Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Opposing Realities ❯ Satisfy ( Chapter 1 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: KentraShinataku02 
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.04.2003 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.3K | Visits: 499 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.04.2003 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.3K | Visits: 499 | Status: Completed
Warnings: AU, angst, violence, abuse, NCS, death, language, OOC-ness,
lotsa OC's, POV switches (Duo-Fei, will be marked at begining of
section with a +D or +W), prostitution, drug and alcohol use,...
more will probably be added to the list...
Disclaimer: Don't own Gundam Wing of course... haven't you figured
it out yet?
Notes: The first chapter of this seems very innocent and nice...
just my little tool to lure you in before I dump the angst on you.
Shit, was I supposed to give away the master plan _before_ you read
this? ^_~ Oh and one more thing, the bad grammar usage in this, it
was used on purpose. I'm not just stupid, some of these kids never
had a chance to learn how to talk right, and don't really care, so
don't be picky with 'em!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Opposing Realities
Part One: Satisfy
"Excuse me," I murmur mock-genuinely as I avert my gaze from the overweight man's face. He smiles before turning away, not knowing that the brush against his side was more than accidental and that his wallet is now stuffed firmly in my own pocket. By the time he even notices, I'll be long gone and he won't give me a second thought. I'm not yet positive whether I like the idea of nobody remembering or recognizing me; we'll see if it plays to my advantage today, and from there I'll take it a step at a time.
I don't feel sorry for the fool, not at all, not if it means a meal or two for me and some of the others who have no home but the streets. Maybe this will teach him to keep his wallet somewhere that hungry thieves can't reach it so easily. Leaving something of such value half out of your pocket in a crowded subway station is easy bait, whether he realized it was in my plain sight or not.
What am I doing in a subway station anyways? Does it look like I have extra cash to be riding around all over the city? My pockets are healthily stashed with the 'earnings' from today's work, which include a few wallets, a hat, a couple dollars in spare change that I picked from the ground, and the overcoat that I'm wearing on top of it all. I leave the station and head towards the backstreets I call home as I shake free my long brown braid from where it is stuffed in my shirt. Makes it much easier to avoid recognition. I could cut it and make life a hell of a lot easier, but I doubt that I'll ever get rid of it. Call me sentimental, but it's the only real constant in my life. Well, besides cold and hunger, but I don't exactly have a choice on that, now do I? The braid I keep of my own will. Even if I did have a choice to remove those other two factors from my life, would I? I honestly can't answer that. I know by now that I could have a fuller tummy and a hell of a lot more clothing... but only if I was a greedy son of a bitch. My gang comes before me; they get first dibs on everything I collect, because they _don't_ have the same choice as me. Most of them don't have the strength and skills to live out here alone, but I can. I can steal without remorse, and without getting caught. I'm their provider and there is no way in _hell_ that I'll submit myself to trivial comforts when they need it more.
A faint sobbing interrupts my thoughts as I make my way to the condemned home we're staying at for the time being. My trained ears automatically pinpoint the direction of the sound and I lengthen my strides upon realizing that they are the cries of a child. Obviously my ears are correct; the sobbing grows louder at each turn. When you live in constant fear as long as I have, it's hard not to have ears this good. Twisting through the alleys, the cries become more desperate. How did such a small child get this far back here?
Finally I see her, a girl no older than eight years old curled up, and clutching part of a dented cardboard box as her dirty blonde hair shields her face. Her dingy, faded pink tank top is too small for her and her torn white pants hang inches above her ankles, revealing the length of time she's had to wear them. She's obviously like me, somebody who is used to the harsh street conditions. But the streets are much crueler when you're alone, and even more so to young girls.
I start to approach her, vaguely wondering how close she will let me get. I'm a man, and probably eight or nine years older than her. I know she's been hurt by men on the streets just by looking at her. How could she not have been, if she's out here all alone? I edge nearer to her quietly, but she doesn't seem to acknowledge my presence yet.
I kneel down next to her, not blocking the few escape routes she has, ensuring that she doesn't feel trapped.
"You know, I heard you crying from a few streets away. That's a loud noise somebody as small as you can make," I whisper plainly, not looking at her. She looks up, wide-eyed and red-faced, her cheeks streaked with blood and dirt as well as with tears. She has the same street hungry eyes as I've seen so many times before, but just my looking at her I know she had a home once. I know how much she lost, how much she's fallen in her short life, and I still haven't even heard the sound of her voice.
"I'm sorry," she squeaks, her choked back sobs evident in her voice. I smile warmly towards her.
"I wasn't angry with you or anything, I was worried about you."
I slide into a sitting position, leaning my head against the wall behind me, waiting for a response. I don't want to say anymore until she does, I don't want to pose a threat to her. She stands up, looking at me defiantly yet compassionately, obviously lost for words.
"Where are you going?" I ask simply, making no move to stand when she turns away. If she thinks that I'll follow her, she's wrong. I'm not going to cause her panic. She shrugs off my question.
"Wherever my feet take me."
"Suit yourself," I say, letting her know I'm not trying to lure or seduce her, "but if you want to stay and talk for a little bit, that's okay with me."
Her eyes widen for a split second, confirming my suspicions that she fears me. But something inside her clicks and is desperate to break free, I know it. She needs somebody. And obviously she's notice that I haven't even made a move to touch her, because she sits back down next to me.
"What's your name? I'm Duo."
"My name Dara," she whispers, distrust clearly evident at the somewhat intrusive question. She sounds so innocent to my scathed ears, but I know it's only her youth. "Why you git such long hair?"
She looks at my braid, intrigued by its length as an awkward hand reaches to touch it. I wince slightly; I don't really like people touching my hair, but I want to gain her trust. I smile warmly,
"I like it this way. It suits me, even though it _is_ getting a bit long, what do you think?"
She grins, running her small fingers through the loops of it, "I think it pretty."
"Thank you, Dara. Are you alone out here?" I question, wanting to get as much easy information out of her as I can, maybe be able to help her. She nods slightly, as if wondering whether I would disapprove.
"I runned away when I's five, an' when they foun' me, they say my parents die in a fire. Then they put me in a orphanage an' I runned away from there too."
"Well, sounds like you've been through a lot in your life, for one so young," I say sympathetically, though the story doesn't shock me in the least. The behind the scenes story may change my mind a little bit, if I'm fortunate enough to hear it. "So how old are you now?"
"I's seven... maybe eight by now. Not exactly sure when's my birthday," she says, proud of the years that have accumulated beneath her and seem much longer to her than they do me.
"Ah, you're like me then, I don't have a birthday either. But I made one up for myself, July 1st." To my surprise, she giggles.
"You can't jus' invent a birthday!"
I stare at her, amused, "Who's going to stop me? I can give you a birthday too, if you'd like."
"Really? Can be in March sometime? My favorite month," she says, laughter still tingling her lips.
"Hmm... alright, what's your favorite number?" I ask with a grin. I really love kids too much, they've given me a soft spot.
"Ehhh... three," the replies timidly.
"Three, huh? Tell you what, since I already have a friend whose birthday is March 3, how 'bout we make your special day March 30?"
Her eyes widen in delight as if all she had ever wanted was a birthday of her own. She looks as if she would hug me, had she not experienced undeniable situations that cause her to avoid contact with me.
"Thanks! I like you."
"Well then, I'm honored I could win your respect. I've got to get back to the rest of my gang soon, though. If you'd like, you could join me," I offer. She stares, her excitement turning skeptical. "We won't even touch you, I promise. We can get you warmer clothes and some food though, and you only have to stay as long as you want."
"Is it a bunch of guys like you?"
"Guys and girls, of all ages. They're not all like me, but they are all good people, if you're on their side. I'm the oldest. Right now the youngest is an eight year old girl named Dacia," I say in hope of convincing her that she would have a friend waiting for her. I really don't want to leave her out here alone. She stares at me for a long while, inspecting me as if I am a criminal. Which I am, I hate to remind myself. But I hope to be trustworthy enough to pass the child's test.
"Guess I coul' check it out," she says, a daring smile shadowing her lips.
"That's the spirit, kiddo," I laugh as I stand up and head back to our temporary shelter.
+D+
Kentra is eyeing me suspiciously at the request to get Dara cleaned up. I'll talk to her about it later, after I finish taking care of the rest of them. I last let them eat about two and a half days ago. Today and yesterday I collected enough money to feed most of us.
"Where's Heero?" I call to Trowa who is smoking in the corner.
"You know where he is," is the other boy's slick reply, "off 'making money'."
"Well then you're gonna have to replace him for a little bit, now won't you?" I ask, eyebrow raised.
"Depends, what the hell are you gonna put me through _this_ time?" he shoots back as a grin shines in his emerald eyes.
"Dinner."
That's really all I need to say, because in seconds he's got a sweatshirt pulled over his head and is heading towards the door. Sometimes I think Trowa is hungrier than the rest of us, he always seems to need more food, but he never gains a pound. I think it's the drugs that do it to him. It seems impossible to pull him off them though, believe me, I've tried.
The walk to the fast food place is short. What kind of city doesn't have a burger joint on the corner of every street anymore? This is a big city, there's a lot of places to get this greasy crap that we live off of. But I'm headed to this one in particular because I know that today is $.50 cheeseburger day, and with just today's cash, I can afford two meals for everybody. They'll eat well today, I hope that will give their grim faces a reason to smile for just a little bit.
I smile with satisfaction as we head back to the house, the smell of long awaited food drifting towards us and the lingering memory of the startled expression in the cashier's voice when we spoke our desired quantity of food. There was even enough food for myself and the other few of us that sacrifice their own meals for the others. I haven't eaten now for almost two weeks, along with Heero, Solo, and Kentra. I worry about them, they seem too thin. Though they never had too much extra weight in the first place, even when I first found them.
Two of the younger kids run to me expectantly as the smell of foods drifts through the house. I pat them on the head and they laugh a little, following me to the kitchen where I deposit the precious cargo on the crumbling counter.
Hungry faces fill the kitchen, and for a minute I feel as if I'm running an orphanage or homeless shelter, rather than leading a tough gang. Though they are tough, I can't deny that. They are some of the toughest kids I know, but I hate to think of what will happen to them, especially the younger ones, if they keep living like this. It's been too hard to feed us all lately, too hard to keep fighting and keep strong when we're this run down.
lotsa OC's, POV switches (Duo-Fei, will be marked at begining of
section with a +D or +W), prostitution, drug and alcohol use,...
more will probably be added to the list...
Disclaimer: Don't own Gundam Wing of course... haven't you figured
it out yet?
Notes: The first chapter of this seems very innocent and nice...
just my little tool to lure you in before I dump the angst on you.
Shit, was I supposed to give away the master plan _before_ you read
this? ^_~ Oh and one more thing, the bad grammar usage in this, it
was used on purpose. I'm not just stupid, some of these kids never
had a chance to learn how to talk right, and don't really care, so
don't be picky with 'em!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Opposing Realities
Part One: Satisfy
"Excuse me," I murmur mock-genuinely as I avert my gaze from the overweight man's face. He smiles before turning away, not knowing that the brush against his side was more than accidental and that his wallet is now stuffed firmly in my own pocket. By the time he even notices, I'll be long gone and he won't give me a second thought. I'm not yet positive whether I like the idea of nobody remembering or recognizing me; we'll see if it plays to my advantage today, and from there I'll take it a step at a time.
I don't feel sorry for the fool, not at all, not if it means a meal or two for me and some of the others who have no home but the streets. Maybe this will teach him to keep his wallet somewhere that hungry thieves can't reach it so easily. Leaving something of such value half out of your pocket in a crowded subway station is easy bait, whether he realized it was in my plain sight or not.
What am I doing in a subway station anyways? Does it look like I have extra cash to be riding around all over the city? My pockets are healthily stashed with the 'earnings' from today's work, which include a few wallets, a hat, a couple dollars in spare change that I picked from the ground, and the overcoat that I'm wearing on top of it all. I leave the station and head towards the backstreets I call home as I shake free my long brown braid from where it is stuffed in my shirt. Makes it much easier to avoid recognition. I could cut it and make life a hell of a lot easier, but I doubt that I'll ever get rid of it. Call me sentimental, but it's the only real constant in my life. Well, besides cold and hunger, but I don't exactly have a choice on that, now do I? The braid I keep of my own will. Even if I did have a choice to remove those other two factors from my life, would I? I honestly can't answer that. I know by now that I could have a fuller tummy and a hell of a lot more clothing... but only if I was a greedy son of a bitch. My gang comes before me; they get first dibs on everything I collect, because they _don't_ have the same choice as me. Most of them don't have the strength and skills to live out here alone, but I can. I can steal without remorse, and without getting caught. I'm their provider and there is no way in _hell_ that I'll submit myself to trivial comforts when they need it more.
A faint sobbing interrupts my thoughts as I make my way to the condemned home we're staying at for the time being. My trained ears automatically pinpoint the direction of the sound and I lengthen my strides upon realizing that they are the cries of a child. Obviously my ears are correct; the sobbing grows louder at each turn. When you live in constant fear as long as I have, it's hard not to have ears this good. Twisting through the alleys, the cries become more desperate. How did such a small child get this far back here?
Finally I see her, a girl no older than eight years old curled up, and clutching part of a dented cardboard box as her dirty blonde hair shields her face. Her dingy, faded pink tank top is too small for her and her torn white pants hang inches above her ankles, revealing the length of time she's had to wear them. She's obviously like me, somebody who is used to the harsh street conditions. But the streets are much crueler when you're alone, and even more so to young girls.
I start to approach her, vaguely wondering how close she will let me get. I'm a man, and probably eight or nine years older than her. I know she's been hurt by men on the streets just by looking at her. How could she not have been, if she's out here all alone? I edge nearer to her quietly, but she doesn't seem to acknowledge my presence yet.
I kneel down next to her, not blocking the few escape routes she has, ensuring that she doesn't feel trapped.
"You know, I heard you crying from a few streets away. That's a loud noise somebody as small as you can make," I whisper plainly, not looking at her. She looks up, wide-eyed and red-faced, her cheeks streaked with blood and dirt as well as with tears. She has the same street hungry eyes as I've seen so many times before, but just my looking at her I know she had a home once. I know how much she lost, how much she's fallen in her short life, and I still haven't even heard the sound of her voice.
"I'm sorry," she squeaks, her choked back sobs evident in her voice. I smile warmly towards her.
"I wasn't angry with you or anything, I was worried about you."
I slide into a sitting position, leaning my head against the wall behind me, waiting for a response. I don't want to say anymore until she does, I don't want to pose a threat to her. She stands up, looking at me defiantly yet compassionately, obviously lost for words.
"Where are you going?" I ask simply, making no move to stand when she turns away. If she thinks that I'll follow her, she's wrong. I'm not going to cause her panic. She shrugs off my question.
"Wherever my feet take me."
"Suit yourself," I say, letting her know I'm not trying to lure or seduce her, "but if you want to stay and talk for a little bit, that's okay with me."
Her eyes widen for a split second, confirming my suspicions that she fears me. But something inside her clicks and is desperate to break free, I know it. She needs somebody. And obviously she's notice that I haven't even made a move to touch her, because she sits back down next to me.
"What's your name? I'm Duo."
"My name Dara," she whispers, distrust clearly evident at the somewhat intrusive question. She sounds so innocent to my scathed ears, but I know it's only her youth. "Why you git such long hair?"
She looks at my braid, intrigued by its length as an awkward hand reaches to touch it. I wince slightly; I don't really like people touching my hair, but I want to gain her trust. I smile warmly,
"I like it this way. It suits me, even though it _is_ getting a bit long, what do you think?"
She grins, running her small fingers through the loops of it, "I think it pretty."
"Thank you, Dara. Are you alone out here?" I question, wanting to get as much easy information out of her as I can, maybe be able to help her. She nods slightly, as if wondering whether I would disapprove.
"I runned away when I's five, an' when they foun' me, they say my parents die in a fire. Then they put me in a orphanage an' I runned away from there too."
"Well, sounds like you've been through a lot in your life, for one so young," I say sympathetically, though the story doesn't shock me in the least. The behind the scenes story may change my mind a little bit, if I'm fortunate enough to hear it. "So how old are you now?"
"I's seven... maybe eight by now. Not exactly sure when's my birthday," she says, proud of the years that have accumulated beneath her and seem much longer to her than they do me.
"Ah, you're like me then, I don't have a birthday either. But I made one up for myself, July 1st." To my surprise, she giggles.
"You can't jus' invent a birthday!"
I stare at her, amused, "Who's going to stop me? I can give you a birthday too, if you'd like."
"Really? Can be in March sometime? My favorite month," she says, laughter still tingling her lips.
"Hmm... alright, what's your favorite number?" I ask with a grin. I really love kids too much, they've given me a soft spot.
"Ehhh... three," the replies timidly.
"Three, huh? Tell you what, since I already have a friend whose birthday is March 3, how 'bout we make your special day March 30?"
Her eyes widen in delight as if all she had ever wanted was a birthday of her own. She looks as if she would hug me, had she not experienced undeniable situations that cause her to avoid contact with me.
"Thanks! I like you."
"Well then, I'm honored I could win your respect. I've got to get back to the rest of my gang soon, though. If you'd like, you could join me," I offer. She stares, her excitement turning skeptical. "We won't even touch you, I promise. We can get you warmer clothes and some food though, and you only have to stay as long as you want."
"Is it a bunch of guys like you?"
"Guys and girls, of all ages. They're not all like me, but they are all good people, if you're on their side. I'm the oldest. Right now the youngest is an eight year old girl named Dacia," I say in hope of convincing her that she would have a friend waiting for her. I really don't want to leave her out here alone. She stares at me for a long while, inspecting me as if I am a criminal. Which I am, I hate to remind myself. But I hope to be trustworthy enough to pass the child's test.
"Guess I coul' check it out," she says, a daring smile shadowing her lips.
"That's the spirit, kiddo," I laugh as I stand up and head back to our temporary shelter.
+D+
Kentra is eyeing me suspiciously at the request to get Dara cleaned up. I'll talk to her about it later, after I finish taking care of the rest of them. I last let them eat about two and a half days ago. Today and yesterday I collected enough money to feed most of us.
"Where's Heero?" I call to Trowa who is smoking in the corner.
"You know where he is," is the other boy's slick reply, "off 'making money'."
"Well then you're gonna have to replace him for a little bit, now won't you?" I ask, eyebrow raised.
"Depends, what the hell are you gonna put me through _this_ time?" he shoots back as a grin shines in his emerald eyes.
"Dinner."
That's really all I need to say, because in seconds he's got a sweatshirt pulled over his head and is heading towards the door. Sometimes I think Trowa is hungrier than the rest of us, he always seems to need more food, but he never gains a pound. I think it's the drugs that do it to him. It seems impossible to pull him off them though, believe me, I've tried.
The walk to the fast food place is short. What kind of city doesn't have a burger joint on the corner of every street anymore? This is a big city, there's a lot of places to get this greasy crap that we live off of. But I'm headed to this one in particular because I know that today is $.50 cheeseburger day, and with just today's cash, I can afford two meals for everybody. They'll eat well today, I hope that will give their grim faces a reason to smile for just a little bit.
I smile with satisfaction as we head back to the house, the smell of long awaited food drifting towards us and the lingering memory of the startled expression in the cashier's voice when we spoke our desired quantity of food. There was even enough food for myself and the other few of us that sacrifice their own meals for the others. I haven't eaten now for almost two weeks, along with Heero, Solo, and Kentra. I worry about them, they seem too thin. Though they never had too much extra weight in the first place, even when I first found them.
Two of the younger kids run to me expectantly as the smell of foods drifts through the house. I pat them on the head and they laugh a little, following me to the kitchen where I deposit the precious cargo on the crumbling counter.
Hungry faces fill the kitchen, and for a minute I feel as if I'm running an orphanage or homeless shelter, rather than leading a tough gang. Though they are tough, I can't deny that. They are some of the toughest kids I know, but I hate to think of what will happen to them, especially the younger ones, if they keep living like this. It's been too hard to feed us all lately, too hard to keep fighting and keep strong when we're this run down.