Gundam Seed Destiny Fan Fiction / Gundam SEED Fan Fiction ❯ Play of the Fates ❯ VIII: The One With All The Talking ( Chapter 8 )

Title: Play of the Fates (8 of ?)

Author: Paola

Disclaimer: Play of the Fates is based on characters and situations that belong to Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asashi (and other production affiliates that have the right of ownership). No money is being made, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Considerations: Similarities to other stories/events/passages are purely coincidental unless otherwise cited, and beliefs and points of view found in the story do not necessarily reflect those of the author's.

The idea to make the chapter titles begin with “The One…” is from the TV show, F.R.I.E.N.D.S

This may, in all possible intent, be differently written compared to any of the author's previous literary ventures.

Rating: Rated M for language and adult situations. You have been warned.

 

Play of the Fates

Chapter Eight

 

“You know, knocking is like a higher form of etiquette,” Cagalli deadpanned before popping a green M&M in her mouth.

 

Miriallia closed the door behind her, glancing at the blonde who was poking her head from the kitchen door. “Well, what did you give me your keys for?”

 

“What if I had someone over and we're getting naughty on the floor, would you really wanna see that?” Cagalli continued, still in her argument about knocking.

 

“Would you really be getting naughty on the floor?”

 

“And what are you implying?” Cagalli narrowed her eyes.

 

“Because you aren't sexually deviant and I think sex on the floor would be too much of a deviant act for you,” Miriallia stated matter-of-factly.

 

“…I don't know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment.”

 

“Compliment.”

 

“Now I know it was an insult!”

 

Miriallia sniffed haughtily. “Such a good, trusting friend you are.”

 

Cagalli laughed. “Touchy.” She beckoned Miriallia over, offering her bag of chocolates to the brunette. “So, how's your arm? How's your mom?”

 

Miriallia cast a distasteful glance at her healing arm. “Aside from this itchy cast, I'm pretty fine. And I'm visiting mom in the hospital before dinner.” She glared at Cagalli who was frowning at her nonchalant reply. “And no, I don't need a shrink to get me through the trauma, mainly because I'm not, in any form, traumatized.”

 

“I'm not saying anything.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Hey, it was Damien who suggested that!”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Miriallia glanced around the spotless kitchen. “Have you had lunch yet? I'm starved.” She munched on the colorful M&Ms as Cagalli retrieved a pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator.

 

“Damien said he'd be coming over and bringing lunch, so I'm scarfing down M&Ms to tide me over. Want a glass?”

 

“Yes, please.”

 

There was silence after that, occasionally disturbed by the sound of glass gently hitting the granite counter as Cagalli settled two glasses of cold juice on the shiny ledge.

 

“There's something off with you,” Miriallia observed after washing down the sweet taste of chocolate with the semi-bitter tang of fresh orange juice.

 

“No, there's none,” Cagalli automatically refuted, trying to look innocent and unaffected. “Why would you think that?”

 

“You've been trying to fight off a grin since I arrived. You don't smile when you're hungry.”

 

Cagalli glared ineffectively at her friend, finishing her drink to delay answering, since she really didn't have anything to say about Miriallia's observations.

 

“You got laid, didn't you?” Cagalli almost choked on her juice. “I was in pain and you were getting laid,” Miriallia almost sounded like she was offended.

 

Cagalli scoffed, unconsciously rubbing the bruise on her hipbone, the one she got before Athrun had decided that he'd let her sleep off her intoxication. “Honey, you weren't in pain. You were wolfing down pain killer after pain killer. And I didn't get laid. Stop harassing me.” In truth, she didn't get laid, at least, not in that sense. And yesterday's events weren't supposed to make her giddy, but they did, and that was because she had finally given him a taste of his own medicine. Yes, that was it. If she were lucky, he'd take that as a hint and leave her be. There was no love lost between them, and it would be better for her if she could just forget how sexy Athrun was. And it wasn't as if they connected at any other level besides sexual interests.

 

Miriallia's brow furrowed instinctively at the pet name before deciding to ignore it. “Tell me, Cagalli, you hooked up with someone at that fashion show, didn't you?”

 

“How'd you know I was even there?” Cagalli demanded, thrown off the loop at the mention of that god-forsaken event.

 

“Like I don't work for a magazine! Even if I didn't get to cover it because of my accident, I still got the news when I visited the office to file for sick leave. That girl who covered for me told me you weren't just attending; you were participating.” Miriallia smiled amusedly as Cagalli blushed bright red.

 

The only thing that saved Cagalli from answering was the loud announcement of the arrival of a certain person they had been waiting for, and Cagalli thanked her lucky stars because it took the attention off her. Hopefully, it would remain that way in the duration of their lunch.

 

“Good thing I bought more than enough for two,” Damien started upon entering the kitchen and seeing Miriallia. “What's up, luv? How's the arm? And how's mum?”

 

Cagalli sometimes forgot that Damien was half-European, spending the better part of his years in England before moving to Orb, mostly because despite his accent, he talked like a regular Orb citizen. It was only during times when his “u” was more pronounced than the regular “o” that she noticed.

 

“Recovering. Both cases,” Miriallia answered.

 

“Good to hear that. At least now you don't look like death warmed over!” He then proceeded to plunk the to-go bags he was carrying on the table. “I had a meeting in bum fuck Egypt, and the only saving grace of it was that the restaurant we ate at actually served good food. The best thing that happened today!” he sighed melodramatically, flicking an errant strand of black hair away from his eyes.

 

Of course, his foreign upbringing was more obvious whenever he used phrases like “bum fuck Egypt” that didn't remotely make any sense to her side of the globe. Cagalli inwardly rolled her eyes.

 

“Not too refined to curse, huh?” Miriallia amusedly voiced.

 

“It's not a curse, per se—”

 

Cagalli laughed. “Save it. Slangy European doesn't have room in our vocabulary.”

 

Damien just shrugged.

 

“What do you have here for us?” Miriallia asked, stifling her giggles as she began to take the foam containers out of the paper bags while Cagalli gathered the plates and cutleries.

 

“I thought I'd try a little bit of everything. Well, almost everything.” He opened one polystyrene container after another. “I've got seafood risotto, veal scaloppini, baked salmon roulade, and Cornish game hen with blackberry sauce. Tempting little dishes, hn?” He opened the last container with a flourish. “Quaint,” he commented offhand, before turning towards Cagalli. “And I didn't forget that orange cream cheesecake you wanted.”

 

“Sweet,” Cagalli grinned, offering the plates and cutleries to her friends. “You always remember, Damien. I should marry you!”

 

“Well, get me a ring first.”

 

Miriallia just shook her head. “You and your sugar. I swear, if you get diabetes, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised!”

 

“Diabetes is hereditary,” Cagalli scoffed.

 

“Wow, what era are you in? Soviet?” Miriallia countered, smirking when Cagalli grimaced.

 

Damien angled his head, looking almost thoughtful. “And don't you know how much calories you're packing with every bite?”

 

“Calories which I burn easily enough whenever you force me into jogging with you in the morning,” Cagalli jabbed a finger in the European's direction. “Not to mention the times you drag me in your shopping sprees. Can we get off my case, now?”

 

“Fine, but don't hate me if I tell you `I told you so' when you start needing insulin shots.”

 

“Or when you start needing bigger sizes.”

 

Cagalli didn't honestly know whether to laugh or be annoyed at their opposite concerns, which, if truth be told, she didn't think would be coming true anytime soon. “Remember me just having asked you guys to get off my case?” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I've a problem I need help with.”

 

“Go on,” Damien prompted, spoon full of risotto halfway to his mouth.

 

“There's this event at work that I need to look a place for. It's in a week's time. So far, all the places I've called are booked. I'm in knee-deep shit, and I'm going no where.”

 

Damien chewed thoughtfully before speaking, “Formal?”

 

“Cocktails,” Cagalli replied, following Damien's train of thought. Damien owned a chain of the best steakhouses in Orb, and if the event she was preparing for weren't a formal party, she would have asked him earlier if she could hold the fort in one of his establishments.

 

“How about your swanky hotel?” Miriallia suggested, enjoying her baked salmon roulade.

 

Since his restaurant chain was a success, Damien had decided to venture into the hotel chain business. Although he had only one hotel as of now, he was in the process of expanding; his second establishment was already under construction.

 

“The Dominion's booked three ways to Sunday. All ballrooms are either going to be housing debutantes or weddings. Oh, not to mention other charity functions. Even the rooftop's hosting an MTV party!”

 

“Yeah, damn that hotel of yours! That's the first one I called, and dig this, yours was contracted earlier than the Freedom Metropolis! You lucky bastard!” Cagalli pointed her fork at him.

 

“Say, isn't Matt a member of this certain country club — what's the name again?” Miriallia piped in, playing with her food as she tried to recall the name of the country club.

 

Cagalli instantly brightened. “Of course! Lesseps Country Club! How could I forget? He's just invited me play golf with him this coming Tuesday!”

 

Lesseps Country Club was one of the most exclusive social clubs in the outskirts of the city, housing a grand clubhouse, an Olympic-sized pool, two tennis courts, and a well-manicured golf course to boot.

 

“Now that that's solved, let's go to the other problem at hand,” Miriallia wasted no time in steering their conversation to another topic.

 

Cagalli eyed her weirdly. “We have another problem?”

 

“Yeah. We haven't solved whether a certain Athha did leave the Clyne fashion show with someone!”

 

“I just bought the edition of Orb Aesthete featuring last week's catwalk spotlight! Eternal Haute Couture, wasn't it?” Then he turned towards Cagalli with eyes wide, just now processing what Miriallia had said. “Oh! You were there? Why didn't you tell us?” Damien grinned like the cat that ate the canary.

 

“She wasn't just there — she was a part of it!”

 

When Damien went to retrieve the magazine from another paper bag, and when Miriallia couldn't stop teasing her, Cagalli just knew it behooved her to come up with believable lies…and fast.

o-o

“Not that I think your company is unwelcome,” his tone said otherwise, “but why are you here? Again?” Athrun shut the door behind him.

 

“Believe it or not, I'm here on business,” Dearka easily replied.

 

“It's Sunday.”

 

“Some car dealers do business on Sundays, and this is one of the few. And you're one to talk. At least I came here to buy; you came here to work,” Dearka easily quipped, gesturing towards the red expandable envelope in Athrun's hands. “You bloody poof.”

 

Athrun held back an exasperated sigh as he ignored the slur. If he were quick to have his fuse lit, he would be close to pulling an Yzak at every petty insult Dearka was fond of throwing at him. He wasn't quite in the best of moods to be dealing with an arrogant ass like Dearka today, considering what happened yesterday. That one he didn't expect. He should have known that a woman like Cagalli wouldn't take his teasing as lightly as every other girl because, frankly, she was in a league of her own.

 

“I really wish we were better strangers.”

 

Dearka laughed, not minding the slight derision in Athrun's tone. “See, troubles in bed shouldn't be brought to the office.”

 

If Athrun hadn't known Dearka for a long time, he'd be surprised at how close Dearka had gotten to his current problem, but since they'd been friends since college, he knew Dearka always found it amusing to affront his behind-the-scenes activities. His or Yzak's; he stopped taking jabs at Kira's when he started going out with Lacus. Either way, Dearka was just too cocky for his own good.

 

He chose to ignore the blonde this time. “The GAT-X series showroom is downstairs. That's what you came for. Go.” Athrun was known for his even disposition, but even the calmest and least likely to get ruffled individual could only take so much — yesterday just happened to be his limit, and it might take a while for him to re-collect himself, or, at least, some favorable arrangement or event that could lift his mood.

 

“Grouchy,” Dearka simplistically observed, not moving from his seat, which, apparently, was Athrun's office chair. Athrun would never understand why Dearka couldn't just sit on one of the chairs in front of his desk or even the couch for that matter. “Kira wanted Lacus to take a break, and since she likes to play golf, he's inviting us to Lesseps this Tuesday afternoon. We're going this Tuesday. Asked me to ask you to come,” he changed the subject. “Though, in my opinion, I should be the one doing the inviting around here seeing as I'm the member and not any of you.”

 

“I can't make it,” Athrun mechanically replied, dumping the thick envelope on the polished table and crossing his arms, hoping that his countenance could get through Dearka's self-absorbed barrier and make him leave.

 

“Of course. Oh, but I've done my part,” Dearka sighed dramatically, too energetic and impertinent for Athrun's taste. “Kira says Lacus'll call to check.” Getting up from his comfortable position, he ran a hand through his carefully mussed-up hair. “Well, I'll see you on Tuesday, man.” Then he was out the door without another word.

 

Athrun sighed at the tone Dearka had used. Just how many people knew he found it hard to say no to Lacus? The woman had carefully claimed a piece of his heart, and he was too much of a softy to get it back. Either that, or… He sighed. He didn't really want to think about the other possibility.

 

And neither did he believe it.

 

His phone rang, and since his secretary wasn't in today, the call wasn't diverted to the desk outside his office. Despite what Dearka believed, he didn't have work on Sundays. He just needed to pick up a parcel that he'd left in his office last Friday, and the red envelope was from one of the company lawyers asking him to go over the latest documents for approval, which he didn't exactly have to do until Monday.

 

“Hello?” he not only forgot the standard greeting for any call received by the company — as he hardly ever picked up the phone himself, and acting executives didn't necessarily answer the phone the same way other employees did — but he also forgot to modulate his tone, leaving a bitter air hanging. He almost winced, but because politeness had been drilled in his head since the moment he could talk, he easily recovered. At least, he would have, had the person on the other end of the line not giggled.

 

“You're not very cheerful today, are you?”

 

“Good afternoon to you, too, Lacus.” When Lacus sighed, he could almost see her shaking her head.

 

“Anyway, I tried your mobile, but you weren't answering.”

 

“Ah, yeah, sorry about that. I left it in the car.”

 

“So, is Dearka there?”

 

“He just left,” he answered, rummaging through his drawers for that little parcel he came back for. When he got his fingers around the inconspicuous parcel, he turned his attention back to the phone. “Anyway, I can't make it.” When he told Dearka that he wouldn't be able to go, he wasn't entirely lying. “I have a meeting, and it's been re-scheduled already, so no can do, Lacus.” It was one of the meetings he had re-catalogued to be able to attend Lacus' fashion show last Friday. What he wasn't about to tell her though was that the meeting was a luncheon, and, to the best of his knowledge, he had a free afternoon.

 

“Oh. Is that so? Well, if, by chance, the meeting ends early or it doesn't push through, can you promise me you'll go? We barely see you, Athrun. Only about thrice since you landed.”

 

“Yes, Lacus.” This time, Athrun winced — he'd just automatically answered without thinking. There he went again, unable to say no.

 

“Thanks, Athrun! Kira and I'll see you there!”

 

“Yeah. Bye.” Lacus was just so optimistically happy that it was hard to deny her anything, especially if it were something as simple as spending time. Yes, that was it. And maybe, if he were done nursing his bruised ego, he'd come. After all, something as trivial as what Cagalli had done shouldn't be affecting him much, especially since she had just notched higher in his little amusement scale. Nobody had ever done that to him before — thankfully — and Cagalli was proving to be more and more different the more time he spent with her.

 

Standing up and inserting the parcel in his coat pocket, he sighed. She was clever — he'd give her that — putting him in such a situation then pulling a stunt he didn't think he'd ever be subjected to. And now that he clearly thought about it, he couldn't anymore justify why he was in a bad mood; he should've expected something like that from her, and he should've known better than to approach her in the same manner.

 

Knowing his luck in meeting people in the most unlikely of places, he thought that maybe he would go to Lesseps this Tuesday — the cosmic blueprint might have it in its plans to have him meet with Cagalli again in the golf club. Highly unlikely, but there was always that teeny-tiny possibility. So, all right, he would go, so long as his schedule remained permitting.

 

Athrun Zala shut the door to his office.

xxxxx

 

Reference/s: (to refresh your memory, if for nothing else)

 

Lesseps Country Club is named after Andrew Waltfeld's forces' flagship, Lesseps. It's a ZAFT ship named after Ferdinand de Lesseps, a 19th century French diplomat. (GundamOfficial.com)