setting course for an intact hot drink machine. It somehow reminded her of a documentary she had seen, about hunting dolphins closing in on a helpless school of fish - the macchiato would not stand a chance.
Perhaps she should be grateful she had not been the only one to end the butt of a drunken joke, but it frustrated her that of all people Zechs would play with her feelings like this. If the platinum-haired Adonis were more like the grey old Senator, he would have sufficed to bite her mousy little head off right away to get the disturbance of his peace over with and continued his nuisance-free life ages ago. Well, so to speak.
Zechs never seemed to take a true stand in anything, though. Whenever Lucrezia and her old academy friend met, he seemed more than happy to divulge his melancholy and sophisticated angst to her: his most loyal audience. He had never rejected her, which made graduating from her festering feelings for him next to impossible.
"He's a jerk," she muttered, "a royal pain in the ass, but a damned attractive one."
"Seriously? I've never heard anyone say that out loud."
"You must have peanuts in your ears. I don't know about the men, but he's featured in about all the women's fantasies at some point." She looked at Trowa, who seemed to want to interject, and continued with a generous hand gesture. "There are so many things about him that just scream 'sex' - that tight ass, trained physique, impeccable dress sense; but perhaps even more so his well-endowed brain, that rare combination of grand intelligence and good education; the mere fact he chose his own ideals over a life of static luxury - oh, for the love of God! If only he dropped that formal tone and stopped acting so damned disinterested in the women around him, he could have just about anyone, anywhere, at any time."
Trowa looked confused. "…He's what women want?"
"God, yes, Trowa. He's practically got the full package," she said, patting her pockets in search for the source of a sequence of low buzzes. "Take it from me: if he'd stop being such an aloof jerk, he'd have a lot less time to dwell on those dark thoughts that keep this wedge between him and other people, if you catch my drift." And maybe he wouldn't drink so much, she mentally added as she silenced her found beeper.
"Wow. Have you ever told him that?"
"No, he doesn't really listen to anything I say. Besides, it's not in my place to tell him things like that." Lucrezia put the beeper back in her pocket and stood up. "But Une's hailed me. Wish me luck."
It appeared Trowa had half-submerged in thought; he looked up and raised his hand. "Yeah, good luck, Lu."
She manoeuvred past a couple of tables and noticed Wu Fei and his pet Thunderous Cloud entering the cafeteria and setting course for the now abandoned coffee machine. He must have had his evaluation. Poor little sod.
"Morning, Wu Fei."
"Don't talk to me," he snapped. "That damned card your friend sent me has officially ruined my life."
Ouch. Une must be in a bad mood now, too - just my luck.
As Lucrezia continued her way, she heard Trowa's voice addressing the mad Chinese man---"Une didn't feel the love, Wu Fei? From what I've heard, she must be one of the very few who remain impervious to your enormous sex-appeal…"---and nearly stumbled over a chair.
Characters: Noin, Trowa; mention of Wu Fei, Zechs Disclaimer: :P
Rating: PG Warnings: dorkiest Noin ever.
Notes: all_unwritten prompt 902: postcard
Expect no discernible plot. Also, I find my own sense of humour hilarious.
"Morning, Lu."
Lucrezia, caught in the act of repressing a yawn, straightened from her slump on the cafeteria table. With most Preventers agents from her department momentarily following a first aid refresher course she had not expected company.
"Oh, morning, Trowa. Shouldn't you be giving someone CPR now?"
He sat down opposite her, on a noisily protesting chair. If Lucrezia had to nominate one thing at Preventers Headquarters for a more generous budget, it would be 'cafeteria comfort'.
"Evaluation coming up. Heard you have one too; worried?"
"No, no, not at all. You?"
He shrugged. "Not really. You look depressed, though."
"I do? Oh!"
She mustered her most Italian flail and smiled like an oaf; a nifty attack of confusing-people's-senses she had watched Duo launch on many occasions.
"That's funny, because I'm not depressed at all! I've only received five rejection slips thus far, the Senator's diarrhoea is much better now, and Zechs recently sent me a postcard from that monastery he joined; he says he's never felt more at peace. Why would I be depressed?"
The silence that hung between them was only briefly broken by the squeak of Trowa's left eyebrow raising - though perhaps it was only a coinciding shift of his weight on that worn seat. Lucrezia bit her lip, realizing she had never told Trowa about her side-job as a Harlequin novelist, and her colleague may not have partaken in the intelligence that she had been taking care of her mother's cat since the woman moved to a seniors' home.
"...How recently did you receive that card from Zechs?"
"The other week. He must have been praying or meditating a lot to get really stiff fingers, because his handwriting was all over the place. Anyway, I'm glad he's happy."
"Yeah, I know what you mean." Trowa crossed his arms and leaned back, evoking a harmony of groans and squeaks from his chair. "I feel the same way about Duo."
Lucrezia smiled. "Oh, I haven't seen him in ages! Have you talked to him lately? How is he doing?"
"Apparently he's never been happier now that he and Howard have finally dared to profess their saucy man-love for each other. They've sold their salvage business, bought a tugboat, and plan to adopt orphaned baby seals as soon as their honeymoon is over."
"What? Duo and Howard?" She entertained a distasteful image or two and shuddered involuntarily. "Well, as long as they're happy. But.. 'saucy man-love'..?"
"His words, not mine. Incidentally, the postcard he wrote this on came in last week too, and was damned near illegible. Must have been stormy at sea."
It took several long seconds for this information to sink in, but when Trowa failed to keep his face straight any longer-and the thought occurred to Lucrezia that monasteries and tugboats don't generally stock postcards-she felt the blistering heat of shame creep over her face.
"Damn it. They got drunk together, didn't they," she muttered.
"I reckon so. The bastards."
"All right, all right," she said with a dismissive flail. "So I like to believe in happy endings! We don't see many of those in our jobs - succeed at protecting an ambassador from a deranged protester throwing mollies, and watch the man turn into a vegetable from a stroke fifteen minutes later. I need to believe the people I care about find their peace, even if that means they have to shave their heads, wear burlap sacks, and live far, far away from me. If that makes me naïve, silly, or stupid, then so be it!"
She ended with a big pout, lowering her head to hide that-no doubt-monstrous blush behind her bangs. The chair Trowa sat on creaked and cried with the rhythm of his shaky movements as he burst out laughing. It had been a long time since she had heard Trowa expressing his mirth at an audible volume; Lucrezia decided she could have gone without hearing it for another long time.
Trowa eventually managed to find some restraint and cocked his head.
"Yes, you're a git. Don't feel too bad, though. The card they sent Wu Fei was ultimately cause for the utter annihilation of the fourth floor coffee machine. I don't know whether he actually believed it came from Sally, but it sure ruffled his feathers. I bet Une won't go easy on him when he has his evaluation."
Lucrezia shrugged, looking at a small huddle of secretaries and receptionists entering and setting course for an intact hot drink machine. It somehow reminded her of a documentary she had seen, about hunting dolphins closing in on a helpless school of fish - the macchiato would not stand a chance.
Perhaps she should be grateful she had not been the only one to end the butt of a drunken joke, but it frustrated her that of all people Zechs would play with her feelings like this. If the platinum-haired Adonis were more like the grey old Senator, he would have sufficed to bite her mousy little head off right away to get the disturbance of his peace over with and continued his nuisance-free life ages ago. Well, so to speak.
Zechs never seemed to take a true stand in anything, though. Whenever Lucrezia and her old academy friend met, he seemed more than happy to divulge his melancholy and sophisticated angst to her: his most loyal audience. He had never rejected her, which made graduating from her festering feelings for him next to impossible.
"He's a jerk," she muttered, "a royal pain in the ass, but a damned attractive one."
"Seriously? I've never heard anyone say that out loud."
"You must have peanuts in your ears. I don't know about the men, but he's featured in about all the women's fantasies at some point." She looked at Trowa, who seemed to want to interject, and continued with a generous hand gesture. "There are so many things about him that just scream 'sex' - that tight ass, trained physique, impeccable dress sense; but perhaps even more so his well-endowed brain, that rare combination of grand intelligence and good education; the mere fact he chose his own ideals over a life of static luxury - oh, for the love of God! If only he dropped that formal tone and stopped acting so damned disinterested in the women around him, he could have just about anyone, anywhere, at any time."
Trowa looked confused. "…He's what women want?"
"God, yes, Trowa. He's practically got the full package," she said, patting her pockets in search for the source of a sequence of low buzzes. "Take it from me: if he'd stop being such an aloof jerk, he'd have a lot less time to dwell on those dark thoughts that keep this wedge between him and other people, if you catch my drift." And maybe he wouldn't drink so much, she mentally added as she silenced her found beeper.
"Wow. Have you ever told him that?"
"No, he doesn't really listen to anything I say. Besides, it's not in my place to tell him things like that." Lucrezia put the beeper back in her pocket and stood up. "But Une's hailed me. Wish me luck."
It appeared Trowa had half-submerged in thought; he looked up and raised his hand. "Yeah, good luck, Lu."
She manoeuvred past a couple of tables and noticed Wu Fei and his pet Thunderous Cloud entering the cafeteria and setting course for the now abandoned coffee machine. He must have had his evaluation. Poor little sod.
"Morning, Wu Fei."
"Don't talk to me," he snapped. "That damned card your friend sent me has officially ruined my life."
Ouch. Une must be in a bad mood now, too - just my luck.
As Lucrezia continued her way, she heard Trowa's voice addressing the mad Chinese man---"Une didn't feel the love, Wu Fei? From what I've heard, she must be one of the very few who remain impervious to your enormous sex-appeal…"---and nearly stumbled over a chair.