Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Hokkyokusei: The North Star ❯ Stargazer ( Chapter 1 )

Stargazer

He breathed in the cold night air. It felt relieving to be away from the heat and power of the limelight. His muscles were starting to ache, meaning that he had just had a pretty good workout. Considering his straining performance in which he had had to make up for the horrible mistakes of the trainee, he was surprised that he didn't hurt more.

Trainees.

They were the most annoying people in the entire universe, he decided. Too many questions, too many mistakes, and still never good enough for him. He knew that he was a horrible teacher, with his lack of patience and hunger of perfection that could never be fulfilled, but it just couldn't be helped. Catherine was busy with planning her wedding to train her replacement, so he had gotten stuck with the job. Unfortunate, as it was, because the last one had just quit.

That would be five, now, in the past month.

What a record.

Trowa sighed in resignation and stretched languidly on his back on the grassy hill behind of the main tent. The evening show had just finished and it had been a fairly quiet night, despite the previous yelling and complaining of the young woman that had finally and literally thrown her resignation at him after a screaming session with both the manager and his older sister.

The usual bunch of crickets was chirping their soothing melody and the serenity of the night was breathable. The key word to it all was relaxing. Surprisingly, he probably could have fallen asleep, if it hadn't been so chilly out. That was strange, to say the least, because these days he wasn't getting so many z's in, no matter how early he finished practicing. There always seemed to be something more important to do whenever he put his head flat on his pillow. Paying the bills, organizing his increasingly neat room, making some popcorn and watching an old movie that he'd seen a million times before.

Ironically, Catherine was getting the opposite of his situation. No matter how much she said that she wished she could just sit down and breathe for a minute, she said that she couldn't. "Too many things to do, so little time!" she had exclaimed to him that afternoon, as she had just rushed back in time for the performance, coming back from a dozen little errands and a quick brunch with her fiancé and his own best friend, Quatre Raberba Winner.

And whenever she hit the bed at ten-thirty, you couldn't have awakened her with an earthquake until the next morning when her alarm clock, knocked her out of bed with the sunrise talk-radio show.

He couldn't resist yet another sigh, though this one was more regretful.

Lying flat on the ground, with his hands holding up his head, he stared up at the glittering stars in the sky. The troupe was performing on Earth, so that he could look and marvel at the beauty of the view of space from it. The sky was cloudless, leaving the stars and the sliver of a crescent moon in plain sight. The stars were diamond bright, twinkling against the black blanket of a sky.

Although the camping ground the circus and troupe were stationed on was practically forest, a city lurked nearby and in the background Trowa could hear the rambunctious sounds of city life in the distance. People living their own lives now that peace after the horrible wars was there to stay. The bright lights of the city didn't reflect as much in the sky here and the stars shone clearly, as it wouldn't have in the city.

The smooth song of harmony, now well oiled again, almost fully recovered from the long years of wars and chaos, was almost overwhelming. And he knew then that his torturous pains for the peace that he had once though overrated was infinitely worth it in the end.

He had almost lost his life. No, not his, but a part of Catherine's life. Because his life had never belonged to him. Or if it had, he had been rightfully careless with it, knowing that his life was expendable, because he had been an orphan. What was so important about an orphan that made one loose his or her rights on their own lives? The fact that no one in the world cared about them. There was no one to weep for the loss of them, if they were to die. Therefore, their lives were meaningless. As his had been until he had meet Cathy and she had made his life worth living. She had given him the love that he had needed to care about living. Her willingness to lose her own life to save his. His own reasons for not seeing his actions through when she had simply ordered him to stop, unable to do more than that. His question had once been to her and himself was why, but he knew the answer, now.

Love.

He had just tasted love.

And so she was the reason that he could not die.

He couldn't explain it further than that. He really didn't understand it further than that. Just that his life had from then on really belonged to her. Her wish and whims had ruled his life, though she knew better than to hold him back from protecting the world in its time of need. She had let him go, knowing that his life's mission would never be complete until the world was safe once again. And because she loved him and wanted his happiness, she let him go.

To be hurt by the cruel slaps of fate.

He still didn't know how Cathy had done that. He knew that when he had lost his memory, and though he only had fuzzy memories of how that had happened, he knew that he had for a brief time, Cathy had gone a little insane. Overprotective and wild with grief, but still she had let him go with Quatre to fight.

How she did that, he simply couldn't understand. Because now he was faced with a similar problem.

Marriage.

What kind of a relationship was that, he asked himself almost incredulously. A simple promise of fidelity that seemed so flimsy in the modern world with divorces and breaks of vows that occurred with no second thought. It seemed like a prison, restricting one's movements by tying them down to another person. Sure, it happened with siblings and relatives all the time, but this person that you were legally and morally tied with would be an almost complete stranger compared to family members that one lived with their entire lives. And to add to that, one could potentially be stuck with this person for the rest of their life, 'till death do they part.

How could he possibly let the one person in the world that he knew loved him unconditionally for who he was, go into that state?

What if Catherine ended up hating something about Quatre that was unavoidable and impossible to change, he thought suddenly. She would end up hating him and having to live with him for the rest of her life, since she was a devout Catholic and would never divorce him. What if Quatre gets bored with Cathy and has an illicit affair after twenty years of marriage and she finds out? She would be heartbroken and devastated. She wouldn't leave him, though. It would stain his reputation forever. And she loves him too much to do that.

How could he possibly trust Quatre with his sister?

Sure, Quatre was his best friend and he would trust him with his life, but how did he know that Quatre would be able to take care of Catherine as he should? It was such a leap of faith.

He knew that Catherine would have strongly considered not marrying Quatre had Trowa protested it. The hasty glance towards him, after she had joyfully shouted yes after the fireworks had blown in the sky the bright "Will you marry me, Catherine Bloom?", had told him all he needed to know about the importance of his blessing on the engagement to her.

She loved Trowa, as much as he loved her and that would never change no matter what.

But he wasn't worried about that. He was worried about how she would be after she got married. And… honestly, he was afraid of his own feelings after she left. Of course, she would still be around and he could always visit her. But after her marriage, there would be a hole in his life, where she had once filled with her presence. A missing piece that he didn't think could ever be replaced.

Just thinking about it, made his eyes burn. The fiery white dots in the sky blurred, but he quickly blinked away hot tears before they could leak down his face. He slowed his breath and heartbeat that had suddenly quickened and concentrated on calming himself down.

All he could do, now, was enjoy the time he had left with Cathy and hope that the pain of her absence would not be as bad as he thought it would be, he thought determinedly, clearing his throat of unshed tear effects. His bones creaking as he stood, he stretched, trying to work out some of the more stubborn kinks in his neck and shake off his somewhat morose mood off. His eyes still burned a bit, so he rubbed them, warning himself to get more sleep and brushed off stray blades of grass from his clothes.

He glanced up at the stars one last time. A meteoroid brightly lit with the friction of the atmosphere passed over one particular constellation: Ursa Minor, the Little Dipper. It was as though someone, somewhere was smiling at something to come.

Smiling slightly back at the lone meteoroid, he settled his hands behind his head.

He turned around, his aching muscles protesting loudly, and figured that he should get back to the trailer to get some shuteye before the next show tomorrow. As he turned he glimpsed the smallest of movements in the shadows of the night, indicating someone's presence behind him. He barely contained a jump of surprise and eyes narrowed suspiciously, instinctively freezing. It'd been a while since he'd had to worry about assassination attempts, but he was better off safe than sorry. And there was always that minuscule chance that someone still wanted him dead. The dead of night seemed to be the perfect time for such a thing to occur.

When his eyes adjusted to the bright light coming from the opening of the tent, he could make out the figure standing there. To his half relief and half annoyance, it wasn't something to confirm his paranoia. A silhouette of a petite girl figure stood just outside of the main circus tent, in the shadows, gazing up at the stars. It was a good half an hour since the last show, so there shouldn't have been any of the crowd-goers left. The stragglers had all been shooed away, or so it seemed, all but one.

"Kid, this isn't public property. The show's over, now. Go home," he called to her gruffly. It was late and he didn't feel like being nice to kids who stayed behind to play pretend. Startled, the girl looked at Trowa, seeing to notice him for the first time.

"I know that the show's over. Has been for a while. Sorry, if I'm intruding, though," she replied softly, her voice low and wistful, not yet recovered from her silent contemplation of the stars. She tilted her head to the left, suddenly smiled and laughed a little. The sound caught his attention, so melodious and light. Something like wind chimes twinkling softly in the wind. "I guess I'll be on my way, now. Nice to've met you, though…" and with that she turned silently around and walked into the main tent, making no noise at all in her exit. Which solved the mystery of how he hadn't noticed her arrival in the first place.

Trowa blinked once in confusion and frowned. Well, that was different, he thought grumpily. Something new and wonderful to ponder on those sleepless nights o' his. Strangers who intrigued him by their laughs. Just when he needed some good, old-fashioned stability in life, Fate threw him a curve ball. What could he do now? He definitely wouldn't be able to sleep, not with two new things bothering him. Insomnia was inevitable. He sighed and thought that he might as well train for the new act that he'd been planning. It was a double performance that Cathy would partner him, but he wanted to lay it out to her with all of his part perfected.

Mentally shaping some final arrangements of his new act, he entered the equipment tent. He strode to the back of the small side-tent to get his training equipment and was so busy thinking to himself, that he almost didn't notice through a gap in the tent fold that the ringmaster talking to someone over in the main tent, his back turned to Trowa. The speaker was hindered from his sight.

Trowa, being obscured from their vision by the fold of the tent, couldn't help but overhear their conversation.

"… Well no, I've never done exactly this sort of thing before. At least not in that professional sense and definitely not in front of an audience, but I don't think that you should doubt my skill just because of that." It was that girl's voice again; it was persistent, now, having lost its dreamy quality. He blinked, slightly surprised at her presence in the arena (hadn't he just told her to leave?), but leaned forward to hear better the ringmaster's reply.

"I really don't doubt your skill, my dear, it's just that you have hardly any experience. How can I possibly tell how well you are at performing in front of a live audience?" The manager's voice sounded impatient as if he had been over that point a matter of times and it still hadn't gotten through to the girl.

"Just because I've never actually performed any of these things in front of a live audience before, doesn't mean that I haven't done other things." Her voice took on an offended manner, as if insulted. "My references-"

"Your references don't mean a damned thing." The manager was beginning to sound curt, almost rude. "They're too unreliable. This group that you say you started from- well, it's not-"

"It's not what?! Are you implying that I'm unqualified or that my performance group was untrained?!" she demanded, her voice suddenly sounding more than a little dangerous.

"I've made my decision and nothing you can say or do will change that."

"Wanna bet?"

And with a short running start she made a quick leap into the air and Trowa got his first good look at her face. Then, time seemed to freeze.

The girl could not possibly have been more than sixteen or so. Her tiny size and higher-pitched voice was his evidence to his conclusion, her vulnerable mouth and widely innocent eyes also gave her an air of naïveté. She was definitely not the stereotypical 'classic' beauty like Relena Peacecraft Yuy was considered. The female Prime Minister was revered with her ivory complexion, naturally cherubic mouth, alabastor brows, honey-colored hair, and impeccable taste that bordered between chic and old money. Throwing in those sympathetic angel-like blue eyes of hers and she was undeniably gorgeous, among the fifty most beautiful people of all time, or so said the gossip columns at the moment.

This girl was far from that description. Her ensemble consisted of a loose black sweatshirt and worn-down jeans with plain running sneakers. Something Mrs. Heero Yuy would not be caught dead in. But other than her dowdy dress, she couldn't possibly be classified as ugly. There was something evasively attractive about her face that just couldn't be called ugly. High, slashing cheekbones, a small pointy French nose, and a small, delicate bone structure made her look fragile and almost doll-like. Her straight black hair wasn't tied back and reached only her shoulders at an angle. Her most striking feature was her eyes. Their unusual color, a dark indigo reminiscent of European royalty, were rather familiar in an unexplainable way and they seemed out of place amidst the rest of her exotic looks, with her sun-kissed skin and almond shaped eyes. But it wasn't just their extraordinary color, it was their expressiveness that seemed to exist in them all the time. Currently, there was a hard glint of anger and determination that burned in them that couldn't be ignored.

The distinct rebounding spring sound of a rope being yanked and tightened echoed in the empty tent, causing Trowa to jerk from his deliberation of the girl and turn his gaze upwards. He looked up just in time to see her hoist herself onto the wire, where she had caught the wire from her jump. Apparently, the girl had just leapt onto the high wire from the ground.

Without help.

It took a second for it to sink into his brain, but when it did he blinked in astonishment, his eyes widening a fraction. He wasn't the only one to think that the feat was impressive, because when he glanced to see what the manager was thinking of this. An awed expression of almost disbelief was stuck on the ringmaster's face.

It certainly wasn't normal for a person to suddenly, out of nowhere, make an almost impossible jump onto a twenty feet high wire. Especially this twit of a kid, who looked like she could hardly tie her shoelaces by herself, much less do something that he, himself, could only accomplish with at least a thirty mph drive behind him and a ten yard runway. Or maybe he was just getting too old for that type of stuff. The girl smiled and bowed extravagantly, exaggerating for dramatic effect. She straightened and three small daggers appeared in her hand, apparently taken from her sleeves. After ostentatiously waving them around, she bent backward and flipped, landing on the wire again on a perfectly balanced position on her feet. One dagger had disappeared from her hands. Trowa glanced over at the target in the middle of the ring and did a double take. The dagger had landed precisely in the bulls-eye.

He heard the ringmaster gasp and in the corner of his eye saw him take a step back in astonishment. But the girl wasn't finished with her act yet. Flipping again in the air, landing on her right hand, she hurled her second dagger. It settled right above the first dagger, the tip lodged exactly next to the first. Then the girl bowed again and lithely leapt off the high wire, doing a complicated sort of flip in the air. Trowa counted four twists, a direction change, and something else that looked familiar. To top it off, she alighted perfectly on the ground and pointed to the target. The third dagger was embedded neatly between the first two.

The girl grinned and stared at the ringmaster, looking for some type of response. He just nodded, still awestruck and cleared his throat. He attempted a business demeanor, but it was overcome with his stunned antics.

"Uh… you can sign the papers tomorrow morning. I'll introduce you to the rest of the troupe then, too. When our starter acrobat, uh… Catherine, yes, Catherine. When she- er- leaves, um … you can replace her, as you suggested before. Even if it is only a temporary situation, you're better than no one. I guess you can… p-practice now. Tell Catherine about the situation, she'll show you the ropes and she'll feed you and give you a bed in her trailer and- uh... At least, for the time being."

"Don't worry, sir. I have a place to stay, for tonight at least. I'll see you tomorrow, then," the girl's voice was cheerful now, smugly so. The ringmaster left, shaking his head, dazed. The girl then turned to Trowa and smiled broadly, having completely dropped her dreamy air from before.

"Well, hello way over there. How'd you like my little act?" Trowa smirked, not really surprised that she had noticed him; she seemed pretty sharp for just a kid. And he wasn't really being too inconspicuous, anyway.

"Hmm. You didn't' mention your name." When he merely skirted her frivolous question, she flipped her black locks over her shoulder impatiently and waited. Trowa stepped out from his darkened corner.

A self-assured, amused, and altogether too superior smile lit her face. Her hands went to her hips as she unconsciously took a confident and assertive posture. Cocky brat, he couldn't help thinking with a touch of amusement. "You first, stargazer."

"Trowa. Trowa Barton." Although, his voice was collected and detached as always. He folded his arms over his chest, in a defensive stance.

At his name, her smile evaporated, the bright light in her eyes hardening. She raised an eyebrow, her voice sounding heavy and weary, older than the high young tone gave it right to be. "The famous Trowa Barton, hero of the battle between the colonies and Earth. Or at least one of the heroes. Isn't it just my lucky night to meet celebrities?" There was a beat of tense silence, after which she whirled around without another word and strode over to the target to retrieve her daggers.

He couldn't stop the frown that sprang to his face at her less than enthusiastic reaction at his identity.

It was strange that this girl out of the thousands of people, who'd seen him over the years, would recognize his name and identify him so quickly. It had been many years since the war and most people had forgotten the heroic deeds that had been performed by the Gundams and their pilots. Those heroic deeds that had won the freedom and peace of the colonies and Earth. This girl couldn't have been more than a kid when the war was still raging, though. How could she know about the war in such a way? His eyes narrowed, but didn't comment about the irregularity.

"You could say that. And your name?" he asked, refusing to follow her and was forced to raise his low voice so that she could hear him from across the tent.

"Cala."

The two-syllabled name slid glibly off of her tongue, though she didn't elaborate. So the brat-girl who was far from impressed with him was sulking? It was obviously his cue to leave, but he ignored her edging and didn't budge.

She started to pull out her daggers; doing so with ease and efficiency, as if she had done it many times before. Trowa sighed inwardly and barely refrained from rolling his eyes, deciding that he was too mature (or at least too old) for that, while finally walking over to help her. Cala showed no reaction to his decision to help. He absently tugged lightly on one of the daggers, but surprisingly it was pretty deeply embedded into the target and he had to pull harder on the dagger to extract it. Cala's lips twitched then curved in a small smile of amusement as she accepted the dagger from him. From this close range he could see that her eyes weren't only an extraordinary color and clear as a newborns, but there was a steadiness to them. A sort of self-confidence that had one had to be born with. Something that very few people possessed.

"Now, what exactly were you doing spying on me, Gundam pilot?" Trowa frowned again at the emphasis on his entitlement and the mild distaste that he sensed when she'd said it, though he was sure that she'd said it to lighten the mood.

"I wasn't spying." His neutral tone taking on a defensive edge.

"Sure, then what were you doing?" she asked, her voice was doubtful, but her eyes twinkled teasingly, seeming to have forgotten her mysterious resentment towards him.

"I was getting a better look at you. I couldn't see your face too clearly during our initial encounter." His voice was surlier than ever, but his expression maintained the same blandness.

"Hmm. So, what's so interesting about me?" Trowa looked sharply at Cala. She held up her hands like she was surrendering and grinned.

"Educated guess, that's all. I figured that if someone were spying on me, they'd have thought me to be interesting. Telepathy and psychic mind-reading aren't part of my repertoire of accomplishments in life."

He looked dubious, as insane as it sounded, but cautiously replied anyway. "I just think that you're pretty young to runaway from home and join the circus." Cala laughed that laugh of hers in a reply, but Trowa just waited, knowing that she would answer him.

"Isn't everyone too young to runaway from their home? And exactly how old do you think I am?" she asked with an amused smile blooming slowly on her face again, though he could detect a very faint touch of irony behind the smile.

"At least sixteen, probably around seventeen at most, but definitely not much older." He studied her features again, this time he was closer up and could see her much more clearly. Cala laughed again clearly entertained by what he's said.

"I'm really very flattered, but I turn twenty-two in a few months." He blinked in surprise.

"Oh, you look a lot younger than that." His voice trailed off in embarrassment. Wasn't he supposed to be the expert in evaluating people' physical and mental states?

"That can be a good thing and a bad thing at the same time." She grinned again. And through his shame, he couldn't help but respond mutually to her bright and sunny attitude.

"Where did you learn how to throw daggers like that? Since you've been asking all the questions so far, I think I'm entitled to at least one question of my own," he said with uncharacteristic humor, the corners of his lips twitching in a suppressed smile.

"Oh, it's just a little hobby I like to do when I'm bored. Do you like horses?" she asked, combing a hand through her hair and, smile still locked, lifted her chin slightly as if to challenge him about the topic change.

"Yes, I do like horses and you're avoiding answering my question." His eyebrows rose, as he responded to the challenge, although his neutral tone remained.

"I know." She pivoted to face the tent opening, pursed her lips and whistled loudly. Then he forgot all about the topic-change. A beautiful snow-white Arabian stallion gracefully trotted into the tent and fearlessly approached Trowa. He shook his magnificent head in greeting and nuzzled Trowa's shirt, taking his scent. Trowa almost took a step back out of surprise, but quickly recovered and rubbed the stallion's large soft nose.

"His name's Blizzard. Actually, his full name's The Horrible Snow Blizzard, but I had to shorten it," Cala informed him offhandedly. She shot the horse a crooked grin and stepped up to the affectionate animal. Blizzard immediately turned his attention from Trowa to his mistress.

"Why did you have to shorten it?" he asked. His eyes lit with amusement at the thought of the overbearing girl- er woman submitting to a mere horse.

"Because he won't answer to his full name." She fired a quick, dirty look at Trowa before she returned to spoiling her horse with her undivided attention. The silent glance obviously warning him not to laugh.

"And why's that?" The question was irresistible. He leaned back to get a better look at her, fighting to control his obvious amusement from seeping into his voice.

"Ask him. I have no idea. I just follow his orders, not the other way around." She smirked in wry amusement, then sobered quickly. "Can you look after him, for me? Tomorrow after meeting the rest of the troupe I have to go to an important conference with someone. Trust me, I tried canceling, rescheduling, and everything else. It's unavoidable. So, I have to leave and I want to leave him here. He hates traveling the untraditional way on cars and trailers. Don't ask me why, he just does." She held up her hands in resignation and shrugged. Blizzard quickly switched alliances to gain an advantage, bothering Trowa, looking for treats in the pockets of his jeans.

"Hmm." His tone was indecisive as he weighed the positives and negatives of doing the favor for Cala. Would it make a difference later on? Why should he, when Cala annoyed him so much? Blizzard butted him gently in the head, urging Trowa to hurry up, and his defenses crumbled at the show of affection. He nodded reluctantly in agreement and Cala grinned. He was getting a vague idea why the overbearing woman shirked to a 'mere horse'.

"I'd better be going, now. It's getting late." She whistled again, while walking up to a mounting block set a couple yards away. Blizzard instantly left Trowa's side, trotting in Cala's direction, and stopping directly in front of the mounting block, smugly reached it before his mistress did. She made a face and hurried to step on the block to mount him. Then, she exited the tent, giving a small wave to Trowa. Trowa shook his head and headed for the trailer he shared with Catherine, wondering just what he had gotten himself into.

~*~*~

That morning afterwards…

The ringmaster called the entire troupe together for a meeting. Cala stood silently beside the ringmaster, while he introduced her. He said that she had signed on for a contract for about a year as a temporary replacement for Catherine. She was fully trained and experienced, he informed everyone, so there was no need for additional training to the relief of everyone. She gave a small smile to the troupe when he pushed her forward, a smile that none the less reached her eyes and she was welcomed into the group without second thought. When she mysteriously disappeared into thin air after the dismissal from the meeting no one seemed to take note of her absence.

No one, except Trowa.

Trowa looked unobtrusively around the bustling area, while walking with his sister, trying not to act curious about her whereabouts. That didn't fool Catherine. Nothing ever did.

"Well, she seems very nice. Doesn't she, Trowa?" Catherine inquired her brother; her violet eyes were attempting to pin down his searching ones.

"Hmm." He was distracted, his eyes still wandering.

"I don't know whether she'll be able to take the full responsibility of being in the limelight, though. I'm rather surprised that the manager took her on. What do you think, Trowa?" she asked, still trying to catch his full attention.

"Hmm, couldn't tell." He still remained distracted.

"Sure. Then, why were you out so late last night? I know that you weren't training that whole entire time. You wouldn't have been spying on a certain girl who happened to be in the main tent at that moment, would you?" Trowa started and jerked his head, surprised, and finally focused fully on his sister.

"How would you know that?" One eyebrow flew up and his eyes narrowed.

"Hmm. Logical deduction, along with some women's intuition… and of course a little help from the manager," his sister replied innocently, flipping her shiny rust colored curls out of her face.

"Ah." Trowa's mouth twitched, but he remained undisturbed.

Her brow creased in a frown. Trowa was so hopelessly stubborn. He refused to reveal his feelings. Although he applied this to every other aspect of his life, in this particular case it frustrated Catherine. She only wanted the best for him, but she couldn't help him when he would not acknowledge what was best for him. She had pledged it long ago, to protect him and ensure his happiness. Always. Of course, when he had found her subtly setting him up on select dates with boring women that she found suitable, he had forced her to promise to stay out of his love life. Not that he ever had one. He refused to associate with women besides her, at least before now. He found them particularly annoying and irritating, though the feelings weren't mutual for women's standpoints. No, for some odd reason, he was taking a special interest in her 'replacement'. And Catherine just had to know for sure that what he was feeling was true… for his sake and Cala's.

"Trowa, just admit it," Catherine blurted out her demand, breaking down, completely exasperated, and guiltlessly ignoring her forced promise to stay out of Trowa's love life.

"Admit what, Cathy?" His face remained blank and his tone passive, as they always were.

"Oh, never mind! You've always been too stubborn for your own good. She's tending that horse of hers behind the main tent." With that Catherine turned and left Trowa to wonder just how much his sister knew about his thoughts and feelings.

He shrugged it off after a moment and strolled behind the main tent. Just before Cala actually came into sight, Trowa could hear her voice talking to Blizzard, her tone casual and dreamy.

"… I know you're right, Blizz. It's just, well… Okay, okay. The chances of him actually knowing that I'm a- hold on." Her dreamy voice became suddenly on guard, tense. "Is someone there?" Trowa stepped out into the open and Cala visibly relaxed.

"Haven't you realized that spying on a person is very rude?" she said to him, mock scolding. Trowa just gave a small smile in reply and headed over to Blizzard. Cala was brushing his spotless, glossy coat, while confiding in the horse. Trowa picked up another brush from a box on the ground and began to assist her.

"So what was the purpose of your coming here?" she queried, lifting an eyebrow, but turning back to her work.

"I… really don't know." Cala whipped her head around in surprise, and saw Trowa's perplexed countenance at his own unknown reason.

"Well, at least you're honest." Then she added after a pause, "I think subconsciously you find me interesting, you just have no idea why." She tilted her head slightly to the left after she disbursed a short scrutiny.

"Maybe." A comfortable silence followed his reply, both people of which absently tending the complacent horse.

"Are you going to keep that promise you made to me, last night? When you promised to take care of Blizzard for me while I'm gone." She didn't look up, keeping her act of preoccupation up, pausing only slightly in her rhythmic brushing.

"Yes, I never break promises." He patted the stallion lightly on his flanks. Blizzard's only response was to swat flies away with his tail.

"Great. I have to get going now, so thanks again." She nonchalantly laid down the brush and meticulously surveyed Trowa, as if she were searching for false intentions.

"If you leave him here, then how are you going to make that trip?" he asked indifferently, not surprised at her suspicion of him.

"I have other modes of transportation." A flicker of belligerence appeared in her cerulean eyes. She turned and traipsed gracefully over to the trees surrounding the tent. Trowa noticed for the first time that she wasn't wearing the baggy sweater ensemble, like she had the day before. Wearing a blue V-neck shirt, that matched her eyes perfectly, and khaki trousers with a tailored black blazer, he could tell that Cala was definitely not a sixteen-year-old kid. She had the slender curves of a mature female, not an adolescent girl. She bent over the brush and carefully straightened something. Trowa walked over to see that she held in her hands a shiny dark blue Yamaha motorcycle. He simply raised his eyebrows in response.

"Well, I'll see you before the evening show starts. Tell the ringmaster not to worry about me." She strapped a plain black helmet onto her head and pulling the motorcycle out of the brush, mounted it. Tugging down opaque goggles, she ignited the engine. And after revving the bike for a moment, she pulled a pop a wheelie and was soon out of sight. Trowa heard an abrupt snort and a cold nose shoved into his ear. Surprised, he spun around to find an annoyed Blizzard glaring at him. It was obvious that the look signified the horse's opinion in that since Cala was gone, Trowa would have to replace her as caretaker, at least temporarily. Trowa smirked; realizing exactly what Cala meant about whom was master in that situation, and returned to grooming the horse.