Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Restless Peace ❯ Prologue ( Prologue )

Disclaimer and other notes: I do not own Gundam Wing, any of its characters, the plot, or anything else I may or may mention. In two parts, the dialogue, and some action, is not mine. The first is from Duo's Episode Zero, translations taken from an old website not up anymore. The second is from a scene in Endless Waltz. Jet is not mine. A friend helped me with Duet; she originally came up with her. Smudge is another friend's cat. If I do not specifically denounce them as mine, the rest of the characters are mine. Though most of the foreign words and phrases are translated, the exact words can be found at the end of each chapter/part.

Pairings: 4xDC mentioned

Genre: Count on some humor, hopefully drama, dash of romance, overall generalness

Period: July 23, 192 to December 31, 196

 

 

Restless Peace: Prologue

 

23 July AC 192—Room 440, Abigail Johnson Hospital, Colony C-38903, L-2 Colony Cluster

He sat up and looked around the room. He was definitely in a hospital. He put his hand behind his back. Yep, the braid was still there, now to get out. He heard a doctor and nurse talking outside his room.

“What did he say his name was when he came in?” the doctor asked.

“He said he was Duo Maxwell and then passed out,” the nurse informed, “but the blood work says he's her son.”

“The only DNA we could get says he's a relative, not necessarily a son,” the doctor reminded, “The machine is a bit, well, on the fritz.”

“Well, watch him carefully,” the doctor ordered after a bit of arguing, “And I'll see what I can do.” The nurse nodded and entered the room.

“Going somewhere?” Nurse Williamson asked, looking down at the crouched Duo, ready to leave.

Instead of answering, he actually did run. He had changed into his clothes during the argument, and currently he fled the hospital. Many grown ups yelled at him, and some older kids tried to chase and to grab at him. However, he was too fast and too slick for them. Soon he found himself in a spaceport. He stowed away in the back of one ship. Within hours, they discovered him.

“Let go! Let me go!” he shouted as two men dragged him out, “I'm warning you! Let go a' me!”

“You've got a lot of courage, kid, stowing away on our Sweepers Ship!” one man yelled through gritted teeth.

An old man, weird looking, appeared asking, “What's going on here?”

“A stowaway! And he's been stealing the food supplies!” the man explained.

“Hey! I wanna eat some decent food, too, once in awhile!” Duo told them then yelled, “Let me go!” The old man studied him.

“Let him go,” he ordered.

“But…” the men did not want to obey obviously.

“It's alright. Let him go,” the old man said then added with impression, “Kid, I can't believe you snuck into my ship…I thought my security system was flawless! How did you do it?” Duo decided he would not let them see how they unnerved him.

He smirked, “That's a professional secret.” He tipped his hat. “But, so your pride isn't hurt too badly, I'll admit I had a hard time getting in!”

“Interesting brat…” muttered the old man.

“I'm not a brat!” he yelled, his anger flared. “My name is Duo! I run, I hide, but I never lie! Duo Maxwell!” Visions of Sister Helen flashed through his mind. Father Maxwell's kind words rang in his ears.

“Maxwell…? Ha, ha!” the old man laughed like he was an old friend, “Maxwell's little demon, hn?” He seemed even more impressed.

“Not a demon…” the boy corrected, “I'm Shinigami…!”

 

17 October AC 193—Street Table 3, Diana's Cafe, Colony V-7629, L-1 Colony Cluster

He watched the people go by him on the streets. They seemed happy enough. A boy around his age ran to a table nearby. They talked excitedly in some language he did not understand. He vaguely wondered what he would be doing if his mother had lived. The one boy took out a bag of yellow powder and handed it to his friends. They seemed very pleased. One of the boys laughed loudly at some joke and put a pinch of powder in a metal tube that looked vaguely familiar. He searched for something, but when he did not find it, he put the tube of powder away in his pocket.

They stood up to leave when an Alliance soldier walked up to them, a severe expression on his face. The boys cowered. He asked them for the tube and the bag. They feigned incomprehension. However, the soldier knew they understood him. He took out his gun, scaring the boys. As the soldier harassed the young boys, he stood up and only needed one shot to take the firearm out of his hand.

“Hey! Kid!” yelled the soldier, clutching his hand, “You're interfering in government business! Get back here!” But the boys had run away, and he had run in another direction. He was not going to let the soldiers get him that easily…if at all. He heard many more soldiers gathering behind him, to punish him for hurting their comrade. He ducked into a store as he turned a corner. The soldiers ran past him. He stood out of his crouched position and was set to leave when coos of women stopped him. He turned and faced ten to fifteen middle aged women.

“Now, where did you come from?” asked one, “Your mother would be upset to find that you were causing a ruckus with soldiers.” He mumbled about being an orphan, one who was on a job.

“Honey, you need to have someone looking after you,” another said. It went like this for quite some time before one lady announced she was taking him home. Before he could protest this, she winked at him where her friends could not see, and she took him outside.

“I am Laraine Kaeilan,” she introduced, “and you are?”

“Tyler Brooke.”

“Well, since it seems you won't say anymore of your doings here, I will take you to where you need to go,” she informed.

“Um, that's nice of you…ma'am,” he stammered. He looked at some boys who were laughing and guffawing, the yellow powder all over their mouths and noses.

“Pay no attention to them,” Ms. Kaeilan ordered, “Their mothers should be ashamed of them! Using asteroid dust all day and night like that. You do not need to be using any drugs like that or to be with any boys like that. They are no good.” He nodded, finally realizing what the powder was. They got to the shuttle docks where Ms. Kaeilan said her goodbyes.

“Here's a nice girl,” she found, “Stay with her during the ride. Now, come and visit me.” She kissed his forehead and gave him hug. He was still wondering how she could be this friendly with a boy she just met, but he did not question it aloud either. He muttered a promise and took his seat. The girl next to him looked at him.

“Who are you?” she asked, “Was that your mother?”

“No. I'm…Tyler,” he said.

“I'm Jet,” she introduced. Soldiers came on the shuttle, looking for the man responsible for killing the political leaders of the colony. He did not kill them, so he wondered who had beaten him to the task. Though he could not be certain, he thought the girl beside him smirked the whole time of the search.

 

15 May AC 193—Room 312C, Gaozhong Zhongxue (Senior High), Colony A-0206, L-5 Colony Cluster

Wu Fei sighed. The government officials were visiting the school again, the second time this month. According to the rumors, they were visiting for only two reasons. Everyone knew that the Alliance wanted to shut down the colony and all those inside, but they had no basis for destruction. Political reasons kept the colony alive. Therefore, the officials were there to take the brightest students off the colony before destruction, or they were there to find any reason at all to demolish the old colony filled with rebels too strong for the government's comfort.

Either way (Wu Fei felt they were there for both reasons), they disrupted studies. They constantly talked to Teacher, and then they spent five minutes questioning each student. Not only did they speak in horrible Mandarin, often messing up the tones, making themselves completely incomprehensible, they tended to misspell their names. Wu Fei's name went from Zhang Wu Fei to Chang Wufei. They changed Mei Lan name to Meiran. Li Yu became Li You, and it went like that with most of his classmates. However, he supposed they were using an older form of pinyin.

“What is…the ca-pi-tal of the United…Earth…Sphere…All-i-ance?” the government official pronounced slowly and loudly as if it would help Wu Fei understand. He blinked for awhile; he had learned this was what they expected of the average student. Average students got to stay home. Of course, the fact that he was in Senior High at only the age of thirteen should have shown he was above average.

 

“You have no reason to hide your intelligence from them,” Master O told him later that day. He instructed Wu Fei on his special project.

“Hm,” he grunted a bit during a kick, “So you say.”

“You are too much of a rebel for them to take you,” O informed, “You would just intimidate them too much.”

“I have no reason to cooperate with them enough for them to find out my intelligence. I have no reason to rebel against them either.”

“If you have no reason to rebel against them, why are you agreeing to pilot this machine?”

“My father has honor for this colony and clan still. I honestly do not see why, but it was his dying wish.”

“At least you honor something,” O muttered, though he smiled as always during these banters.

 

13 August AC 194—Winner Mansion, Colony V-97422, L-4 Colony Cluster

He gritted his teeth as his son spouted forth his reasons and justifications. He could find as many flaws as he could truths. No matter how the young boy felt, he knew that fighting was not the solution. It would not bring them the peace they so desperately wanted and needed. The door opened, and he almost gave his servant harsh words for letting in a visitor while he spoke with his son. However, the sight of the visitor stopped his tongue.

“Alim! Assalamu `alaykum!” greeted the visitor. He was his own height. They had the same hair color, a shade or two difference maybe. The visitor was a few years younger, and he had no facial hair at the time.

“Wa'alaykum assalam, Gibril!” he returned the greeting. His son had a look of perplexity on his face as the men embraced and kissed.

“This must be your son, and heir?” the visitor asked.

“Yes, this is,” he smiled proudly, “This is my son, Quatre. Son, this is my younger brother Gibril.”

“Nice to meet you, Quatre,” Gibril grinned. Quatre extended his hand, but his uncle pulled him in an embrace, kissing him as well.

“Um, yes, the same to you…Aam,” the boy blushed a bit, earning a chuckle from his father. “Baba, do I, um?” He took his son's hand as a gesture for him to stay in the room and listen.

“So, Brother, what brings you here?” he still beamed with this unexpected but happy visit. He motioned to the empty chair in front of his desk as he sat in the one behind it. His son looked uneasy and unsure of his place. There were no more chairs in which for him to sit, and he glanced from his father to the door, biting his bottom lip slightly.

“As you have probably heard and know, the Alliance is getting impatient, and they're tightening their grip on everyone,” his brother explained. As Gibril spoke, Alim grabbed his son's arm and pulled him to sit on his lap, or a leg at least. Quatre seemed to think he was too old at just fourteen for this, but he leaned back on his father after a moment's hesitation. He was still short enough for it at any rate.

“Yes, I have heard of this,” he admitted, “But what will you have me do? I have tried talking, and my talks are going nowhere.”

“We must fight. You must help the colonies, or the family, get an army. We have no other choices left,” Gibril suggested.

“No, we cannot,” he admonished, “We have always been and will continue to be pacifists. I will not even consider of it.”

“There is no other way,” his brother tried to persuade. He would hear no more of it, but he noticed a glint in his son's eye that told him this was not the last he would hear of the suggestion. It scared him.

 

04 April AC 195—Note pinned to inside tent flap, Refugee Camp, just outside Bordeaux, former France

Cher oncle Philippe, Midii, Luc, Thayer, et Amato,

I know I have only been home a couple of days, but I must leave. I know I swore I would join you in the soup line when I finished dressing. However, as I left the tent, a soldier walked by, and it hit me. Where is there work? Who will save us? The Specials will take me in. I'm a young man and willing to work. They say I may even be able to have regular pay within a month if I have developed my shooting and piloting abilities enough. Do not tell anyone, but something big is about to happen. I am not supposed to know, but that is what I gathered. If all goes well, we will be at home by the end of the year.

Oncle Philippe, get better. Midii will watch over you and the boys. I am sure tante Caroline will write soon. Do not worry her. I will be fine. I shall make you proud, oncle Phillipe. Please, do not worry yourself too much.

Midii, I am again refusing to let you join a militaristic organization. You can find work elsewhere, and I do not want to attack my little cousin accidentally, though I doubt I will fight near you. Watch over your father, and keep the boys out of trouble.

Luc, obey your father and Midii. Keep up your studies as best you can. Help Midii with whatever she needs, and please watch out for your brothers when you play outside.

Thayer, Amato, mind your manners and Midii, too.

I hope to be home soon. Keep me in your prayers. A bientot!

Bisous,

Seymour

 

25 June AC 195—Specific location unknown, Middle East

Master Quatre had not contacted them in quite a long time. He was sure that the boy was alive, you never could know for certain. He was only fifteen after all. Actually, he would not be fifteen for three more weeks. He was more worried now than ever. Word had spread of Master Winner's assassination, and Master Quatre had not even sent a greeting. There was always the possibility he did not know about it yet. He certainly hoped so.

“A call for you, Rasid,” his wife informed. He thanked her.

“Yes?” he answered.

“Rasid Kurama?” asked the woman.

“Yes, this is he,” he confirmed, “May I ask who this is?”

“Of course, this is Iria Winner,” she informed, “Quatre's oldest sister.”

“Ah, yes, your father spoke of you. You are as beautiful as he described,” he smiled.

“You are too kind. I was wondering if I may speak to my little brother,” she requested. When Rasid admitted he wanted to speak to him as well and that he did not know where little Master Quatre was, Iria, now very worried, told him the tale of their father's death. This also made Rasid very worried. Though they had their differences, he knew Master Quatre was close to his father and watching the death had to be very tragic.

“Where could he be? Do you think he's okay?” she asked worriedly.

“He can take care of himself,” he said to calm her, though he was just as concerned, “Master Quatre will be fine. I am sure we will hear from him soon.” He spent a few minutes reassuring her that her little brother would be fine. After the call, he lay back in his chair, and another call came through.

“Yes?” he answered once more. There was only audio, no video, on this particular call.

“I can't talk long, and I can't get through to my sisters,” said a familiar young voice, “I can only say I'm okay. I'll see you soon. I promise.”

“Master Quatre! Wait!” he wanted to ask more, but he was met with dial tone.

 

12 September AC 195—Refugee Camp, just outside Bordeaux, former France

Midii did not hope for relief. For five years, she begged God for aid, assistance. Nothing. She was willing to give up on God, but her mother insisted she keep up her prayers. Indulging her mother, she still spoke to God, but each time, her awe and reverence waned. The sisters reminded her frequently how an unanswered prayer was an answer in itself. However, Midii did not accept this answer. She refused it in fact.

News did come, when she least expected it as the nuns insisted. Her mother had returned from her work in Africa for a short vacation when it came. They were attending to Midii's sick father, the boys were outside the tent running around with other boys, and a stranger walked into their humble abode. He was adorned as an OZ soldier, a moderately prestigious one by his small collection of medals. He looked barely in his twenties, putting Midii and her mother on guard instantly. He smiled jovially, perhaps to put them at ease, and assured them he meant no harm.

“Then why are you here?” asked Caroline Une, Midii's mother. Though they now lived in a series of tents, she still held herself as proudly as when she commanded a household staff in a mansion.

“Your nephew Seymour signed up for the Specials, didn't he?” the soldier inquired.

“Seymour left us while I was away. He hoped to find a new job and maybe a new house. However, I do not know what his job is,” she informed. The man could be a spy or worse. She was not going to choose a side until she learned his business. It was a lesson Caroline and Midii hand learned the hard way.

“He spoke fondly of his family all the time,” the soldier smiled once more, “Our superiors heard his sad tale, and now that we have control of France, I am here to give you a gift.” His grin broadened. “It is my honor to present to you, the deed to your mansion, as well as your now unfrozen bank accounts.” Caroline's body shook so badly inside that she almost collapsed. She took the papers from the man, amazed that her hands were not shaking. Midii looked over the papers over her mother's shoulder. They looked genuine. It was a dream come true, a prayer answered. They had enough money to get a good doctor; they had a house. It was more than for which they hoped in a long time.

“Oh, Mere,” Midii smiled through the tears in both women's eyes, “We can go back. Mama, we can be a family in Papa's house again.” Her mother nodded.

“Tell your father that God has come through,” she instructed, “I'm going to find the boys.” She left the tent quite happily.

Though she was still not sure He existed or could hear her prayers, Midii thanked her mother's God.

 

30 March AC 196—Teen TV and ESB, Television Broadcast, throughout the Earth Sphere Unified Nation

“…and here are the ten most famous couples,” announced the perky young award presenter, “Miss Catalonia, is it true you and Mr. Winner have just decided to go out during the show because of you two being voted as the number three couple?” The couples included Relena, Sylvia, Dorothy, and Quatre. They did not know the others.

“Yes, it's true,” Dorothy chuckled.

“How do you feel about that?” the woman asked, grinning. For an answer, Dorothy kissed a surprised Quatre, who had clearly not seen it coming.

An anchorwoman chuckled, “That's from tonight's earlier program of the award show `Famous Teens' from the Teen TV channel. It has come out now that the kiss was Quatre Winner's first.”

 

“His first kiss EVER,” a late night host joked later, “He's fifteen, and he hasn't even kissed anyone outside his father and sisters. I knew the Winners protected their children, but I didn't know he wasn't allowed to see girls. Maybe it's a good thing his father died, got him out of the house and around girls. Eh, they're all just made from extra test tube material anyway. He could just make himself a girlfriend. Surely his dad left him enough frozen sperm.

“Hey, I bet he could make a better president. He wouldn't be looking at any girls; that's for certain.”

 

26 November AC 196—Peacecraft Castle, New Port City, former Cinq Kingdom

Dorothy paced her guestroom in Relena's palace. Quatre would arrive shortly. He seemed to take forever. The birds were off on warmer shores, and it was much too cold to open the windows. Thus, she listened to the crackle of the fire in the room's hearth. Where was he? Surely it did not take that long to come over from the hotel. Of course, he had been in the middle of a shower when she called, ordering him to come over since it was an emergency. He had still had shampoo in his hair when she phoned. She glanced out the window one last time and saw Quatre rushing out the borrowed car. He did not wear a coat or jacket, and his hair looked damp. Relena met him halfway up the stairs. She tried to reassure him that Dorothy was fine, but they still rushed inside. Within minutes, Quatre was in the guestroom. His wet bangs clung to his forehead, and he was shivering from the cold.

“I came over as soon as I could,” he answered out of breath, “What's the emergency?”

“Sit down and let me get you a blanket,” she ordered. He hesitated, seeming about to protest, but his blue lips and fingernails convinced him to obey. He sat on her bed while she grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around him. She poured some hot tea to warm him; they talked about nothing while Dorothy waited for Quatre to stop shivering. When he finally thawed, she decided she could not put it off any longer.

“There's something you should know,” she informed, “something that will change both our lives forever.”

“In a good or bad way?” he asked, a little suspicious.

“That depends on your view. Quatre, you're the only lover I've had, and I love you with all my heart,” she started.

“And you're the only one for me,” he smiled, “I love you, too.”

She smiled, “I'm glad you say that, el meu amor. I'm pregnant.”

“You're what? Pregnant?” he asked then grinned. He picked her up and twirled her around the room. “This is so great. I love you so much!” He kissed her. “How far along are you? Do you know what the sex is? Never mind, I don't want to know.”

“I'm glad you're so happy. No, I don't know either, not yet, because I'm only two months along.”

“This is so wonderful,” he said again, beaming.

 

09 December AC 196—Hangar, Barton Residence, Colony X-18999, L-3 Colony Cluster

Mariemaia giggled and bounced excitedly. She looked at the completed new models of mobile suits. They were perfect, perfect for her reign. Her grandfather was busy discussing the final preparations with the top officers and designers. She was free to go and see what she wished as long as it was in the hangar. Taking the opportunity, she strolled down an aisle of suits and listened in on the soldiers' conversation. None of them knew their leader's age; they only heard Grandfather speak to them. They only thought she was a little girl, perhaps a little sister of one of the younger soldiers or a daughter of one of the older.

“Are you sure we really get to meet our leader soon?” asked one, a man with yellow hair.

“Yes, we get to see Mariemaia Barton at last,” another said, black haired, “I heard she's beautiful.”

“I heard she rivals Aphrodite in beauty and grace,” a third with red hair added.

“Well, I doubt she'll see any of us gorillas,” joked Yellow, “But I can't wait to look at her.”

“We can try,” Red grinned.

“Maybe if we act up enough she'll bring us in to punish us,” said Yellow. All three laughed at this, making some comments Mariemaia did not understand.

“I suggest,” a fourth man, Chinese, whom Mariemaia had seen with her grandfather often, joined the group with a stern expression on his face, “you do not continue this conversation. A child is in your presence.” He indicated her. The soldiers looked at her with mild shock.

“Sorry,” muttered Black.

“Whose is she?” questioned Yellow with some distaste.

“Your leader,” the Chinese man replied, “This is Mariemaia Barton.”

“You got to be kidding me,” laughed Yellow as the other two snickered. Grandfather joined them to see what the “ruckus was;” immediately the soldiers came to attention.

“Is there a problem?” he asked. The three original soldiers remained quiet and still.

“These men,” sneered the Chinese man, “were speaking of doing things with and to your granddaughter, sir, though I believe they supposed she was much older. They also spoke of these acts in front of her.”

Grandfather looked to the three, “Is this true?”

“Is this little girl really Mariemaia Barton, your granddaughter, our leader?” Red was the one who found the courage to ask.

“Yes, this `little girl' is our leader and my granddaughter, too,” Grandfather informed

 

31 December AC 196—Streets, Brussels, former Belgium

The people were murmuring amongst themselves. That had been Former Queen Relena Peacecraft on the screen, almost urging them to fight. The Gundams, which supposedly had gone into the sun, forever lost, had reappeared and were “hopelessly retaliating against the new order.” The new government, the Earth Sphere Unified Nation, commonly shortened to Earth Sphere or simply ESUN, promised peace, stability, prosperity, and, among the rest, toleration. Now, one short year later, a colony had seceded and, on top of that, declared war. With most of the weapons destroyed for amity, the colony seemed poised to take control. Trying to keep the peace, the people assumed not fighting was the most logical way to achieve pacifism.

That was what disgusted her. While she did not completely agree with Miss Relena's politics, however, she did know that Relena, especially after that riveting short speech, would not want her people to lie down like dogs. Yes, dogs, they were acting like dogs. Quatre may not like it, but she needed to do this. Watching the people stand there, indecisively, she had to say something to them. They had to know what cowards they would be if this was all they would do. She rested a hand reflexively on her still flat stomach before saying,

“Are you people just going to keep sitting on your butts?” she asked loudly.

“What?” she heard many of them ask.

“Si, idiotes i gossos,” she thought, “They are idiots and dogs.”

“Mariemaia is the master you have all been waiting for,” she taunted as they turned to regard her, “Come on, wag your tails and turn to her.”

One man looked quite upset, “Hey! Are you comparing us to dogs?!”

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” she continued sarcastically, privately satisfied, “Let me correct myself. You're not the dogs that wag their tail in front of their master. You're the tail that is wagged!” she finished with a stroke on her eyebrow facing them once more.

“Shut your mouth, lady!” the same man yelled, now outraged, “You're looking at a man who shot down five mobile suits in the war a year ago!”

“That's funny,” she continued her mockery in a soft voice, “I see no men around here.” She meant it. “The only men I know are either buried or are broadcast on that screen!” She pointed at it. Outwardly she kept her eyes on the screen as model for the people. Inwardly, she kept her eyes on thescreen to make sure her now fiancé was still alive. The people murmured again and turned their heads up to gaze at it. The Gundams were shown, fighting against their threat. She was happy to hear the whispers change from confusion and fear to anger and almost embarrassment at their cowardice.

“Peace is not something that is just handed to us,” one man echoed.

Another realized, “I think we might have been mistaken.”

“You're right,” a man old enough to be her father agreed, “We should be the ones fighting.” He probably had done more than his share of fighting in his life. “Of course, we won't use any weapons to fight.”

“Is that the responsibility given to us survivors?” wondered a man to her right. She bit her tongue on a comment on how he could be a survivor when he did not appear to fight a day in his life, not even one in his schooldays.

“We must prove that we deserve this peace,” continued the fatherly man, fists clenched, “that we have worked so hard to obtain. We must confirm that we are worthy of this freedom.”

“Okay, I'm going!” declared the man who had proudly shot down five suits, “I'm going to the Presidential Palace—to Relena!”

“You mean now?” asked a businessman nearby.

“Yeah!” affirmed the former.

“But how?” questioned the latter.

“We'll find a way!” the first assured.

The fatherly man turned to talk to the now willing crowd, “I'm going too! I can't just wait around and not do anything!”

“Count me in, too!” one of the converted men stated enthusiastically, “Anyone else, just follow us!”

“Right, I'm joining you!” said another.

“I'm going too!” many more shouted. Everyone was getting excited, very eager to help and to do something about their threatened peace.

“Me too!” others announced, some only ten.

“It's time that we stood up for something!” a wise man from the middle spoke.

“Will we get there in time?!” some worried. It was now time.

She told them, “I guess I've got no choice.” She gave the signal. “Let me give you all a ride in my vehicle.” Her golden semi-truck pulled up behind her. Many more followed; they were not gold, of course. They were filled with people from other nearby towns and streets. Relena's little world may make it after all.

 

**Translation Notes**

French:

Cher—Dear

Mere—Mother

Et—And

Bisous—Love (literally “kisses”)

Oncle—Uncle

Tante—Aunt

A bientot!—See you soon!

Catalan:

El meu amor—My love

Si—Yes (yes also in Spanish)

Idiotes i gossos—Idiots and dogs

Mandarin Chinese:

Zhongxue—“Medium/Middle Study” literally, term for middle schools (Grades 7-12), between elementary school and college/university

Gaozhong—“Tall Medium/Middle” literally, generally used for senior high school (Grades 10-12), the upper classes of Zhongxue (middle school)

Arabic:

Assalamu `alaykum—Peace be with you (a general greeting I am told)

Wa'alaykum assalam—And upon you, peace (the response)

Baba—Daddy (in some Arabic countries)

Aam—Uncle (father's brother)