Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Post Up...And One! ❯ Here To Stay ( Chapter 1 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Quatre returns to New Park City; what does Dost have in store for him?
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama / Comedy | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 7.6K | Visits: 447 | Status: Completed
Quatre returns to New Park City; what does Dost have in store for him?
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama / Comedy | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 7.6K | Visits: 447 | Status: Completed
Alternate Universe, Drama, Romance, Loooooong Chapters...
Standard Disclaimers Apply: Don’t own Gundam Wing, but I own every original character that emerges...Don’t own the songs listed with the chapters, either...Or any other big name thingy that comes by...Wal-mart, McD’s, Pepsi, Snickers...etc., etc.
Warnings: Original Fictional Charas, cursing, partying, general angst, narcotics, and helluva out of character charas! Lemon warnings will be announced when they come (snicker)
Pairings: TrowaxSylvia MxF...uh...and others...
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20means change of scene
Chapter One:
“Here To Stay” Korn
His flight into Aprexal International Airport had been rather smooth, uninterrupted, and quite–unusual. The private airplane made him self-conscious in a way that had him squirming on the leather seats with an embarrassed air. There were two other college bound students with him, both of them equally as uncomfortable and one of them breathing into an inhaler. They were all headed into New Park City for the start of college, and for Quatre R. Winner, it was a return to a place he considered home. He couldn’t wait to see familiar faces and hear excited jibberish again–he had kept in communication with his friends via cell, but it wasn’t the same as meeting them in person.
But first, he had to get some things out of the way.
There was someone waiting for him in the airport lobby. Unsurprised by the face of a Gray alien, whose characteristic large black eyes and slender face gazed blankly into the throng of the airport patrons, Quatre tugged on his carry-on bag and cautiously approached the little guy. The alien turned its unblinking gaze onto him, gesturing at the oddly written sign it held.
Quatre nodded. “That’s me.”
The Gray alien lowered the sign, stared at him for a few moments, then nodded with an affirmative gesture. He signaled for the blond to follow him, and proceed to walk smoothly through the airport. Quatre followed, nervously glancing about as he tugged his carry-on behind him. He’d been told, a week before, that as part of his scholarship contract, his first day in town would be getting him settled into his area of living and for a brief meeting with his employer. He was to have a job while he attended school, which was fair. Lana was happy he’d be given this opportunity, and it all sounded too good to be true.
He’d done some research on this “Dost” and the scholarship, and found it legit. And it truly wasn’t a hassle to work–he hadn’t before, but he would have to. His future depended on it. He couldn’t depend on others financially anymore–he had to learn sometime.
He would have no time for friends today, he’d been told, and had been instructed to meet them a day later.
Of course, while he appreciated that his scholarship enabled him to come back to New Park, to play for the university, it had been over a year since his last encounter with his friends. He was really anxious to see them again. He couldn’t wait to get these things over with and head out to meet them.
A year back in his hometown of Laramie, Wyoming, had been far too long, and the scenery had been too unpleasant to even think about right now. He wanted the familiar comfort of his friends once more–he wanted to know what his ex, Trowa Barton, and his girlfriend, Sylvia Noventa, was up to. He wanted to know how Felicia Passage was doing now that she was out of high school and had to be serious for once. He wanted to know how the others were doing, as well.
The Gray stopped suddenly, and signaled to the side with one bony hand. Quatre looked over to see that two men were already in possession of his luggage, and were hauling it in their direction. There was another man approaching him, and Quatre wondered if he’d have to wear all black for his employer–it seemed as if everyone in the alien’s employ wore the color religiously.
“Mr. Winner, I presume?” the man asked, his voice thickened with an unfamiliar accent. His handshake was firm and brief as he looked up to the blond. “My name’s Colis–no last name. I’m here to take you around New Park, get you settled into your apartment. How was your flight?”
“Fast,” Quatre admitted.
“Yes, it’s quite impressive, and certainly much more efficient than the conventional commercial flights. Now, I’m also here to discuss your contract with you, and to answer any questions that you may have regarding your financial situation and living conditions. I am to understand that you received information regarding your apartment and your employee given benefits?”
“Yeah, I received some of that stuff. Pictures, videos, all that.”
“Excellent. I assure you, Mr. Winner, Dost grants scholarships all the time, and all his giftees have proven quite successful due to their comfortable move-in arrangements. You won’t be displeased with your awards.”
“‘Awards’?”
“Yes. Your scholarship awards you a great deal of comfort, Mr. Winner. Follow me,” the man instructed, leading the way.
The Gray alien followed them, as well as the two men hauling Quatre’s luggage. The blond felt a little embarrassed that he was being treated as royalty, and having an entourage such as this. But he followed the man out from the main doors of the airport. New Park’s hot, summer weather poured over him instantly, rendering him sticky, muggy and incredibly flustered at the heat. He was thankful for the simple pair of jeans and t-shirt that he was wearing, glad that he hadn’t bothered with putting on his sweater in the plane.
Heat waves rose from the pavement, and there were many irritated drivers in the airport’s garage area. The man led him to a special permit area, where the men automatically began loading his luggage into one of the two vehicles parked nearby (both were black, of course). Quatre watched as his luggage was carefully settled in the back of an Escalade, and the man, Gray alien, and himself were seen to a sleek, four door BMW. It was a classic vehicle with tinted windows and silver rims, and looked out of place in the garage. The man hesitated, and then gestured at Quatre to take the passenger side seat.
After everyone climbed in, and the car started with a gentle purr, Colis looked over at Quatre.
“Well? What do you think?” he asked, gesturing at the leather interior, the panel filled with various electronic equipment. “Nice, isn’t it?”
“Er...yeah. Very nice,” Quatre admitted, glancing around himself, enjoying the new car smell and for the fact that the seats were incredibly comfortable.
“Completely computer operated, of course, as all cars are,” Colis continued, letting the car filled with air-conditioning coolness as they sat there. “Meaning, basically, the only thing you have to do is start it up, input your commands, and off you go.”
“...what?”
Colis looked at him in confusion. “You know modern cars. New Park has been operating on modern technology ever since First Contact in 2032. Every vehicle–minus emergency vehicles, of course, as well as law enforcement and other such related companions–is equipped with a computer set-up that enables the car to follow every traffic signal. The stop lights, stop signs, freeway signs–all of it is constructed so that the computer within all traffic signals send input to your vehicle, allowing it to either drive the posted speed limit, stop, yield...it also enables communication between vehicles, allowing one to pass, or yield, brake...vehicles are prohibited and illegal if they aren’t equipped with this sort of technology...”
Quatre absorbed this information, and looked at the car differently. He hadn’t noticed that–but then again, while he was in New Park, he’d taken taxis, the bus, and his friend’s car. He noticed that there wasn’t a stick shift or automatic drive stick; there wasn’t an emergency brake; there wasn’t even a stick for the windshield or activation of car lights. Everything was set in the panel, and the blue screen was politely asking for a destination.
“I...oh...no. I mean...I took taxis all the time. And buses,” he stammered, reaching out to touch the dash. “I never used a personal vehicle. And my aunt’s and uncles in Wyoming weren’t like this.”
Colis gave a frown. “‘Wyoming’? Might I ask where that’s at? Never mind–I’m sorry. But the reason why I was asking what you thought of it was because this now belongs to you.”
Quatre’s mouth dropped open, and he turned surprised eyes to the older man.
Colis grinned, gesturing at the car. “Since you’ve accepted the scholarship and are currently under Dost’s employment, one receives a great deal of benefits–all under legal terms, of course. Dost looks out for each and every one of his scholarship recipients, and you aren’t the only one receiving this treatment. I assure you, there are basically millions of students receiving the same treatment all over the country–in some instances, away from the country. But a vehicle ensures that you’ll make it to work; that you won’t be stranded; that you’ll have a mode of transportation to get you where you want to go when you need to. It’s insured under your name as a first-time buyer–all part of the scholarship, of course.”
“This...this wasn’t mentioned in the contract–!”
“Oh, it’s there. Right under section b, paragraph 7. ‘Benefits include the insurance of transportation matters and personal matters that are included in the living and recreational allotments of life..’, which is included on page 20, paragraph 2. You might want to read that over, Mr. Winner...”
Quatre was too much in shock as he stared at interior once more. This was his...?
The drive out of the airport was more smooth than the plane ride over to New Park; due to a certain allowance, Colis drove a private road that led away from the airport and merged onto one of the main freeways of New Park, the Skylar McLain. Quatre sat in silence, staring out the window at the cityscape, enjoying the sights of the chaotic city. He had missed it, he realized with an inward clench of his gut. The open country of Wyoming, with all its ranges and clear top mountains had been too...picturesque.
Holographic signs blinked on and off in various directions, polluting the skies above, with air traffic moving constantly overhead. When one moved here from the country, where everything was free and less crowded than this parasite city, one could expect a shell shocked reaction to everything they saw. But Quatre was used to it–his two years at Sophia Darken Academy had granted him enough time to know that this city was overcrowded, overpopulated, and held more attractions than any other city in America, due to the alien population that caused the city to fluctuate.
Colis was bringing up pleasant subjects regarding grades and exams, and while Quatre answered as much as he could in a polite manner, he was constantly distracted by the thoughts of his friends. He couldn’t wait to see them.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
The apartment complex was expensive, grand, and quite impressive–it was a sprawl of buildings in a white and gray design, with perfect land settings, a fountain in each section yard, and green grass all over. It was obvious that it was a college-age setting, as there were people his age and up running about. As his things were hauled to a section to the left of the main parking area, Quatre saw that there weren’t any kids about, nor anyone over thirty. There was a massive indoor pool nearby, as well as an accompanying outside lounge area. He could hear the sounds of a nearby gym, and music from an open window.
He wondered who and how his roommate was going to be like when he was led to a dwelling just aside the laundry building. The front of the door was a plain white color, with Quatre’s last name inserted onto a name card just below the peep hole. The numbers told him that he now lived at apartment 1126.
Colis produced a set of keys, and handed them to Quatre with a wink. Quatre took the keys and opened the front door of the apartment, immediately assaulted by the newness of the apartment, and for the fact that it was completely empty. There were bare furnishings here and there, but nothing really to fill the areas.
From his position at the front door, he could walk straight into the massive living room area, which had a sliding door with vertical blinds. From the left of the living room was a single step down into the kitchen, which was a shiny gray color and already furnished with some pots, pans, utensils and some other cooking essentials. They were still in their wrapping and boxes. From there was a dining room, and beyond that was a small hall that led back to what looked to be a massive single room. The L-shape design of the apartment was, at best, annoying, but it served its purpose. He wasn’t going to complain.
“This is yours,” Colis began, walking past him and gesturing around himself. “The reason why it’s unfurnished was because Dost’s advisors like the idea of the recipients to have their own free will in things–you’ll do the furnishing with some grant money of ours. It’s a single dwelling–quite popular with the kids. Large enough to suit three people comfortably–and let me just inform you now; this isn’t anything special. All recipients receive single dwellings, unless, of course, it’s requested for something otherwise. It’s under your name; it’s your responsibility to keep it in good shape; and all the rules apply to you when it comes to damage and repairs, and all that necessary function for when you decide to move on...As you can see, the kitchen is already stocked, but you’ll do your own grocery shopping. Three months rent have already been paid, to give you time to settle in with your job, school and lifestyle. You’ll be given notice when you’ll have to take over on payments. Utilities will be on your own account, thus the job. Is that clear? Anything that you want, you need to buy on your own–with the grant money, of course.”
Quatre stared in wide-eyed appreciation of the place, the two men hauling in his luggage. They automatically took the seven piece set to his room, the Gray alien staring in silence of the place. Colis turned to look at him.
“Any questions?”
Quatre shook his head, feeling slightly numb at the generosity before him. Most students were left squandering in dorm rooms and panicking about vehicles, living conditions and lack of settlement. But the main things in his life were already taken care of, and he didn’t know whether to dance in joy, or smile in dumb amazement. So he stayed silent, because he’d learned that it was easier to deal with.
“Good. Let’s move on. Your employer wants to speak to you.”
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
When he had met Dost at a home game against Stanton during his junior year at Darken, he’d gotten the impression that the character was too utterly cartoonish for his taste. It was as if the alien were created from things a normal human wasn’t... every movement he made was like that of a cartoon, and Quatre had felt a mite disturbed by this character.
He’d thought that Dost had just been tripping when he met him–but, sitting across from the guy, along with ten other recipients of this scholarship of his, he realized he was wrong. Dost was still the same weirdo he’d been when Quatre met him.
Dost was chewing on a cigar, looking more than bored as he was thanked profusely for the vehicles, the apartments, the grant money, the scholarships...all students in attendance were Quatre’s age, with various other differences. Two of them were for medical school; three for art; four for athletics, and one for the nearby technology academy. Two of them had ridden the plane with him.
The bodyguard, the unnamed Chinese, looked close to murdering someone as he balled his fists and breathed in an obvious manner meant to relax one’s self. He was still pudgy, wearing a plain black t-shirt that displayed his thick arm muscles. His full face was cast in a characteristic scowl, his long hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, bangs messily strewn over his forehead. His slanted eyes were drooped with annoyance, his full lips pulled into a thoughtful pout. He could be attractive if he lost a great deal of weight, but he seemed comfortable with his size. In a way, his pudge added to the obvious muscle he had packed on his body, making him bigger than he actually was. All in all, he was a muscle man that shouldn’t be crossed.
Dost held his hands up, signaling for the talking to stop. He was a youngish sort of character–over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, strong enough frame...the last time Quatre saw him, he was wearing an expensive collar shirt and slacks. Today, the attire was a very tacky Hawaiian print shirt over an undershirt. Ratty broad shorts hung over his knees in a dull green color, and flip-flops adorned the man’s large, hairy feet. He looked more frattish than smooth business man.
His black rasta style hair–which made Quatre wonder if the guy was a half-breed, like Max Sheridan–was pulled back into a messy bun at the back of his head. He was still fitted with sleek Ray-Bans, and his full lips were a distraction as they worked with the cigar. The goatee was new–neat, trimmed and full, but new. It added to his somewhat youthful appearance.
“Thanks, thanks, but really–no thanks. You all should be proud of yourselves,” Dost said, holding out his cigar, which was uncut, toward his bodyguard. His voice was a smooth mixture of a Southern drawl and a frat-boy style slur. Quite distracting when one was trying to take him seriously.
“All I’m doing is granting all of you the chance to better the world, and to better yourselves. Of course, I am very proud of you for graduating from high school, and for thinking of your future in regards to your chosen fields. There should NEVER be a shortage of doctors, and of course, we need overpaid athletes to entertain us. Artists, I think, should be SHOT on sight, and technology is always a granted, given our modern setting...but that’s just my opinion, of course. Pay no attention to my opinion.
“NOW...” he gave an annoyed glance at his uncut cigar, and looked back at the Chinese. He wiggled the cigar about with a pointed air, the Chinese glaring at him in response. “We need to discuss the next part of the scholarship–things shouldn’t be given freely. In order to continue your education, I need workers. And you’ll be my workers. This here, ladies and gentlemen, is an interview. I need a new personal assistant dealing with unimportant matters–because I already have three of them, but I need another–and you’ll be given a bunch of unimportant questions and scenarios, and from there, we’ll keep track of what field you’ll all be working in. Is that clear?”
Quatre blinked in confusion, looking down at his state of attire and feeling his nervousness race. This was a job interview? Why didn’t Colis let him know?
The other grantees were looking at each other and their state of nervousness showed on their faces. The Chinese finally sighed, snatched the uncut cigar from Dost, and while he cut it, Dost happily gathered a bunch of loose sheets of paper into his hands.
“Now, then,” he said, grinning. He then removed his sunglasses, revealing a pair of neon yellow eyes, with vertical slits for pupils. A couple of the kids drew back in their seats, and Quatre frowned uneasily.
“Scenario numbero uno...thanks babe. I’ll raise your pay a couple of dollars,” he then interrupted himself to say to the Chinese, whose grinding teeth were heard throughout the room. Sticking the cut cigar in his mouth, lighting the end with a relieved sigh, Dost returned to his scenario. “I do not like dairy. I ordered a hamburger, which you, as my assistant, has picked up. I detest cheese, and the numbnut put cheese on a ‘burger that was specifically requested with NO CHEESE. What do you do?”
Eleven sets of eyes stared back at him in confusion, and he lifted an eyebrow in response to the silence.
“Take it...off?” someone answered meekly.
“But the thing is, babe, the cheese touched my ‘burger. Even if you took it off, there’s still cheese on the bun, and that cheesy taste has penetrated my meat. I don’t like when my meat’s penetrated with cheesy gooey grossness.”
“Go back and request another burger?” another one asked, in the same tone as the first.
“But I want a burger NOW, and I don’t wanna wait. C’mon, I’m one of the richest motherfuckers on Earth, and I don’t like being made to wait,” Dost complained, already annoyed that his first scenario was being demolished by idiots.
Quatre shrugged. “Take the cheese off and smother ketchup all over the meat so you won’t taste the cheese. Then add another onion to it.”
Dost roared with satisfaction, and tossed that sheet over his shoulder. “I like you, kid. That’s really sneaky of you. Scenario number TWO!!! Trek, here, has once again sabotaged my throne of thought with super glue. While I am unable to remove my firm buttocks from the seat, I have a meeting in the next room, and the natives are growing restless in my absence. What would you do to distract them while I used Pinesol to remove myself from the seat?”
“Are....are you serious that this is a job interview?” one of the kids asked dumbly.
Dost lifted an eyebrow, and pointed at him. A man emerged from the shadows of the room, and quietly carted him off, murmuring that he had an available job for him down in the mail room. The other students looked at each other nervously.
“Uh...well, considering that I would know the information about this meeting, I would attempt to go over the information with these people,” a girl uttered, frantically glancing around herself for one of those mysterious men.
“Meaning you’re taking over my job...” Dost shuddered, giving a signal. The girl gasped as she was taken away, the others hearing about an available job with the maids in a popular hotel chain down the street. “Any other suggestions?”
“Get revenge?” a guy asked.
The Chinese, Trek, raised an eyebrow, and the guy shrank in his seat.
Dost roared with laughter, then abruptly cleared his throat. “Ah, no. Because then, I wouldn’t want them knowing that the guy that’s supposed to be protecting my body is abusing it to his gross satisfaction...”
“Will you STOP with the fucking innuendoes?” Trek growled, face reddening with color.
“Give them a brief tour of your office?” someone suggested. He was quickly taken away, the other remaining eight glancing at each other worriedly at the promise of a good security guard position for the eighth floor.
Quatre thought about the question, swallowing hard. If he were in Dost’s place...what would he want done? His brain raced frantically as another suggestion was given.
“Lie that you were suddenly caught up in a another matter, and distract them by asking if they need something?” one of the remaining girls asked.
Dost whooped, and tossed that sheet behind him, and the ‘applicants’ sighed in relief.
“Next question–and this is a toughie–my shoes are insulted by my competitor, and you hear the comment. What do you say in my defense?”
“Don’t be jealous of your good looks?” the girl asked, and Dost blushed in remark, but tossed that sheet over his shoulder.
This is ridiculous! Quatre thought, rolling his eyes.
“Next scenario!!! YOU!” Dost was pointing randomly at one of the applicants, who quivered under the attention. “A hired thug tries to kill me, and for some odd reason, my faithful bodyguard had decided to squelch some bodily needs into some young buck–”
“Motherfucker, I am NOT into guys!!”
“–and isn’t there to protect me right then. What do you do?”
“Throw myself in front of the bullet?” the guy asked, quivering.
“Ah...a little too dramatic, huh? Can’t you talk him out of the action? After all, the police will be involved.”
“T-T-Talk? Uh...well...um...I don’t think I can...”
“Hm. Well, in that case, I can see you working in one of my video game shops, testing out video thingies...bye-bye. YOU!” Dost pointed at another girl as the guy was taken away. “What do you do?”
“Uh, well, um, I’d ask why he’d want to kill you...? Uh, and then from there...um...distract him?”
“With...what?” Dost asked, with a disinterested tone as he straightened his remaining bunch of papers.
“Uh...well...”
“You think entirely too slowly. Right now, the killer’s using a fuckin’ paperweight to stop blood flow in my aorta. I see you working in my tenth floor’s archives...see ya around. And you...what would you do?” Dost asked, the girl being removed as he focused on Quatre.
“Well,” Quatre thought about all the punches he’d ever thrown in his life, and came up with, “if he were coming up to you physically, first I’d kick his nuts in. Then I’d disable his shooting hand by breaking his wrist with a kick of my foot. Then I’d see about grounding his face into the pavement, while at the same time removing the weapon from his reach...”
Dost’s eyes were wide, but he tossed that sheet over his shoulder. “Ooh...good one...I doubt you can actually do it, but you answered the question nicely. Next case. And I expect an answer given within one second, got it? I just caught you stealing from my own stash of petty cash...what would you say in defense?”
“I needed to get laid?”
Dost guffawed loudly, slapping the table top with the palm of his hand. Quatre’s face burned with his humiliation as he wondered why that was the first thing out of his mouth. The other applicants giggled and shook with their own mirth as Trek gave Quatre a dirty look. Dost tossed that sheet over his shoulder, and finally dropped the ashes of his cigar into a nearby ashtray.
“Yes, I’d say that was a necessary reason for the stealing of my cash. Too bad I can’t mention that all my employees are automatically given free access to my various brothels throughout the city, because then that would be illegal prostitution...too bad. Next question! Trek’s in a bad mood–and the silly goose cannot, for the life of him, lose that last forty pounds he’s just packed on...ahem. What sort of advice would you give him?” Dost asked them curiously, cigar back between lips, Trek glaring daggers at him.
The nervous applicants glanced at each other and at him.
“Suggest the no-carb diet?” the last girl asked.
Trek glared at her, causing her to shrink in her seat.
“Unfortunately, the guy eats rice and makes it the main staple of his diet, and I’m pretty sure he couldn’t do that. I see you working as one of my personal wardrobe consultants...I’ll be seeing you tonight, I’m sure,” Dost murmured, flicking his cigar over the ashtray as the girl was quietly removed. Quatre tugged nervously at his t-shirt, finding that it was a little too cold in the room. The remaining two glanced at each other. “WHEW! This is so hard. Sometimes, it’s really hard being the boss, ya know? Damn...and two guys remain. I should reaaaaaallly let the two of you battle it out covered in oil and wearing only skintight briefs–”
“Oh my fucking God,” Trek muttered while two faces burned bright with embarrassment.
“–and I see how much that turns on my bodyguard, but I really ain’t into round-eye Caucasians,” Dost concluded, chuckling. “Sorry, Trek, I just couldn’t do it. You’ll have to sneak that in somewhere else.”
“You make me sick...”
“NOW! The question that makes men men. Briefs or boxers?”
“...uh...isn’t this sexual harassment?”
“Boxers.”
“Excellent! I have succeeded in finding out your qualifications for your future jobs! I hope you work hard and stay fit and happy and continue to strive for excellence!” Dost said happily, tossing the remaining papers into the air as a man took away the other boy, and Quatre sat, rather embarrassed, at the table by himself. “And you, sir, I’ll see working down on the second floor as a supervisor for my female employees down in the financial district...may the good Lord have mercy on your soul...”
“Noooo....!” the guy was heard crying as he was dragged away.
Dost laughed, and faced Quatre, interlacing his fingers together on top of the table. “And you...you’re familiar. Your name again?”
“Quatre Winner.”
“Winner, Winner, Winner–do I know a Winner? That’s so familiar...”
“Um...you approached me a couple of years ago at Sophia Darken...?”
“Bah! I never travel to the East Side! Too...green and full of rich, snotty, stuck-up people. NO! Your name’s familiar, but–”
“You know a Ramid Winner,” Trek reminded him gruffly. “Works the oil fields...sells the opium and conducts the manufacturing of Gin-Gin for the Saudia Arabia district.”
Dost snapped his fingers while Quatre stared at Trek in silence. His father...? Sold...drugs...?
“That’s it! I remember the fucker, now! Oops...excuse me. I’m sorry...that’s your father? Brother? Husband? Hey, you don’t look like a relative, by the way...”
“He’s...my...uh, father. Estranged.”
“So...you’re not close?”
“No. I haven’t talked to him in over three years, I believe. And even then...I wouldn’t consider him a father.”
“Just a sperm donation that resulted in your existence...”
Quatre blinked, then nodded. “Yes...”
“Ah. Excellent. Well, guess what, Mr. Winner? You are going to be my personal assistant. Which means, basically, you’ll be wiping my ass when I need it, making prank phone calls on my behalf, and doing the cheeseburger thingy upon certain occasion...any questions? Oh, yeah, you’ll be paid forty-five dollars an hour, be paid every week, you’ll have to pull overtime at required times–usually after Fairly Odd Parents, where I liked to have my feet massaged while I’m having phone sex with a local Japanese immigrant–and most of all----you’ll be the one I call at three a.m. wondering how to time my VCR and tv. Got it?”
“...Uhm...okay?”
‘Forty-five dollars an hour?’ was Quatre’s only frantic thought.
“Great! You’ll start tomorrow. You need a wardrobe–I don’t have to look my best everyday, so you have to. I expect ties, short sleeve and long sleeve button up shirts, slacks, dress slacks, maybe even a dress if you’re that kind of guy–wingtips and Oxfords. Everything from Armani, Roberto Cavallio–or whatever the fuck his name is–all right? I’ll have my newest fashion consultant help you with that. Be here, on the fiftieth floor, bright and early at eleven a.m. Be prepared to work until nine p.m., or later. Your hours will be set to work with mine.”
“Um...classes...? They start in a week.”
“Oh fuck me, I forgot. What’s your schedule for that week?”
“I have classes from ten to five Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. On Wednesday, it’s three to seven.”
“Shit...well...hm. I would want you home by eleven so that you can continue with the scholarship, so...on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, I want you to work for me from six to nine p.m. Wednesdays, five-thirty a.m. to two p.m. That should give you some time for homework and all that jazz, though I’d recommend stocking up on system chargers to have you going. Weekends, blah, blah, blah. If I need you, I’ll call you. But for this week, I’d like you to work Monday through Friday, from nine in the morning until eleven at night. Capice? And...what kind of student are you?”
“Um...athlete. For basketball.”
“Shit. When does that start?”
“Training isn’t until the end of September, and the season starts around November.”
“All right, that gives me plenty of time to work,” Dost said with an annoyed grumble, fingering his goatee. “Well...Mr. Winner. Remember what I said. I’ll have my fashion consultant rejoin you in a few minutes, and you’ll be given grant money for your wardrobe alone, but it’s to be for work related issues ONLY.”
“Okay. Thanks...”
“Nice to meet you. C’mon, my sexual slave monkey!” Dost said cheerfully to Trek, leaving his seat. “I need to pick out some new hair ties at the dollar store! And you KNOW how I get when I have to cross that intersection between McCarran and Wells!”
Trek ground his teeth, muscles shaking with severe rage, then looked at Quatre.
“You don’t keep in contact with your father, do you?” he asked, lifting both eyebrows.
Quatre shook his head. “No. I haven’t talked him in a few years. There’s no need to do so.”
“Good. Because contact with your father while you’re under Dost’s employ isn’t advisable...do you understand?”
Quatre nodded, and the Chinese left his seat, grumbling as he followed after his employer. Exhaling loudly, Quatre looked around the office, and wondered if he were dreaming.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
So, after a few hours of shopping for work clothes, Quatre found himself standing, lost and confused, in the middle of his apartment. The fashion consultant had done a great job in steering him toward darker colors of the spectrum to suit Dost’s requirements (black), and every one fit awesome on him.
Only, he had one problem with all the gifts–he did not have a driver’s license, and despite Lana and Rashid Kurama’s repeated teachings, he hadn’t perfected the art of driving just yet. And a driver’s license was required, and he could not provide one if he didn’t have one! So, he arranged to take a crash-course into driving (since the vehicle was computer based and basically drove on his own, all he had to study for were the basic rules of operating a computer operated car), and apply at the end of the week.
So, quite embarrassed, he’d gotten a ride home with the consultant, who took a taxi back to her end of the city. He dropped his purchases on the carpeted floor, and sighed, looking around the empty area. Furniture...where was the nearest Target?
He tugged out his brand new cellphone (a personalized Sidekick, courtesy of Dost), and pressed a button. He put it to his ear, and listened for the familiar voice on the other end.
“Oi...Shag and Shack. How may my boyfriend service you?”
“Hey.”
“YAAY! QUAT! You in New Park, yet?”
“Yeah, I have. And I need help...”
“Uh...I can’t help you in that area, man. I’ll ask Max–”
“Idiot! I mean, I need help with furniture. My apartment doesn’t have furniture, and I...need some. A bed especially.”
“Yay! Okay, you convinced me---I’ll help. Where ya wanna meet?”
Twenty minutes later, after hanging up his purchases, he was startled to hear banging on his door. He answered it, Felicia Passage sweeping inside with a curious expression on her face. She was alone, and Quatre wondered where her other half was.
“WOW! There are so many possibilities for this place!” she cried, her voice obscenely loud within the emptiness. “This is really nice, Quat!”
“Yeah...I guess I start paying rent within three months, so...I don’t even have to worry about that right now.”
“Awesome scholarship, dude. Now...where did you want to go to look for your goodies?”
“Target, I suppose. For the little things. And...I don’t know. Wal-Mart?”
“Whatever. I know a great place for beds, and–ooh...” the girl was distracted by the sight of the kitchen, of which she explored curiously. “And food! You need food!”
She whirled away from the fridge, and stalked back up to the living room, sizing him up. Standing now at five foot eleven, and having took Jake Trip’s advice on gaining weight, Quatre Winner was a far cry different than what he’d looked like when he left. His shoulders were filled out, his arm muscles were firm and thick, his torso long and lean, and he looked every inch like a grown young man rather than a high school basketball geek. She could comfortably say that he was in the one hundred and sixty range of weight, and quite possibly stronger than he was back in high school. His hair style was almost the same; bangs and cut that controlled the waves of his white blond hair. His square-shaped face was more cut in the jaw and cheekbones, giving him a more mature structure. His eyes weren’t as big as they were in high school, and there was no way anyone could mistake him for a feminized homosexual–no, this friend of hers oozed manly goodness. She just wanted to kiss him for being so damn handsome.
Too bad he was gay, though. She’d try for a piece of that–with Max’s permission, of course.
She laughed at that thought–she’d had a mad crush on him back in high school, but no one made her happier than her Max Sheridan did–despite the problems they were currently happening. She ignored that and whacked his lower back, the closest she could reach to his back, as she stood only five foot two.
“You look good, man,” she said, nodding. “Filled out.”
“Yeah...I did a lot of weight training and all of that back there,” he said self-consciously, rubbing one arm. He gave an uncomfortable expression, and she knew why, so she switched subjects.
“Let’s not talk about that place, all right? First, let’s figure out what ya’ll need,” she determined, looking around. “You’ll need a tv, movies, couch, table...uh..those table thingies at the end of couches...hmm...”
She walked off, muttering to herself, and Quatre reached up to fold his arms behind his head, grinning cheesily. He knew that he didn’t have to do much, because he’d learned that if one asked a female to do something as simple as decorating and furnishing, they’d take over the entire assignment and put all their efforts into the job. All he had to do was decide on what he didn’t want, and that was about the complexity of his work.
“All right! And for bedroom furniture, I know this guy who does wooden shit, and I can have him drop off some stuff while we shop for other shit things, ‘k?” Felicia called from the bedroom, already on her customized cell.
Quatre shrugged. Dost had granted him nearly five thousand in cash for furnishings and food, and furniture shouldn’t cost that much. At the sound of his friend calling up her friend, he looked around the place. Really, he didn’t know what and how he should decorate things...he just hoped for something simple, so he didn’t have reason to make a big mess. He was notorious for messes–his rooms had always been considered danger zones. Maybe Dost allowed maids for his employees...
Felicia came back through the kitchen and into the hall, muttering about plants and framed pictures. Quatre looked back at her, noting the changes in his female friend. She was still compact size, but it looked as if she’d gone through some changes herself. Her hair was still straight and long, but was cut into multi-layers that framed her round face and dangled in simple swipes here and there. That magenta stripe that she had when he left was gone, and it appeared that her hair was more of a black-blue than a brown. She was Native American, and it showed in her high cheekbones, almond shaped eyes, and stern jaw. It was apparent that she’d lost her baby-fat as well, displaying hollows and curves where there hadn’t been any before.
Her skin seemed a little darker, showing that she stayed out in the sun a lot. It also appeared, from the glances at her arms, that she worked out–a lot. Her arms were cut and defined, very tone. Her shoulders looked worked as well, giving her an athletic appearance rather than that of a bratty socialite’s. Her skinny chicken legs were very toned and fit as well, eliciting no jiggle as she walked about. She was wearing a pair of guy’s board shorts (probably Max’s), a men’s undershirt, a shoulder bag with an athletic design on the side, and some athletic sandals.
He felt his eyebrows rising as he caught sight of her toes–they were, in a word, mangled. Calluses were shaped abnormally along the tops of her toes, her toenails stubby and cut painfully short. All ten piggies were edged into what seemed like a permanent inward position.
“Ugh...what happened to your feet?”
“Eat them and die, whitey. You never seen a ballerina’s feet before, have ya?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. At the same time, she curled her toes under with a self-conscious air.
“You? Ballet? Fuck that!”
“Man, I remember telling ya a long time ago that I did that shit! Now, stop lookin’ and pay attention to my face!”
“That’s just as ugly as your toes...”
“...I can still take you, foolio. Don’t forget that,” she warned, moving away from him. Quatre would not forget about her superhuman abilities that rendered her much stronger than he would ever hope to be. Which was why he treated her like one of the guys–she was able to take and give as they would. “Let’s go! We need ta get started so I can be back in time ta face Mrs. and Mr. Barbara Streisand ...”
“Er...Max’s parents?”
“That didn’t come from me. Let’s go! We can hit Jimboy’s before two o’clock!” she called cheerily, leading the way out the door. Quatre chuckled and followed, giving one last glance around the empty apartment. The door shut behind him with a resounding click.
Standard Disclaimers Apply: Don’t own Gundam Wing, but I own every original character that emerges...Don’t own the songs listed with the chapters, either...Or any other big name thingy that comes by...Wal-mart, McD’s, Pepsi, Snickers...etc., etc.
Warnings: Original Fictional Charas, cursing, partying, general angst, narcotics, and helluva out of character charas! Lemon warnings will be announced when they come (snicker)
Pairings: TrowaxSylvia MxF...uh...and others...
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20means change of scene
Chapter One:
“Here To Stay” Korn
His flight into Aprexal International Airport had been rather smooth, uninterrupted, and quite–unusual. The private airplane made him self-conscious in a way that had him squirming on the leather seats with an embarrassed air. There were two other college bound students with him, both of them equally as uncomfortable and one of them breathing into an inhaler. They were all headed into New Park City for the start of college, and for Quatre R. Winner, it was a return to a place he considered home. He couldn’t wait to see familiar faces and hear excited jibberish again–he had kept in communication with his friends via cell, but it wasn’t the same as meeting them in person.
But first, he had to get some things out of the way.
There was someone waiting for him in the airport lobby. Unsurprised by the face of a Gray alien, whose characteristic large black eyes and slender face gazed blankly into the throng of the airport patrons, Quatre tugged on his carry-on bag and cautiously approached the little guy. The alien turned its unblinking gaze onto him, gesturing at the oddly written sign it held.
Quatre nodded. “That’s me.”
The Gray alien lowered the sign, stared at him for a few moments, then nodded with an affirmative gesture. He signaled for the blond to follow him, and proceed to walk smoothly through the airport. Quatre followed, nervously glancing about as he tugged his carry-on behind him. He’d been told, a week before, that as part of his scholarship contract, his first day in town would be getting him settled into his area of living and for a brief meeting with his employer. He was to have a job while he attended school, which was fair. Lana was happy he’d be given this opportunity, and it all sounded too good to be true.
He’d done some research on this “Dost” and the scholarship, and found it legit. And it truly wasn’t a hassle to work–he hadn’t before, but he would have to. His future depended on it. He couldn’t depend on others financially anymore–he had to learn sometime.
He would have no time for friends today, he’d been told, and had been instructed to meet them a day later.
Of course, while he appreciated that his scholarship enabled him to come back to New Park, to play for the university, it had been over a year since his last encounter with his friends. He was really anxious to see them again. He couldn’t wait to get these things over with and head out to meet them.
A year back in his hometown of Laramie, Wyoming, had been far too long, and the scenery had been too unpleasant to even think about right now. He wanted the familiar comfort of his friends once more–he wanted to know what his ex, Trowa Barton, and his girlfriend, Sylvia Noventa, was up to. He wanted to know how Felicia Passage was doing now that she was out of high school and had to be serious for once. He wanted to know how the others were doing, as well.
The Gray stopped suddenly, and signaled to the side with one bony hand. Quatre looked over to see that two men were already in possession of his luggage, and were hauling it in their direction. There was another man approaching him, and Quatre wondered if he’d have to wear all black for his employer–it seemed as if everyone in the alien’s employ wore the color religiously.
“Mr. Winner, I presume?” the man asked, his voice thickened with an unfamiliar accent. His handshake was firm and brief as he looked up to the blond. “My name’s Colis–no last name. I’m here to take you around New Park, get you settled into your apartment. How was your flight?”
“Fast,” Quatre admitted.
“Yes, it’s quite impressive, and certainly much more efficient than the conventional commercial flights. Now, I’m also here to discuss your contract with you, and to answer any questions that you may have regarding your financial situation and living conditions. I am to understand that you received information regarding your apartment and your employee given benefits?”
“Yeah, I received some of that stuff. Pictures, videos, all that.”
“Excellent. I assure you, Mr. Winner, Dost grants scholarships all the time, and all his giftees have proven quite successful due to their comfortable move-in arrangements. You won’t be displeased with your awards.”
“‘Awards’?”
“Yes. Your scholarship awards you a great deal of comfort, Mr. Winner. Follow me,” the man instructed, leading the way.
The Gray alien followed them, as well as the two men hauling Quatre’s luggage. The blond felt a little embarrassed that he was being treated as royalty, and having an entourage such as this. But he followed the man out from the main doors of the airport. New Park’s hot, summer weather poured over him instantly, rendering him sticky, muggy and incredibly flustered at the heat. He was thankful for the simple pair of jeans and t-shirt that he was wearing, glad that he hadn’t bothered with putting on his sweater in the plane.
Heat waves rose from the pavement, and there were many irritated drivers in the airport’s garage area. The man led him to a special permit area, where the men automatically began loading his luggage into one of the two vehicles parked nearby (both were black, of course). Quatre watched as his luggage was carefully settled in the back of an Escalade, and the man, Gray alien, and himself were seen to a sleek, four door BMW. It was a classic vehicle with tinted windows and silver rims, and looked out of place in the garage. The man hesitated, and then gestured at Quatre to take the passenger side seat.
After everyone climbed in, and the car started with a gentle purr, Colis looked over at Quatre.
“Well? What do you think?” he asked, gesturing at the leather interior, the panel filled with various electronic equipment. “Nice, isn’t it?”
“Er...yeah. Very nice,” Quatre admitted, glancing around himself, enjoying the new car smell and for the fact that the seats were incredibly comfortable.
“Completely computer operated, of course, as all cars are,” Colis continued, letting the car filled with air-conditioning coolness as they sat there. “Meaning, basically, the only thing you have to do is start it up, input your commands, and off you go.”
“...what?”
Colis looked at him in confusion. “You know modern cars. New Park has been operating on modern technology ever since First Contact in 2032. Every vehicle–minus emergency vehicles, of course, as well as law enforcement and other such related companions–is equipped with a computer set-up that enables the car to follow every traffic signal. The stop lights, stop signs, freeway signs–all of it is constructed so that the computer within all traffic signals send input to your vehicle, allowing it to either drive the posted speed limit, stop, yield...it also enables communication between vehicles, allowing one to pass, or yield, brake...vehicles are prohibited and illegal if they aren’t equipped with this sort of technology...”
Quatre absorbed this information, and looked at the car differently. He hadn’t noticed that–but then again, while he was in New Park, he’d taken taxis, the bus, and his friend’s car. He noticed that there wasn’t a stick shift or automatic drive stick; there wasn’t an emergency brake; there wasn’t even a stick for the windshield or activation of car lights. Everything was set in the panel, and the blue screen was politely asking for a destination.
“I...oh...no. I mean...I took taxis all the time. And buses,” he stammered, reaching out to touch the dash. “I never used a personal vehicle. And my aunt’s and uncles in Wyoming weren’t like this.”
Colis gave a frown. “‘Wyoming’? Might I ask where that’s at? Never mind–I’m sorry. But the reason why I was asking what you thought of it was because this now belongs to you.”
Quatre’s mouth dropped open, and he turned surprised eyes to the older man.
Colis grinned, gesturing at the car. “Since you’ve accepted the scholarship and are currently under Dost’s employment, one receives a great deal of benefits–all under legal terms, of course. Dost looks out for each and every one of his scholarship recipients, and you aren’t the only one receiving this treatment. I assure you, there are basically millions of students receiving the same treatment all over the country–in some instances, away from the country. But a vehicle ensures that you’ll make it to work; that you won’t be stranded; that you’ll have a mode of transportation to get you where you want to go when you need to. It’s insured under your name as a first-time buyer–all part of the scholarship, of course.”
“This...this wasn’t mentioned in the contract–!”
“Oh, it’s there. Right under section b, paragraph 7. ‘Benefits include the insurance of transportation matters and personal matters that are included in the living and recreational allotments of life..’, which is included on page 20, paragraph 2. You might want to read that over, Mr. Winner...”
Quatre was too much in shock as he stared at interior once more. This was his...?
The drive out of the airport was more smooth than the plane ride over to New Park; due to a certain allowance, Colis drove a private road that led away from the airport and merged onto one of the main freeways of New Park, the Skylar McLain. Quatre sat in silence, staring out the window at the cityscape, enjoying the sights of the chaotic city. He had missed it, he realized with an inward clench of his gut. The open country of Wyoming, with all its ranges and clear top mountains had been too...picturesque.
Holographic signs blinked on and off in various directions, polluting the skies above, with air traffic moving constantly overhead. When one moved here from the country, where everything was free and less crowded than this parasite city, one could expect a shell shocked reaction to everything they saw. But Quatre was used to it–his two years at Sophia Darken Academy had granted him enough time to know that this city was overcrowded, overpopulated, and held more attractions than any other city in America, due to the alien population that caused the city to fluctuate.
Colis was bringing up pleasant subjects regarding grades and exams, and while Quatre answered as much as he could in a polite manner, he was constantly distracted by the thoughts of his friends. He couldn’t wait to see them.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
The apartment complex was expensive, grand, and quite impressive–it was a sprawl of buildings in a white and gray design, with perfect land settings, a fountain in each section yard, and green grass all over. It was obvious that it was a college-age setting, as there were people his age and up running about. As his things were hauled to a section to the left of the main parking area, Quatre saw that there weren’t any kids about, nor anyone over thirty. There was a massive indoor pool nearby, as well as an accompanying outside lounge area. He could hear the sounds of a nearby gym, and music from an open window.
He wondered who and how his roommate was going to be like when he was led to a dwelling just aside the laundry building. The front of the door was a plain white color, with Quatre’s last name inserted onto a name card just below the peep hole. The numbers told him that he now lived at apartment 1126.
Colis produced a set of keys, and handed them to Quatre with a wink. Quatre took the keys and opened the front door of the apartment, immediately assaulted by the newness of the apartment, and for the fact that it was completely empty. There were bare furnishings here and there, but nothing really to fill the areas.
From his position at the front door, he could walk straight into the massive living room area, which had a sliding door with vertical blinds. From the left of the living room was a single step down into the kitchen, which was a shiny gray color and already furnished with some pots, pans, utensils and some other cooking essentials. They were still in their wrapping and boxes. From there was a dining room, and beyond that was a small hall that led back to what looked to be a massive single room. The L-shape design of the apartment was, at best, annoying, but it served its purpose. He wasn’t going to complain.
“This is yours,” Colis began, walking past him and gesturing around himself. “The reason why it’s unfurnished was because Dost’s advisors like the idea of the recipients to have their own free will in things–you’ll do the furnishing with some grant money of ours. It’s a single dwelling–quite popular with the kids. Large enough to suit three people comfortably–and let me just inform you now; this isn’t anything special. All recipients receive single dwellings, unless, of course, it’s requested for something otherwise. It’s under your name; it’s your responsibility to keep it in good shape; and all the rules apply to you when it comes to damage and repairs, and all that necessary function for when you decide to move on...As you can see, the kitchen is already stocked, but you’ll do your own grocery shopping. Three months rent have already been paid, to give you time to settle in with your job, school and lifestyle. You’ll be given notice when you’ll have to take over on payments. Utilities will be on your own account, thus the job. Is that clear? Anything that you want, you need to buy on your own–with the grant money, of course.”
Quatre stared in wide-eyed appreciation of the place, the two men hauling in his luggage. They automatically took the seven piece set to his room, the Gray alien staring in silence of the place. Colis turned to look at him.
“Any questions?”
Quatre shook his head, feeling slightly numb at the generosity before him. Most students were left squandering in dorm rooms and panicking about vehicles, living conditions and lack of settlement. But the main things in his life were already taken care of, and he didn’t know whether to dance in joy, or smile in dumb amazement. So he stayed silent, because he’d learned that it was easier to deal with.
“Good. Let’s move on. Your employer wants to speak to you.”
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
When he had met Dost at a home game against Stanton during his junior year at Darken, he’d gotten the impression that the character was too utterly cartoonish for his taste. It was as if the alien were created from things a normal human wasn’t... every movement he made was like that of a cartoon, and Quatre had felt a mite disturbed by this character.
He’d thought that Dost had just been tripping when he met him–but, sitting across from the guy, along with ten other recipients of this scholarship of his, he realized he was wrong. Dost was still the same weirdo he’d been when Quatre met him.
Dost was chewing on a cigar, looking more than bored as he was thanked profusely for the vehicles, the apartments, the grant money, the scholarships...all students in attendance were Quatre’s age, with various other differences. Two of them were for medical school; three for art; four for athletics, and one for the nearby technology academy. Two of them had ridden the plane with him.
The bodyguard, the unnamed Chinese, looked close to murdering someone as he balled his fists and breathed in an obvious manner meant to relax one’s self. He was still pudgy, wearing a plain black t-shirt that displayed his thick arm muscles. His full face was cast in a characteristic scowl, his long hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, bangs messily strewn over his forehead. His slanted eyes were drooped with annoyance, his full lips pulled into a thoughtful pout. He could be attractive if he lost a great deal of weight, but he seemed comfortable with his size. In a way, his pudge added to the obvious muscle he had packed on his body, making him bigger than he actually was. All in all, he was a muscle man that shouldn’t be crossed.
Dost held his hands up, signaling for the talking to stop. He was a youngish sort of character–over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, strong enough frame...the last time Quatre saw him, he was wearing an expensive collar shirt and slacks. Today, the attire was a very tacky Hawaiian print shirt over an undershirt. Ratty broad shorts hung over his knees in a dull green color, and flip-flops adorned the man’s large, hairy feet. He looked more frattish than smooth business man.
His black rasta style hair–which made Quatre wonder if the guy was a half-breed, like Max Sheridan–was pulled back into a messy bun at the back of his head. He was still fitted with sleek Ray-Bans, and his full lips were a distraction as they worked with the cigar. The goatee was new–neat, trimmed and full, but new. It added to his somewhat youthful appearance.
“Thanks, thanks, but really–no thanks. You all should be proud of yourselves,” Dost said, holding out his cigar, which was uncut, toward his bodyguard. His voice was a smooth mixture of a Southern drawl and a frat-boy style slur. Quite distracting when one was trying to take him seriously.
“All I’m doing is granting all of you the chance to better the world, and to better yourselves. Of course, I am very proud of you for graduating from high school, and for thinking of your future in regards to your chosen fields. There should NEVER be a shortage of doctors, and of course, we need overpaid athletes to entertain us. Artists, I think, should be SHOT on sight, and technology is always a granted, given our modern setting...but that’s just my opinion, of course. Pay no attention to my opinion.
“NOW...” he gave an annoyed glance at his uncut cigar, and looked back at the Chinese. He wiggled the cigar about with a pointed air, the Chinese glaring at him in response. “We need to discuss the next part of the scholarship–things shouldn’t be given freely. In order to continue your education, I need workers. And you’ll be my workers. This here, ladies and gentlemen, is an interview. I need a new personal assistant dealing with unimportant matters–because I already have three of them, but I need another–and you’ll be given a bunch of unimportant questions and scenarios, and from there, we’ll keep track of what field you’ll all be working in. Is that clear?”
Quatre blinked in confusion, looking down at his state of attire and feeling his nervousness race. This was a job interview? Why didn’t Colis let him know?
The other grantees were looking at each other and their state of nervousness showed on their faces. The Chinese finally sighed, snatched the uncut cigar from Dost, and while he cut it, Dost happily gathered a bunch of loose sheets of paper into his hands.
“Now, then,” he said, grinning. He then removed his sunglasses, revealing a pair of neon yellow eyes, with vertical slits for pupils. A couple of the kids drew back in their seats, and Quatre frowned uneasily.
“Scenario numbero uno...thanks babe. I’ll raise your pay a couple of dollars,” he then interrupted himself to say to the Chinese, whose grinding teeth were heard throughout the room. Sticking the cut cigar in his mouth, lighting the end with a relieved sigh, Dost returned to his scenario. “I do not like dairy. I ordered a hamburger, which you, as my assistant, has picked up. I detest cheese, and the numbnut put cheese on a ‘burger that was specifically requested with NO CHEESE. What do you do?”
Eleven sets of eyes stared back at him in confusion, and he lifted an eyebrow in response to the silence.
“Take it...off?” someone answered meekly.
“But the thing is, babe, the cheese touched my ‘burger. Even if you took it off, there’s still cheese on the bun, and that cheesy taste has penetrated my meat. I don’t like when my meat’s penetrated with cheesy gooey grossness.”
“Go back and request another burger?” another one asked, in the same tone as the first.
“But I want a burger NOW, and I don’t wanna wait. C’mon, I’m one of the richest motherfuckers on Earth, and I don’t like being made to wait,” Dost complained, already annoyed that his first scenario was being demolished by idiots.
Quatre shrugged. “Take the cheese off and smother ketchup all over the meat so you won’t taste the cheese. Then add another onion to it.”
Dost roared with satisfaction, and tossed that sheet over his shoulder. “I like you, kid. That’s really sneaky of you. Scenario number TWO!!! Trek, here, has once again sabotaged my throne of thought with super glue. While I am unable to remove my firm buttocks from the seat, I have a meeting in the next room, and the natives are growing restless in my absence. What would you do to distract them while I used Pinesol to remove myself from the seat?”
“Are....are you serious that this is a job interview?” one of the kids asked dumbly.
Dost lifted an eyebrow, and pointed at him. A man emerged from the shadows of the room, and quietly carted him off, murmuring that he had an available job for him down in the mail room. The other students looked at each other nervously.
“Uh...well, considering that I would know the information about this meeting, I would attempt to go over the information with these people,” a girl uttered, frantically glancing around herself for one of those mysterious men.
“Meaning you’re taking over my job...” Dost shuddered, giving a signal. The girl gasped as she was taken away, the others hearing about an available job with the maids in a popular hotel chain down the street. “Any other suggestions?”
“Get revenge?” a guy asked.
The Chinese, Trek, raised an eyebrow, and the guy shrank in his seat.
Dost roared with laughter, then abruptly cleared his throat. “Ah, no. Because then, I wouldn’t want them knowing that the guy that’s supposed to be protecting my body is abusing it to his gross satisfaction...”
“Will you STOP with the fucking innuendoes?” Trek growled, face reddening with color.
“Give them a brief tour of your office?” someone suggested. He was quickly taken away, the other remaining eight glancing at each other worriedly at the promise of a good security guard position for the eighth floor.
Quatre thought about the question, swallowing hard. If he were in Dost’s place...what would he want done? His brain raced frantically as another suggestion was given.
“Lie that you were suddenly caught up in a another matter, and distract them by asking if they need something?” one of the remaining girls asked.
Dost whooped, and tossed that sheet behind him, and the ‘applicants’ sighed in relief.
“Next question–and this is a toughie–my shoes are insulted by my competitor, and you hear the comment. What do you say in my defense?”
“Don’t be jealous of your good looks?” the girl asked, and Dost blushed in remark, but tossed that sheet over his shoulder.
This is ridiculous! Quatre thought, rolling his eyes.
“Next scenario!!! YOU!” Dost was pointing randomly at one of the applicants, who quivered under the attention. “A hired thug tries to kill me, and for some odd reason, my faithful bodyguard had decided to squelch some bodily needs into some young buck–”
“Motherfucker, I am NOT into guys!!”
“–and isn’t there to protect me right then. What do you do?”
“Throw myself in front of the bullet?” the guy asked, quivering.
“Ah...a little too dramatic, huh? Can’t you talk him out of the action? After all, the police will be involved.”
“T-T-Talk? Uh...well...um...I don’t think I can...”
“Hm. Well, in that case, I can see you working in one of my video game shops, testing out video thingies...bye-bye. YOU!” Dost pointed at another girl as the guy was taken away. “What do you do?”
“Uh, well, um, I’d ask why he’d want to kill you...? Uh, and then from there...um...distract him?”
“With...what?” Dost asked, with a disinterested tone as he straightened his remaining bunch of papers.
“Uh...well...”
“You think entirely too slowly. Right now, the killer’s using a fuckin’ paperweight to stop blood flow in my aorta. I see you working in my tenth floor’s archives...see ya around. And you...what would you do?” Dost asked, the girl being removed as he focused on Quatre.
“Well,” Quatre thought about all the punches he’d ever thrown in his life, and came up with, “if he were coming up to you physically, first I’d kick his nuts in. Then I’d disable his shooting hand by breaking his wrist with a kick of my foot. Then I’d see about grounding his face into the pavement, while at the same time removing the weapon from his reach...”
Dost’s eyes were wide, but he tossed that sheet over his shoulder. “Ooh...good one...I doubt you can actually do it, but you answered the question nicely. Next case. And I expect an answer given within one second, got it? I just caught you stealing from my own stash of petty cash...what would you say in defense?”
“I needed to get laid?”
Dost guffawed loudly, slapping the table top with the palm of his hand. Quatre’s face burned with his humiliation as he wondered why that was the first thing out of his mouth. The other applicants giggled and shook with their own mirth as Trek gave Quatre a dirty look. Dost tossed that sheet over his shoulder, and finally dropped the ashes of his cigar into a nearby ashtray.
“Yes, I’d say that was a necessary reason for the stealing of my cash. Too bad I can’t mention that all my employees are automatically given free access to my various brothels throughout the city, because then that would be illegal prostitution...too bad. Next question! Trek’s in a bad mood–and the silly goose cannot, for the life of him, lose that last forty pounds he’s just packed on...ahem. What sort of advice would you give him?” Dost asked them curiously, cigar back between lips, Trek glaring daggers at him.
The nervous applicants glanced at each other and at him.
“Suggest the no-carb diet?” the last girl asked.
Trek glared at her, causing her to shrink in her seat.
“Unfortunately, the guy eats rice and makes it the main staple of his diet, and I’m pretty sure he couldn’t do that. I see you working as one of my personal wardrobe consultants...I’ll be seeing you tonight, I’m sure,” Dost murmured, flicking his cigar over the ashtray as the girl was quietly removed. Quatre tugged nervously at his t-shirt, finding that it was a little too cold in the room. The remaining two glanced at each other. “WHEW! This is so hard. Sometimes, it’s really hard being the boss, ya know? Damn...and two guys remain. I should reaaaaaallly let the two of you battle it out covered in oil and wearing only skintight briefs–”
“Oh my fucking God,” Trek muttered while two faces burned bright with embarrassment.
“–and I see how much that turns on my bodyguard, but I really ain’t into round-eye Caucasians,” Dost concluded, chuckling. “Sorry, Trek, I just couldn’t do it. You’ll have to sneak that in somewhere else.”
“You make me sick...”
“NOW! The question that makes men men. Briefs or boxers?”
“...uh...isn’t this sexual harassment?”
“Boxers.”
“Excellent! I have succeeded in finding out your qualifications for your future jobs! I hope you work hard and stay fit and happy and continue to strive for excellence!” Dost said happily, tossing the remaining papers into the air as a man took away the other boy, and Quatre sat, rather embarrassed, at the table by himself. “And you, sir, I’ll see working down on the second floor as a supervisor for my female employees down in the financial district...may the good Lord have mercy on your soul...”
“Noooo....!” the guy was heard crying as he was dragged away.
Dost laughed, and faced Quatre, interlacing his fingers together on top of the table. “And you...you’re familiar. Your name again?”
“Quatre Winner.”
“Winner, Winner, Winner–do I know a Winner? That’s so familiar...”
“Um...you approached me a couple of years ago at Sophia Darken...?”
“Bah! I never travel to the East Side! Too...green and full of rich, snotty, stuck-up people. NO! Your name’s familiar, but–”
“You know a Ramid Winner,” Trek reminded him gruffly. “Works the oil fields...sells the opium and conducts the manufacturing of Gin-Gin for the Saudia Arabia district.”
Dost snapped his fingers while Quatre stared at Trek in silence. His father...? Sold...drugs...?
“That’s it! I remember the fucker, now! Oops...excuse me. I’m sorry...that’s your father? Brother? Husband? Hey, you don’t look like a relative, by the way...”
“He’s...my...uh, father. Estranged.”
“So...you’re not close?”
“No. I haven’t talked to him in over three years, I believe. And even then...I wouldn’t consider him a father.”
“Just a sperm donation that resulted in your existence...”
Quatre blinked, then nodded. “Yes...”
“Ah. Excellent. Well, guess what, Mr. Winner? You are going to be my personal assistant. Which means, basically, you’ll be wiping my ass when I need it, making prank phone calls on my behalf, and doing the cheeseburger thingy upon certain occasion...any questions? Oh, yeah, you’ll be paid forty-five dollars an hour, be paid every week, you’ll have to pull overtime at required times–usually after Fairly Odd Parents, where I liked to have my feet massaged while I’m having phone sex with a local Japanese immigrant–and most of all----you’ll be the one I call at three a.m. wondering how to time my VCR and tv. Got it?”
“...Uhm...okay?”
‘Forty-five dollars an hour?’ was Quatre’s only frantic thought.
“Great! You’ll start tomorrow. You need a wardrobe–I don’t have to look my best everyday, so you have to. I expect ties, short sleeve and long sleeve button up shirts, slacks, dress slacks, maybe even a dress if you’re that kind of guy–wingtips and Oxfords. Everything from Armani, Roberto Cavallio–or whatever the fuck his name is–all right? I’ll have my newest fashion consultant help you with that. Be here, on the fiftieth floor, bright and early at eleven a.m. Be prepared to work until nine p.m., or later. Your hours will be set to work with mine.”
“Um...classes...? They start in a week.”
“Oh fuck me, I forgot. What’s your schedule for that week?”
“I have classes from ten to five Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. On Wednesday, it’s three to seven.”
“Shit...well...hm. I would want you home by eleven so that you can continue with the scholarship, so...on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, I want you to work for me from six to nine p.m. Wednesdays, five-thirty a.m. to two p.m. That should give you some time for homework and all that jazz, though I’d recommend stocking up on system chargers to have you going. Weekends, blah, blah, blah. If I need you, I’ll call you. But for this week, I’d like you to work Monday through Friday, from nine in the morning until eleven at night. Capice? And...what kind of student are you?”
“Um...athlete. For basketball.”
“Shit. When does that start?”
“Training isn’t until the end of September, and the season starts around November.”
“All right, that gives me plenty of time to work,” Dost said with an annoyed grumble, fingering his goatee. “Well...Mr. Winner. Remember what I said. I’ll have my fashion consultant rejoin you in a few minutes, and you’ll be given grant money for your wardrobe alone, but it’s to be for work related issues ONLY.”
“Okay. Thanks...”
“Nice to meet you. C’mon, my sexual slave monkey!” Dost said cheerfully to Trek, leaving his seat. “I need to pick out some new hair ties at the dollar store! And you KNOW how I get when I have to cross that intersection between McCarran and Wells!”
Trek ground his teeth, muscles shaking with severe rage, then looked at Quatre.
“You don’t keep in contact with your father, do you?” he asked, lifting both eyebrows.
Quatre shook his head. “No. I haven’t talked him in a few years. There’s no need to do so.”
“Good. Because contact with your father while you’re under Dost’s employ isn’t advisable...do you understand?”
Quatre nodded, and the Chinese left his seat, grumbling as he followed after his employer. Exhaling loudly, Quatre looked around the office, and wondered if he were dreaming.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
So, after a few hours of shopping for work clothes, Quatre found himself standing, lost and confused, in the middle of his apartment. The fashion consultant had done a great job in steering him toward darker colors of the spectrum to suit Dost’s requirements (black), and every one fit awesome on him.
Only, he had one problem with all the gifts–he did not have a driver’s license, and despite Lana and Rashid Kurama’s repeated teachings, he hadn’t perfected the art of driving just yet. And a driver’s license was required, and he could not provide one if he didn’t have one! So, he arranged to take a crash-course into driving (since the vehicle was computer based and basically drove on his own, all he had to study for were the basic rules of operating a computer operated car), and apply at the end of the week.
So, quite embarrassed, he’d gotten a ride home with the consultant, who took a taxi back to her end of the city. He dropped his purchases on the carpeted floor, and sighed, looking around the empty area. Furniture...where was the nearest Target?
He tugged out his brand new cellphone (a personalized Sidekick, courtesy of Dost), and pressed a button. He put it to his ear, and listened for the familiar voice on the other end.
“Oi...Shag and Shack. How may my boyfriend service you?”
“Hey.”
“YAAY! QUAT! You in New Park, yet?”
“Yeah, I have. And I need help...”
“Uh...I can’t help you in that area, man. I’ll ask Max–”
“Idiot! I mean, I need help with furniture. My apartment doesn’t have furniture, and I...need some. A bed especially.”
“Yay! Okay, you convinced me---I’ll help. Where ya wanna meet?”
Twenty minutes later, after hanging up his purchases, he was startled to hear banging on his door. He answered it, Felicia Passage sweeping inside with a curious expression on her face. She was alone, and Quatre wondered where her other half was.
“WOW! There are so many possibilities for this place!” she cried, her voice obscenely loud within the emptiness. “This is really nice, Quat!”
“Yeah...I guess I start paying rent within three months, so...I don’t even have to worry about that right now.”
“Awesome scholarship, dude. Now...where did you want to go to look for your goodies?”
“Target, I suppose. For the little things. And...I don’t know. Wal-Mart?”
“Whatever. I know a great place for beds, and–ooh...” the girl was distracted by the sight of the kitchen, of which she explored curiously. “And food! You need food!”
She whirled away from the fridge, and stalked back up to the living room, sizing him up. Standing now at five foot eleven, and having took Jake Trip’s advice on gaining weight, Quatre Winner was a far cry different than what he’d looked like when he left. His shoulders were filled out, his arm muscles were firm and thick, his torso long and lean, and he looked every inch like a grown young man rather than a high school basketball geek. She could comfortably say that he was in the one hundred and sixty range of weight, and quite possibly stronger than he was back in high school. His hair style was almost the same; bangs and cut that controlled the waves of his white blond hair. His square-shaped face was more cut in the jaw and cheekbones, giving him a more mature structure. His eyes weren’t as big as they were in high school, and there was no way anyone could mistake him for a feminized homosexual–no, this friend of hers oozed manly goodness. She just wanted to kiss him for being so damn handsome.
Too bad he was gay, though. She’d try for a piece of that–with Max’s permission, of course.
She laughed at that thought–she’d had a mad crush on him back in high school, but no one made her happier than her Max Sheridan did–despite the problems they were currently happening. She ignored that and whacked his lower back, the closest she could reach to his back, as she stood only five foot two.
“You look good, man,” she said, nodding. “Filled out.”
“Yeah...I did a lot of weight training and all of that back there,” he said self-consciously, rubbing one arm. He gave an uncomfortable expression, and she knew why, so she switched subjects.
“Let’s not talk about that place, all right? First, let’s figure out what ya’ll need,” she determined, looking around. “You’ll need a tv, movies, couch, table...uh..those table thingies at the end of couches...hmm...”
She walked off, muttering to herself, and Quatre reached up to fold his arms behind his head, grinning cheesily. He knew that he didn’t have to do much, because he’d learned that if one asked a female to do something as simple as decorating and furnishing, they’d take over the entire assignment and put all their efforts into the job. All he had to do was decide on what he didn’t want, and that was about the complexity of his work.
“All right! And for bedroom furniture, I know this guy who does wooden shit, and I can have him drop off some stuff while we shop for other shit things, ‘k?” Felicia called from the bedroom, already on her customized cell.
Quatre shrugged. Dost had granted him nearly five thousand in cash for furnishings and food, and furniture shouldn’t cost that much. At the sound of his friend calling up her friend, he looked around the place. Really, he didn’t know what and how he should decorate things...he just hoped for something simple, so he didn’t have reason to make a big mess. He was notorious for messes–his rooms had always been considered danger zones. Maybe Dost allowed maids for his employees...
Felicia came back through the kitchen and into the hall, muttering about plants and framed pictures. Quatre looked back at her, noting the changes in his female friend. She was still compact size, but it looked as if she’d gone through some changes herself. Her hair was still straight and long, but was cut into multi-layers that framed her round face and dangled in simple swipes here and there. That magenta stripe that she had when he left was gone, and it appeared that her hair was more of a black-blue than a brown. She was Native American, and it showed in her high cheekbones, almond shaped eyes, and stern jaw. It was apparent that she’d lost her baby-fat as well, displaying hollows and curves where there hadn’t been any before.
Her skin seemed a little darker, showing that she stayed out in the sun a lot. It also appeared, from the glances at her arms, that she worked out–a lot. Her arms were cut and defined, very tone. Her shoulders looked worked as well, giving her an athletic appearance rather than that of a bratty socialite’s. Her skinny chicken legs were very toned and fit as well, eliciting no jiggle as she walked about. She was wearing a pair of guy’s board shorts (probably Max’s), a men’s undershirt, a shoulder bag with an athletic design on the side, and some athletic sandals.
He felt his eyebrows rising as he caught sight of her toes–they were, in a word, mangled. Calluses were shaped abnormally along the tops of her toes, her toenails stubby and cut painfully short. All ten piggies were edged into what seemed like a permanent inward position.
“Ugh...what happened to your feet?”
“Eat them and die, whitey. You never seen a ballerina’s feet before, have ya?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. At the same time, she curled her toes under with a self-conscious air.
“You? Ballet? Fuck that!”
“Man, I remember telling ya a long time ago that I did that shit! Now, stop lookin’ and pay attention to my face!”
“That’s just as ugly as your toes...”
“...I can still take you, foolio. Don’t forget that,” she warned, moving away from him. Quatre would not forget about her superhuman abilities that rendered her much stronger than he would ever hope to be. Which was why he treated her like one of the guys–she was able to take and give as they would. “Let’s go! We need ta get started so I can be back in time ta face Mrs. and Mr. Barbara Streisand ...”
“Er...Max’s parents?”
“That didn’t come from me. Let’s go! We can hit Jimboy’s before two o’clock!” she called cheerily, leading the way out the door. Quatre chuckled and followed, giving one last glance around the empty apartment. The door shut behind him with a resounding click.