Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Pull Up For The J! ❯ Counting Bodies Like Sheep... ( Chapter 18 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
You're SCARED?! THERE'S NO BEING SCARED IN BASKETBALL!!
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 8.1K | Visits: 232 | Status: Completed
You're SCARED?! THERE'S NO BEING SCARED IN BASKETBALL!!
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 8.1K | Visits: 232 | Status: Completed
Chapter Eighteen~
“Counting Bodies Like Sheep To The Rhythm of the War Drums” A Perfect Circle
The offending video had been thoroughly destroyed and trashed after practice that night. He never wanted to see it again. The contents had been pretty raunchy, and he’d found himself blushing during awkward moments. More rather, he was completely humiliated to think that he could ever be enough for Trowa in that aspect. What a downer. The woman had been an experienced lover, thorough and giving, never commanding and needy, and it was so plain as day that Trowa had enjoyed their...one...two... three...four..seven–no...five–Well, multiple times they’d been together! Practically four sex acts every time! It made him cringe at the thought, and made him absolutely furious and pathetically childish whenever he thought about it.
They’d both been virgins when they’d gotten together (that thing with Jamie did NOT count), and what they knew they knew from experiencing and experimenting during their intimate times together. But from what he’d seen from the video, what they had done was adolescent and pathetically desperate compared to the thing with Une. He and Trowa had merely been focused on satisfying new needs and exploring new adventures in touching and fulfilling.
He felt wholly inadequate and entirely stupid, thinking that Trowa would leave that in Spain and came back home to him. HIM. Who never liked foreplay and wanted it straight-forward and then and there. Who liked it fast and furious (heh) and exciting, never slow and romantic. He didn’t do slow and romantic...he just wanted to get right to the point, and they had, numerous of times!
But thinking about it now and reflecting on the video made him disgusted to think that he’d been so hopeful and happy that Trowa would prefer him over her–the woman that made him come in various positions and in various ways that Quatre would have never thought of trying (or would have been an impossibility, considering that he was a guy!). She had experience, a vagina, and a lusty appetite that far exceeded his. She was more at an advantage than he’d ever be. No wonder Trowa didn’t want him. The ache in his heart hurt with a ragged tear, and he buried his face in his hands, trying to keep himself from bursting into a pathetic crying jag. That was supposed to be for girls.
But then again, Trowa had been the only one that was able to make him express such emotions.
He was such a wimp when it came to that guy.
Composing himself, dashing offending tears that had gathered quickly, he rose from his bed and fiddled numbly with filling his ball with air. He sat down on the floor and fiddled with the delicate needle and hand pump, and heard the satisfying whoosh of air that filled his favorite ball.
After that was finished, he changed from his school uniform and into practice clothes, before remembering that he had an actual game tonight! He glanced at his clock, seeing that he had to be with the others down at the gym within a half hour, and changed out of his practice clothes, and into his casual ones. He then gathered his uniform from its dressing bag and warm-ups from their neat pile in the closet, and packed his game shoes into his game bag. Everything else he piled on top, and he decided to leave his room when his cell phone rang.
He then wondered if Trowa would let him keep it, considering that he’d returned all his other things...
He dashed away another offending tear, and answered without looking at the window.
“Hey,” Justin said from the other end. “You playing tonight?”
It had been awhile since Quatre had seen him, and he looked forward to meeting up with the guy again. “Yeah,” he answered. “At eight-thirty, against Duncan Jones.”
“We’re the game before you. We play Apollo Prestigious...”
“Damn, consider yourselves lost. They got God on their side,” Quatre snickered as he made sure he had everything, and left his room.
“Whatever. I don’t believe in that bullshit. So, when are you guys coming out?”
“Actually, I think we’re leaving in, like, half an hour. It takes an hour to get there.”
“Okay, then. We’ll probably be there before you. See ya.”
Quatre hung up and sighed heavily as he made his way down the stairs, bypassing several kids that wished him luck. Acknowledging them faintly, he made his way into the lobby, then turned to get something from the vending machine. Eyeing the bag of Jolly Ranchers, he dug out the correct change from his pocket and inserted it into the machine, tapping away at the keypad. He bent to retrieve the bag of candy and straightened, only to see that someone had placed a folded up letter on his bag during that small instant!
He looked around wildly, seeing nobody nearby, and felt a little creeped out by this instance.
He stuffed the bag into his pocket, and retrieved the note, opening it to see that someone went through the deliberate effort to create an obituary with his school picture on it. Apparently he’d died of an unnamed accident, about three weeks from now.
He stilled with a numbed paralyzation, unblinking as he stared at the computer manufactured paper, then looked around again. This was getting a little too dangerous, and he felt a cold creep of fear trickle down his spine. Whoever disliked him enough to do this was going a little too far in their efforts. He really felt uncomfortable. He wadded up the paper and intended to throw it away when a thought came to him, and he shoved that into his pockets. He then hurried out from the lobby, glancing around him, looking for anyone that was interested in seeing his reaction to the hateful thing.
The others were waiting for their coach when he arrived, and he saw with some annoyed interest that Felicia wasn’t there. Triton was, and he walked over, chewing gum and looking a little attractive in a black tee over baggy jeans. His fashionably thin frame was fashionably slouched, and he looked totally at ease. Quatre realized that his libido was taking interest in someone that had interest in him in that manner. Hell, it wouldn’t be much–he was horny, anyway! What harm could it come to? He forgot about the note he’d received and frowned at the guy instead, wondering, what if...?
“You good?” Triton asked him, smiling in some amusement.
“Yeah.”
“What set you off, yesterday?”
“Nothin’ that you need to know.”
“Your ex, huh? I heard you guys broke up. Kind of hard to believe,” Triton continued, blinking. “You guys were, like, married.”
“Well, believe it. Because it’s true. And gay marriage is currently illegal here in California.”
“Why? Did it have something to do with those rumors? That he was in a porno?”
“...No.” Quatre guessed that it wasn’t a lie if he didn’t elaborate.
Triton stared at him for a few seconds longer. “You know, there are other people out there that wouldn’t have mind if their whatever-friends made a porno with others...”
“And those are probably the sort of people that have open relationships!” Quatre snapped, utterly annoyed at the casualness Triton regarded his current pain with. Quatre wondered how the other boy was able to have relationships if he were this callus with other people...
But then again, Triton was one of those guys that were convenient for one thing (or two, or three) and shouldn’t be taken seriously. Quatre could never take him seriously.
Triton grinned, displaying white teeth. “Whatever, then. If that’s so wrong with you...”
“It is! I’m not like that...”
“That’s not what I heard over the summer.”
“Man...go to hell.” Quatre rolled his eyes, then had to wonder what Triton had heard. There were some rumors about his involvement with Justin, but they were currently unfounded, since neither party was the type to broadcast their actions to everybody.
Triton reached out to pat his head. “You’re growing!”
“Really?” Quatre looked down at himself, hopeful.
“Yeah. You’re probably about five eight and a half, now.”
“Asshole. Get off this.”
“Sit by me on the bus, okay?”
“I’m not sitting by you! I need a nap!” Quatre snapped at him, frowning at the thought.
“Oh, you can put your head in my lap...among other things...” Triton then grinned at him, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“You–!”
“Are we ready?” Ramos asked, walking in from the coaches’s room, carrying a bag of balls and his own briefcase. At a chorus of agreeing calls, they all began leaving the gym until Quatre realized that Felicia still wasn’t there. He looked around curiously, frowning, hoping that she wasn’t going to skip out on their first game. She still protested the fact that she didn’t want to play, and looked pretty down about sticking with the team at his insistence...he felt kind of bad about pressuring her to play, but she was the only girl he could tolerate, and besides–he was doing her a favor by getting her to try something new and exciting. Forget the fact that she’d lost a lot of loyal friends in the same instant, like Drake. His cause was more important than theirs...
They were all loading up on the bus and he’d just settled in his seat (with Triton) when she hurried over, looking pretty winded and upset. She practically forced herself through the lingering line of athletes that were choosing their seats, and took the one in front of him and Triton, ignoring the others’ protests.
“LOOK!” she screeched, rather girlishly, making him wince. She was holding out a tabloid, and while he usually avoided the ugly things, he saw her picture on the front. Blinking, he took the magazine and saw the headline: “Taking One For The Team?! Gangster’s Niece Playing Basketball!”
He then flipped through it, finding a two page article on the girl, who looked pretty frazzled about the entire thing. He still thought it weird that the girl was infamous enough to featured in such things alongside the likes of Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton–she was that big of a deal outside of Darken. Here, he couldn’t even conceive of her popularity as such, because it just wasn’t believable...but here was his proof, moving about in the limited movement holographic pictures...
He wondered what was wrong with the original glossy spreads that he was used to...
“I didn’t think this would be such a big deal! But the press is makin’ it all important!! It’s embarrassing!”
Apparently, the only niece of a powerful alien ‘crime lord’ (which wasn’t a proven thing, but entirely suspected as he was involved with a ton of wrongdoings and suspicious behavior that revolved around his sinful enterprises) was garnering attention playing on a high school basketball team. Everyone was interested in this little bit of interesting knowledge, as she played a rather intriguing role as her uncle’s niece. The alien himself was a tabloid on his own, and the fact that his niece was trying normal with the other kids was pretty big news.
“Wow! You’re a celebrity!” he exclaimed, flipping through the rest, finally finding out who Jake Gyllenhaal was. He was actually pretty cute...He moved the page around to get a better look at the guy...yeah...he’d do him...
“I don’t wanna be! I don’t want all that attention!” Felicia sighed, shoulders slumping as she looked around. “It’s bad enough that I’m featured as one of those ‘Most Horribly Dressed Deviant’ on page thirty-eight...What the fuck’s wrong with wearing jeans and a sweater?”
She then disappeared into her seat, and Quatre flipped through the magazine as Ramos began calling out the names of his players, making sure they were all on the bus.
Triton stopped bugging Colin about some senior girl and looked with disdain at the magazine.
“What’s this shit?” he asked, pulling it out of Quatre’s grasp. He saw the cover and laughed, leaning over Felicia’s seat. “Can I have your autograph?”
“FUCK YOU!”
He laughed again, resettling into his seat as the bus began moving.
Quatre remembered the note, and dug that out of his pocket, leaning over her seat to show her. She took it with an annoyed expression, then blinked several times as she saw the content. She gave him a disturbed expression. “Oh my God, where’d this come from?”
He told her, looking just as disturbed. “Should I turn it in to the authorities?” he asked after he finished.
“Yeah! God, this school’s supposed to be all securitized and shit, and this shit’s getting to you?! Death threats are taken pretty seriously, man. Turn it into Ramos. He’ll send it to the proper people in admin,” she advised, handing it back to him. Then she winced. “Did you handle it a lot?”
“I looked at it and wadded it up. Then I gave it to you.”
“Well...our fingerprints must have fucked it up, but turn it in just in case. Okay? That’s pretty fuckin’ serious, man. You should have told somebody that people were fuckin’ around with you,” she scolded, sitting back in her seat and fiddling with her game bag.
Quatre sat back in his seat, and folded the letter up, sliding it back into his pocket. Triton was busy talking to Colin and looking through the magazine with some interest, so he turned and stared out the window as the bus began its ambling journey to Roseville, an hour away from Marysville.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
When they arrived at the gym, Quatre saw that the parking lot was loaded with spectators that were coming from various areas just to watch the kids in the tourney play. Sophia Darken’s team gathered their things and left the bus, filing into the cafeteria of the Roseville High’s cafeteria just to get their way into the gym. Quatre looked around curiously, noting familiar faces from the previous year, and looking for Jamie Anderson, his former best friend. He hadn’t talked to the guy in a while, considering their different schools, and the fact that Jamie was often busy doing his military thing.
The cafeteria was packed with local kids and adults, and he felt self-conscious as he heard his name uttered by several people, most of them in awe of his talent on the court, or for something else. Looking around at the various adults and teens, he noticed that a lot of their intrigued stares were focused in on the richer, more ‘famous’ kids of their lot, as Darken was the private academy of the rich and famous–Otto was the son of a former president. Paul’s mother was a current top-hit actress. Derrick’s older brother was a military general that garnered a lot of attention overseas. Passage was with her own fame. His own father was a billionaire.
He wasn’t sure about the others, but he heard their names being pointed out, and those kids were either looked at with envy, or dislike because of what they possessed. It was a little unfair. Money was associated with automatic snob-reaction, or misapplications of spoiled brats. Perhaps they were–but those people didn’t know them enough to make those judgements. He certainly wasn’t a spoiled brat–was he?
He then noticed that Felicia was already missing, and scowled, hoping she wouldn’t pussy out of this moment.
He looked around once more, and briefly caught the eye of a smirking guy, who looked awfully familiar. He was then distracted by some little kids that ran by, one of them being a little boy with dark hair that kicked him as he went by. With an annoyed expression directed at the little brat, Quatre continued on his way with the others.
They walked into the crowded gym, which was just as big as it was last year, and all the benches were currently filled with both spectators and players. He saw Justin standing at the Home locker rooms nearby, talking to another teammate, and their team was dressed out to play. Justin waved at him, then continued talking. Quatre followed the others to a section near the far end of the court, and sat next to Winnie, who was a little quiet as he fiddled with his knee brace.
Since he’d torn his ACL last year, Quatre’s own knee felt a little weak after extensive movement, but not enough so that he needed a brace of his own. He’d prefer to go without it, and the surgeon had guaranteed that he wouldn’t need one after the work had been done.
Then he remembered his note, and walked over to sit next to Ramos, digging out his wadded up note.
The older man turned away from one of the assistant coaches and looked at him thoughtfully, then took the note with a questioning expression. He saw the content, blinked in disbelief, then scowled as he faced the teen.
“Is there more like this?” he asked, his voice stern and impeccably cool.
“No. Well...there were other things, but that’s, like, the most worst of them all,” Quatre said, gesturing at it. “I don’t have any idea who it could have come from.”
Ramos stared at him for a small second, then shook his head as he re-read the content. The threatening of Darken’s students lives were taken pretty seriously, and once he handed it in to the head security force that oversaw Darken’s protection measures over their esteemed scholars, they would immediately take immense maneuvers to find out who was doing the threatening.
“All right, I know this may be a little difficult, but who could you have pissed off recently?” he asked, Quatre immediately scowling at him.
Ramos took that back. It was a pretty pathetic question. He sighed heavily, folding up the note, and carefully tucking that away. “I’ll report this as soon as we get back to the school. But meanwhile, I’m going to call ahead and have security run over the room history within the past...how long has this been going on?”
“I don’t know...since Colin was poisoned...”
“That was connected to you?”
“Yes. That brownie was meant for me, but Colin took it before I could eat it. Then I found tacks in my shoe, and someone gave me a video–er...I take that one back,” Quatre said hurriedly, shaking his head.
“A ‘video’? What sort of video?”
“Nothing, never mind. That was an unrelated incident,” Quatre said. “And I always feel like I’m being followed, or someone’s watching me, and it’s really creepy.”
“Like you have a stalker?”
“I...” It couldn’t be Trowa. Trowa would never stalk anybody...but then again, he did follow him and Justin around that other day...it couldn’t be Trowa. Trowa would never lower himself to this level–! Could he? “I don’t know,” Quatre then finished, rather lamely.
“I’ll have security look into this, and I want you to have someone with you at all times,” Ramos directed. “To and from practice, during practice–which means you shouldn’t be training without having someone else with you–and if you noticed anything out of the ordinary, you’d damn well tell somebody, got it? I’m sure security can figure out ways to record your room’s history, using weight measurements and things like that, I’m not entirely sure what they do, but this is serious stuff, Winner. This is a threat on your life!”
“I KNOW. It just pisses me off. Why can’t they confront me directly? Why do they have to sneak around?” Quatre vented furiously. “GOD! I’m going to kick their ass if I ever catch them–!”
“Then you’ll have to face my wrath,” Ramos said dryly, straightening. “I don’t encourage that sort of behavior from the players of my team...If I hear about you fighting with someone, I’m going to drop you. Winner. We can’t have that.”
Quatre stared at him, not bothering to hide his disgust. “So, you’re expecting me to take this like a bitch?!”
“WINNER, watch your language! I’m still an adult, and I’m the authority over you,” Ramos growled, headache forming. Why was it that this seemingly sweet looking boy had such a bad temperament? Good thing he’d stocked up on his most expensive vodka before the season started...
“Well, I don’t take threats very lightly! I’m not going to lie down and let them do that shit to me! I’m not the type to let people push me around!”
“Well, you aren’t, granted, but impulsive decisions will lead to your demise from the team, so keep it cool,” Ramos said, frowning at him. “We can only rely on security from this moment on. Let me know if you find something else threatening, all right? We can’t have any harm coming to you...”
“Yeah, whatever,” Quatre muttered, rising from the bench and walking over to his previous seat. He found it so frustrating to talk to Randy–the guy was pathetic in his view. And besides, Quatre wasn’t going to take this threatening thing lightly–as soon as he found out who it was, he was going to kill them and hide the body somewhere...
He watched the current game for a small while, then relaxed totally as the game ended, and Sageville and Apollo Prestigious came out onto the court. The others were fooling around, getting comfortable as they waited for their turn on the court, and he found himself quietly reflecting on things.
Trowa had said that he’d no idea what he was talking about last night–maybe instead of reacting with anger, Quatre should have confronted him instead. He knew that Trowa was very ashamed of his behavior in the tape, and his own humility had suggested so. No matter how many times he wanted to point fingers in Trowa’s direction, sure that it was Trowa because of certain instances (the passcode, the video, the break-up as motivation...), he just felt wrong about it. Trowa had been distant to him, and they behaved as acquaintances, barely acknowledging each other unless they absolutely had to.
He doubted Trowa would want him dead–that just seemed so extreme. And while the threat was obvious on the note, he didn’t feel as if he were in that sort of danger–that sort of thing didn’t happen with people like him. That happened only in movies and manga–not ordinary boys like him. He was only going to take the threat half-heartedly, because he didn’t think someone could hate him enough to want to kill him...just annoy him severely.
He suddenly felt bad for reacting the way that he had last night–reacting with violence. He knew Trowa was used to it–after all, Quatre did rack him one with the wrench, and that was about as bad as it got. But, still...what if it hadn’t been Trowa that put the tape in there? He should have just talked about it first...
His doubts were getting to him as he watched the game. Suddenly, he had the urge to talk to Trowa, to apologize. And to find out in his own way if Trowa would lower himself to that sort of behavior. He could usually tell with Trowa lied–it had been soooo obvious that he’d been up to no good when he’d returned from Spain, so it couldn’t be that hard for Quatre to realize his own truths...
Sighing heavily, he straightened in his seat, then watched as Justin commanded the court in his own special way. Quatre idly found himself wondering what the dark haired boy did to tuck away that monster he was hiding within those shorts of his, and was startled when someone put their hand on his shoulder.
“We’re going to get something to drink,” Colin said, indicating a group heading over to the cafeteria. The senior had forgiven him recently, but joked about the incident constantly. “Want anything?”
“A strawberry Gatorade,” Quatre said, giving him a couple of dollars. Colin took the money and headed after the others, and Quatre returned to staring at the game. He heard an outraged scream from the other end of the court, and looked over to see Felicia scurrying away from a rather large military guy, a shit-eating grin on her face. She hurried over to him, laughing.
“Well, scratch that name off my list!” she said, hugging him. “Hey! You’re all alone!!”
“Get off me!” he growled, pushing at her. She took a seat beside him, pulling out her phone. He brushed his hair from his face as he looked at her curiously. “Who was that?”
“Adam Byrons. I asked him if he were gay because I thought I could hook him up with you,” she replied, Quatre looking at her in horror. She grinned at him. “But he’s not. He about kicked my ass. Ah, well, I’ve got at least five more guys too go...”
“FELICIA!”
“Whhhaaaattt? GOD! My life is PAIN!” she roared. “PAIN!”
He laughed. Whatever that meant. Nudging her, he looked over to where members of the Duncan Jones team were sitting, looking for a familiar face or two. That one that she’d run away from was steaming mad, and he remembered the boy being #72 from last year. It was those eyebrows of his...Quatre wondered if he and Dorothy Catalonia would ever get acquainted...
“Well? Where’s soldier boy? The one you want for your babies?”
“I hope your balls fall off, motherbitch!”
He gave her a dead leg.
She then elbow slammed him in the chest, causing him to lose his breath. “Anyway, that should be your answer.”
“Man, all we do is beat each other up. We don’t love each other anymore,” he complained, rubbing his chest as she laughed at that comment. “Hey, where’s your armbands? Put them on. I want to see how strong you are, then.”
“No. You’ll kick my ass! Boys are still stronger than girls,” Felicia sniffed, rubbing her thigh absently. “Besides, there ain’t no way I’m putting those on before a game. Diminishes my value and worth.”
He laughed again. Sometimes she was just retarded. He told her so.
“Well, I don’t think so. I...oh geez. Hide me,” she muttered, crawling behind him and trying to hide behind his frame. Quatre blinked stupidly as he looked away from her, seeing aforementioned soldier boy walking over, grinning.
He really wasn’t all that attractive–he just looked plain dorky, but there was a pleasantry about him that made him approachable and liked. He had round blue eyes, a somewhat large nose, thin lips, a dorky, somewhat eager expression on his face that suggested he liked to please whomever he was speaking to, and he was still around six feet two, lanky and broad in the shoulders, as much soldiers were. His brown hair was styled so that it was long on top and closely cropped at the back of his neck. Without all that muscle he carried around, he would have been a string-bean dork that Quatre could imagine himself beating up just for the sake of doing so.
“Get out from there!” he commanded. “Did you really ask Adam if he were gay?”
“What? He isn’t?” came Felicia’s innocent reply.
“NO! He isn’t! And what’s this I hear about you being on the team?” he asked.
He had a pleasant voice, Quatre thought, moving because Felicia was getting out from behind him.
“Exactly what you heard. Why?”
“Come on, let’s go talk somewhere.”
“No! You’re just trying to steal my virtue!”
Quatre had to laugh at that one. “Felicia, you have never had a virtue for as long as I’ve known you!”
“What do you know, you fairy?” she grumbled, leaving the bench. “Fine. I’ll give you a handjob, but that’s it, Ian!”
“..First of all, I’m not scamming on some pathetic high school chick that can barely pass her Pre-Algebra class, and second, getting something in that manner from you would be considered incest, since I see you as my little sister. God, sometimes I wonder about you, you know. Promiscuity signals an unhappy childhood and leads to more dangerous adventures in life. Everything can’t be solved with sex,” Ian Peters was saying as he led her away, one hand on her shoulder. Felicia was giving him an insulted expression, mouth working, but nothing coming out.
Quatre glanced after them, and wondered why they weren’t in a relationship. It was obvious those two had feelings for each other–whenever he saw Ian looking at her, it was often with a fondness and a soft liking that he’d once seen on Trowa’s face when he looked at him. And Felicia was definitely more subdued around him–it was quite eerie. It was as if she were trying not to be but couldn’t help it.
He sighed and leaned back on the bench, folding his arms behind his head. He watched the game, and laughed at Justin’s mistakes as time went on. During the second quarter, he looked up to see Jamie walking over to him, as well as another boy with wild brown hair. If he’d thought that Ian was a dork, this one took the master piece of the chocolate cake. The other boy had uncontrolled brown hair that looked as if he’d never fixed it after he woke up, squinting brown eyes behind heavy frames, a somewhat lurpy posture, and despite all the acquired muscle, looked like a ninety-pound loser. He wasn’t dressed in warm-ups, but casual clothing that looked far too uptight for him.
“Hey, Quatre!” Jamie greeted cheerfully, sitting beside him, dressed in his maroon and gray warm-ups. The other boy looked curiously around, shifting his glasses. Jamie gestured at him. “This is Larson Edwards. We call him ‘Lars’ for short.”
“Hey.”
“Hi. Where’s our fearless leader?” Larson questioned in a sharply nasal tone, as if someone were pinching his nostrils shut.
Quatre blinked in confusion, Jamie looking around curiously as well. “Did you see Peters, Quatre? Kind of tall, brown hair...”
“Yeah. He and Felicia went walking that way.”
“Ah, geez,” the other guy muttered, hurriedly running off in that direction.
Quatre blinked, and looked at Jamie questioningly. His friend had changed considerably since the last time he’d seen him. He looked older, tired, more mature than ever. His crewcut black hair had grown in slightly, but his face had shifted into that of a man. Quatre felt horribly self-conscious about his own looks, aware that he still looked young.
“Long story,” Jamie muttered, wiping at his nose. “He’s not supposed to be around her...”
“Why?” Quatre asked, confused.
Jamie shrugged. “That’s confidential. Anyway, how are you? I haven’t seen you in a very long time!”
“I’m good!”
They talked for a long while, catching up on each other’s business as halftime came and went. As they talked, Quatre kept an eye on the court and on his own team, waiting for Ramos to signal for them to get dressed out for their game. But then he noticed that Justin was looking over a few times at them, with some interest.
During the fourth quarter, Ramos called for all team members to dress out, and so Jamie and Quatre said their goodbyes for now, and the blond gathered his things to go and change with. He was looking forward to playing–especially against a good team. He made his way with the others, looking up into the bleachers to look at the crowd. He saw a few people from Darken sitting up there, but no one of real importance. He felt a little down that he would never see Trowa in the crowd, but then again...that was that. He just seemed to play better when he knew his friends and family were there, giving their support from the benches.
He wished Trowa had understood that while they were together.
He and the others swung their bags atop various benches and began to change, Quatre taking his time in doing so because he was feeling a little down about the Trowa-thing. He opened his bag, and carefully removed his warm-ups and jersey, then his game shoes. The others were talking and laughing, but he had no real connection with them, so he pretty much kept to himself.
He sat down on the bench and took off his off-court shoes, then proceeded to fluff out his jersey and shorts, and what he saw made him pause.
The bright white uniforms were simple in design–shimmery white with Darken’s colors of light blue and yellow. The shorts were knee length, with simple rectangle designs lining up the outside seams in bright neon yellow, and the jersey was fitted with fitting material over the shoulder and arm areas, displaying ‘Darken’ and the jersey number in front, and their last name and number in back.
Over his number 20 (which was his favorite Spurs player’s number, Manu Ginobuli), his last name Winner was marked out with black permanent ink and tagged with ‘LOSER’ instead. Gaping at it in disbelief, he saw that the front had been marked as well, labeled with the words ‘Cheating Liar’ and ‘Whorie Skank’. Looking down at his shorts, he saw that those had been marked too. He hadn’t seen these extras since his uniform had been properly folded over a metal hangar within the dressing bag, therefore obscured what etchings had been performed on them, and he hadn’t paid too much attention to them when transferring them to his game bag because he’d never think that someone would mark them.
But his shorts had been cruelly tampered with as well, the inline seam of the crotch littered with arrows and derogatory terms that made his face redden.
“Holy shit, someone fuckin’ hates you!” Winnie (#51)exclaimed, who noticed Quatre’s sudden state. “Dude, check this shit out!”
“Geez, did you piss of some girl that much?” Otto (#44) asked, blinking in stupendous disbelief as he stared at the destroyed material.
The other boys glanced curiously over as Quatre gaped at the mess, feeling rage and anger rise up from within, mainly because he probably wasn’t able to play. He hurled the offending pieces of material from himself as the others muttered amongst themselves, Duo (#30) hurrying out from the locker room to go and get Ramos.
Fists curled in tightly, Quatre vowed that when he got his hands on this dick that was going to far in their hate for him, there wasn’t going to be very much left when he got done.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
In the Girl’s Locker room, where she and Mariemaia were changing, Felicia was having some serious doubts and hesitation. The other girl was busy lacing up her ankle brace and paying attention to her own thing, and never noticed that Felicia was having such troubles. Her heart was racing wildly, and her stomach was churning with uncomfortable butterflies as she realized that this basketball thing was turning into something much bigger than she had ever imagined. She never thought she’d be this way, trying out for a sports team and actually making it...she never thought she’d get this far in this normalcy aspect.
She felt incredibly nervous, chewing wildly on her nails, eyeing the locker doors as if they were the gateway to doom. She knew all those people were out there, watching her, waiting for a mistake–the media loved people like her, the ones easily caught with cameras and displayed within their glossy holographic display for the masses...
It was an unfortunate side effect to being rich and within the company of questionable presence, but she’d never let it get to her head. She’d learned to deal with it, and that was it. Nothing she could do about it, but roll with it.
Still...she knew there were people out there, waiting to take her picture and guess what boy she was loved up on, and it was just...this entire normalcy thing got to her. While it was welcome and new, it was just unpleasant to actually know its effects...she really didn’t want to play. She didn’t share the same passion as the other players did for this sport–she’d rather she was with Drake, crammed into a small car, on their way to a party filled with booze, drugs, handsome college boys, and perhaps a jam session or two. Not on the court in front of cheering spectators and basketball hungry players that took an ultra-scary seriousness in their game...
And she’d gone back on her words–last year, she’d heavily protested the school’s mascot and the school’s apparent lack of respect for her minority group, and then here she was, dressed out in the school’s colors and losing what respect she had from the others in her decision to keep her ground in the continuous fight of slandering...
She knew a lot of kids were disappointed in her actions, Drake the most vocal of them all. She’d noticed that the kids she used to talk to were suddenly distracted by other things whenever she approached, and that her somewhat betraying actions were a strong reminder that she was just a hypocrite...it bothered her immensely. Especially when she was supposed to be dressed in those colors and playing for these team of ‘Warriors’.
She sighed heavily once more, and slowly started to change, Mariemaia (#10)leaving the locker room. Shivering at the cold air within the locker room, Felicia quickly shrugged on her jersey (#5) and shorts, and pulled on her newly acquired Nike b-ball shoes, grimacing at the newness of the black and light blue shoes. They didn’t match her uniform (which made her feel awfully obvious), but she had liked them, and to hell with a fashion statement. The other players wore shoes that matched their uniforms, and she had chosen shoes that didn’t match...well...She tugged on her wretched armbands, and adjusted them just below her biceps, where they were the most comfortable.
She then tied her long dark hair into a pair of low slung braids that flapped against her back, took a deep breath, then tugged on her warm-ups and nervously made her way to the locker room doors. The crowd that was watching the current game was cheering loudly, maniacally, and her pulse began racing with ultra-nervousness.
“Oh, God, c’mon...” she muttered to herself, taking several deep breaths. She saw the others gathered nearby, stretching their various limbs, and noticed that Quatre was talking angrily with Ramos, who was trying to calm him down. She saw that he was wearing his warm-ups, but gestured at them furiously. Too nervous to wonder why he was freaking out, she slowly ambled her way towards the others, hoping that her feelings weren’t showing on her face. How everyone would laugh at her (her, the girl that beat up boys when paid, the girl that talked and acted like a boy, the girl that led another life outside of Darken) if they knew she was scared. She had a rep to maintain! She couldn’t be human...
“Buck up, you fucking wimp,” she continued to mutter to herself, wiping her sweaty palms against her warm-ups, and hoping she remembered what the three-second rule was, what back court was, what Zone position meant. “Man up, asshole...stop being a baby...you’re not scared...you’re not scared...Oh, God, I’m scared I’m scared I’m scared I can’t do this...!”
Ramos then signaled for the players to line up, seniors in front, and Quatre stomped toward her, looking obscenely furious. Felicia nervously fiddled with her braids, clenching one in each hand, and tugging hard on them as she studied his face.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered as Ramos began handing out warm-up balls to the seniors standing in front.
“Someone fucked up my jersey!” he hissed, fuming mad.
“Are you going to play?!”
“Yeah, Ramos had a couple of extra jerseys, but STILL! I’m going to kill the fucking prick that fucked over my shit!”
Felicia felt a little down about that, but her nervousness was far too occupying for her to offer a comment or sympathy toward this new revelation. Her breath was suddenly heavy and far too rushed, and she clenched her teeth, finding her throat dry. She really didn’t want to do this...she really didn’t want to. She wanted to turn tail and run for the nearest exit, and haul ass back to the dorm.
Her chest felt tight, sweat was already beading upon her forehead, and as she gazed out the swinging doors that led into the gym, the thought that she had to face a gym-full of staring people involved in a sport she didn’t even know the rules to made her stomach flop uncomfortably. Her blood seemed to freeze as she thought about the media that was going to no doubt catch every one of her movements, commenting and laughing at her lack of sportsmanship.
She swallowed hard, finding it nearly impossible to do so, and reached out for Quatre’s hand. Her fingers clasped over his thumb, curled inward so that her knuckles were pressed against his palm. She didn’t know why she did that–just that the comfort of another person was always helpful in times like this...plus, having contact with something grounded always seemed to help.
“What the hell–?!” Quatre exclaimed, looking at her with an annoyed expression, not liking to play games before a ball game. He was serious and tough, and his experience in the sport put him in far higher levels than she could ever accomplish in this field.
Maybe that’s why she needed his contact–maybe some of his confidence and such would absorb into her.
“I’m scared,” she whimpered, finding it hard to let go, her arm shaking.
Quatre lifted an eyebrow, trying to dislodge her hand. He noticed the armbands were in place, but it was as if her fingers had locked tightly onto his. Her palms were moist, and her fingers were shaking pretty obviously.
“Are you serious?!” he gaped.
Felicia ignored his disbelief, chewing almost fanatically at her other thumb nail, drawing blood. She eyed the crowd gathered within the gym, and felt her fears pounding at her forehead. The thought that so many people were watching her, that she just didn’t get the full grasp of the game yet–that she wasn’t supposed to be ‘normal’, had her entire body reacting with an unnatural effect that her classmates never expected from her. Luckily, the only person to notice this suddenly normal and certainly natural effect on a person that was never expected to be this way, was Quatre. And Quatre was her trusted friend–she could count on him to not be such a prick about it...
“Felicia, are you serious? Are you seriously scared?” Quatre pressed, frowning as he used his other hand to pry her fingers from his hand. She just resumed her grip on that hand, short nails digging into his palm.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered, shaking her head as Ramos entered the gym, holding the door open as the buzzer signaled the end of the previous game. Her grip tightened suddenly, the absolution of her impulsive actions hitting her fully in the gut. She couldn’t believe she’d let Quatre con his way into getting her to do this!
“I can’t do this, Quat!”
“Ow...ow...ow, let go, you’re bleeding me,” was his answering mutter, as he accomplished the task of prying her fingers from his hand, only to have it reattach to his wrist. “Okay, stop playing! We’re going to go out there!”
“I’m NOT playing!” Felicia whimpered, shaking her head as Ramos started the signal for the line to move. “I can’t do this! I don’t wanna! I don’t know how to play!”
“Don’t do this now, Felicia! Get going!” Quatre hissed as the other players moved out from the hall, Ramos looking back at them curiously. He pushed at the girl, prompting her to move, but she faltered once more as the team began their traditional run around the court. “GO!”
“I CAN’T!” she wailed. “I can’t do it!”
“For the LOVE of–!” he growled, gripping her wrist and pulling her behind him. She started to drag her heels, to turn around and run, but he turned, using his currently stronger strength to pull her along behind him. As a result, their team was already halfway back to the hall, and they still hadn’t left it.
“What the hell’s going on?!” Ramos demanded, moving over to them questioningly as the telltale sounds of balls being bounced on the court began, their team already moving into warm-up drills as the other team took the court.
“I CAN’T!”
“Get out there and do your best, Goddamn it!” Quatre growled, hauling her into the view of the crowd, gripping both wrists.
Felicia looked terrified as she emerged, her usually tanned skin pale, eyes rounded with fear, body locked with paralyzation, but as soon as she eyed the media bench across the gym, with its multitudes of cameras and commentators, she seemed to snap out of it, yanking her hand from his and hurrying onto the court.
Quatre growled with severe annoyance at the entire thing, and ran out there as well, hoping that this wasn’t a prelude to something entirely sucky...
“Counting Bodies Like Sheep To The Rhythm of the War Drums” A Perfect Circle
The offending video had been thoroughly destroyed and trashed after practice that night. He never wanted to see it again. The contents had been pretty raunchy, and he’d found himself blushing during awkward moments. More rather, he was completely humiliated to think that he could ever be enough for Trowa in that aspect. What a downer. The woman had been an experienced lover, thorough and giving, never commanding and needy, and it was so plain as day that Trowa had enjoyed their...one...two... three...four..seven–no...five–Well, multiple times they’d been together! Practically four sex acts every time! It made him cringe at the thought, and made him absolutely furious and pathetically childish whenever he thought about it.
They’d both been virgins when they’d gotten together (that thing with Jamie did NOT count), and what they knew they knew from experiencing and experimenting during their intimate times together. But from what he’d seen from the video, what they had done was adolescent and pathetically desperate compared to the thing with Une. He and Trowa had merely been focused on satisfying new needs and exploring new adventures in touching and fulfilling.
He felt wholly inadequate and entirely stupid, thinking that Trowa would leave that in Spain and came back home to him. HIM. Who never liked foreplay and wanted it straight-forward and then and there. Who liked it fast and furious (heh) and exciting, never slow and romantic. He didn’t do slow and romantic...he just wanted to get right to the point, and they had, numerous of times!
But thinking about it now and reflecting on the video made him disgusted to think that he’d been so hopeful and happy that Trowa would prefer him over her–the woman that made him come in various positions and in various ways that Quatre would have never thought of trying (or would have been an impossibility, considering that he was a guy!). She had experience, a vagina, and a lusty appetite that far exceeded his. She was more at an advantage than he’d ever be. No wonder Trowa didn’t want him. The ache in his heart hurt with a ragged tear, and he buried his face in his hands, trying to keep himself from bursting into a pathetic crying jag. That was supposed to be for girls.
But then again, Trowa had been the only one that was able to make him express such emotions.
He was such a wimp when it came to that guy.
Composing himself, dashing offending tears that had gathered quickly, he rose from his bed and fiddled numbly with filling his ball with air. He sat down on the floor and fiddled with the delicate needle and hand pump, and heard the satisfying whoosh of air that filled his favorite ball.
After that was finished, he changed from his school uniform and into practice clothes, before remembering that he had an actual game tonight! He glanced at his clock, seeing that he had to be with the others down at the gym within a half hour, and changed out of his practice clothes, and into his casual ones. He then gathered his uniform from its dressing bag and warm-ups from their neat pile in the closet, and packed his game shoes into his game bag. Everything else he piled on top, and he decided to leave his room when his cell phone rang.
He then wondered if Trowa would let him keep it, considering that he’d returned all his other things...
He dashed away another offending tear, and answered without looking at the window.
“Hey,” Justin said from the other end. “You playing tonight?”
It had been awhile since Quatre had seen him, and he looked forward to meeting up with the guy again. “Yeah,” he answered. “At eight-thirty, against Duncan Jones.”
“We’re the game before you. We play Apollo Prestigious...”
“Damn, consider yourselves lost. They got God on their side,” Quatre snickered as he made sure he had everything, and left his room.
“Whatever. I don’t believe in that bullshit. So, when are you guys coming out?”
“Actually, I think we’re leaving in, like, half an hour. It takes an hour to get there.”
“Okay, then. We’ll probably be there before you. See ya.”
Quatre hung up and sighed heavily as he made his way down the stairs, bypassing several kids that wished him luck. Acknowledging them faintly, he made his way into the lobby, then turned to get something from the vending machine. Eyeing the bag of Jolly Ranchers, he dug out the correct change from his pocket and inserted it into the machine, tapping away at the keypad. He bent to retrieve the bag of candy and straightened, only to see that someone had placed a folded up letter on his bag during that small instant!
He looked around wildly, seeing nobody nearby, and felt a little creeped out by this instance.
He stuffed the bag into his pocket, and retrieved the note, opening it to see that someone went through the deliberate effort to create an obituary with his school picture on it. Apparently he’d died of an unnamed accident, about three weeks from now.
He stilled with a numbed paralyzation, unblinking as he stared at the computer manufactured paper, then looked around again. This was getting a little too dangerous, and he felt a cold creep of fear trickle down his spine. Whoever disliked him enough to do this was going a little too far in their efforts. He really felt uncomfortable. He wadded up the paper and intended to throw it away when a thought came to him, and he shoved that into his pockets. He then hurried out from the lobby, glancing around him, looking for anyone that was interested in seeing his reaction to the hateful thing.
The others were waiting for their coach when he arrived, and he saw with some annoyed interest that Felicia wasn’t there. Triton was, and he walked over, chewing gum and looking a little attractive in a black tee over baggy jeans. His fashionably thin frame was fashionably slouched, and he looked totally at ease. Quatre realized that his libido was taking interest in someone that had interest in him in that manner. Hell, it wouldn’t be much–he was horny, anyway! What harm could it come to? He forgot about the note he’d received and frowned at the guy instead, wondering, what if...?
“You good?” Triton asked him, smiling in some amusement.
“Yeah.”
“What set you off, yesterday?”
“Nothin’ that you need to know.”
“Your ex, huh? I heard you guys broke up. Kind of hard to believe,” Triton continued, blinking. “You guys were, like, married.”
“Well, believe it. Because it’s true. And gay marriage is currently illegal here in California.”
“Why? Did it have something to do with those rumors? That he was in a porno?”
“...No.” Quatre guessed that it wasn’t a lie if he didn’t elaborate.
Triton stared at him for a few seconds longer. “You know, there are other people out there that wouldn’t have mind if their whatever-friends made a porno with others...”
“And those are probably the sort of people that have open relationships!” Quatre snapped, utterly annoyed at the casualness Triton regarded his current pain with. Quatre wondered how the other boy was able to have relationships if he were this callus with other people...
But then again, Triton was one of those guys that were convenient for one thing (or two, or three) and shouldn’t be taken seriously. Quatre could never take him seriously.
Triton grinned, displaying white teeth. “Whatever, then. If that’s so wrong with you...”
“It is! I’m not like that...”
“That’s not what I heard over the summer.”
“Man...go to hell.” Quatre rolled his eyes, then had to wonder what Triton had heard. There were some rumors about his involvement with Justin, but they were currently unfounded, since neither party was the type to broadcast their actions to everybody.
Triton reached out to pat his head. “You’re growing!”
“Really?” Quatre looked down at himself, hopeful.
“Yeah. You’re probably about five eight and a half, now.”
“Asshole. Get off this.”
“Sit by me on the bus, okay?”
“I’m not sitting by you! I need a nap!” Quatre snapped at him, frowning at the thought.
“Oh, you can put your head in my lap...among other things...” Triton then grinned at him, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“You–!”
“Are we ready?” Ramos asked, walking in from the coaches’s room, carrying a bag of balls and his own briefcase. At a chorus of agreeing calls, they all began leaving the gym until Quatre realized that Felicia still wasn’t there. He looked around curiously, frowning, hoping that she wasn’t going to skip out on their first game. She still protested the fact that she didn’t want to play, and looked pretty down about sticking with the team at his insistence...he felt kind of bad about pressuring her to play, but she was the only girl he could tolerate, and besides–he was doing her a favor by getting her to try something new and exciting. Forget the fact that she’d lost a lot of loyal friends in the same instant, like Drake. His cause was more important than theirs...
They were all loading up on the bus and he’d just settled in his seat (with Triton) when she hurried over, looking pretty winded and upset. She practically forced herself through the lingering line of athletes that were choosing their seats, and took the one in front of him and Triton, ignoring the others’ protests.
“LOOK!” she screeched, rather girlishly, making him wince. She was holding out a tabloid, and while he usually avoided the ugly things, he saw her picture on the front. Blinking, he took the magazine and saw the headline: “Taking One For The Team?! Gangster’s Niece Playing Basketball!”
He then flipped through it, finding a two page article on the girl, who looked pretty frazzled about the entire thing. He still thought it weird that the girl was infamous enough to featured in such things alongside the likes of Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton–she was that big of a deal outside of Darken. Here, he couldn’t even conceive of her popularity as such, because it just wasn’t believable...but here was his proof, moving about in the limited movement holographic pictures...
He wondered what was wrong with the original glossy spreads that he was used to...
“I didn’t think this would be such a big deal! But the press is makin’ it all important!! It’s embarrassing!”
Apparently, the only niece of a powerful alien ‘crime lord’ (which wasn’t a proven thing, but entirely suspected as he was involved with a ton of wrongdoings and suspicious behavior that revolved around his sinful enterprises) was garnering attention playing on a high school basketball team. Everyone was interested in this little bit of interesting knowledge, as she played a rather intriguing role as her uncle’s niece. The alien himself was a tabloid on his own, and the fact that his niece was trying normal with the other kids was pretty big news.
“Wow! You’re a celebrity!” he exclaimed, flipping through the rest, finally finding out who Jake Gyllenhaal was. He was actually pretty cute...He moved the page around to get a better look at the guy...yeah...he’d do him...
“I don’t wanna be! I don’t want all that attention!” Felicia sighed, shoulders slumping as she looked around. “It’s bad enough that I’m featured as one of those ‘Most Horribly Dressed Deviant’ on page thirty-eight...What the fuck’s wrong with wearing jeans and a sweater?”
She then disappeared into her seat, and Quatre flipped through the magazine as Ramos began calling out the names of his players, making sure they were all on the bus.
Triton stopped bugging Colin about some senior girl and looked with disdain at the magazine.
“What’s this shit?” he asked, pulling it out of Quatre’s grasp. He saw the cover and laughed, leaning over Felicia’s seat. “Can I have your autograph?”
“FUCK YOU!”
He laughed again, resettling into his seat as the bus began moving.
Quatre remembered the note, and dug that out of his pocket, leaning over her seat to show her. She took it with an annoyed expression, then blinked several times as she saw the content. She gave him a disturbed expression. “Oh my God, where’d this come from?”
He told her, looking just as disturbed. “Should I turn it in to the authorities?” he asked after he finished.
“Yeah! God, this school’s supposed to be all securitized and shit, and this shit’s getting to you?! Death threats are taken pretty seriously, man. Turn it into Ramos. He’ll send it to the proper people in admin,” she advised, handing it back to him. Then she winced. “Did you handle it a lot?”
“I looked at it and wadded it up. Then I gave it to you.”
“Well...our fingerprints must have fucked it up, but turn it in just in case. Okay? That’s pretty fuckin’ serious, man. You should have told somebody that people were fuckin’ around with you,” she scolded, sitting back in her seat and fiddling with her game bag.
Quatre sat back in his seat, and folded the letter up, sliding it back into his pocket. Triton was busy talking to Colin and looking through the magazine with some interest, so he turned and stared out the window as the bus began its ambling journey to Roseville, an hour away from Marysville.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
When they arrived at the gym, Quatre saw that the parking lot was loaded with spectators that were coming from various areas just to watch the kids in the tourney play. Sophia Darken’s team gathered their things and left the bus, filing into the cafeteria of the Roseville High’s cafeteria just to get their way into the gym. Quatre looked around curiously, noting familiar faces from the previous year, and looking for Jamie Anderson, his former best friend. He hadn’t talked to the guy in a while, considering their different schools, and the fact that Jamie was often busy doing his military thing.
The cafeteria was packed with local kids and adults, and he felt self-conscious as he heard his name uttered by several people, most of them in awe of his talent on the court, or for something else. Looking around at the various adults and teens, he noticed that a lot of their intrigued stares were focused in on the richer, more ‘famous’ kids of their lot, as Darken was the private academy of the rich and famous–Otto was the son of a former president. Paul’s mother was a current top-hit actress. Derrick’s older brother was a military general that garnered a lot of attention overseas. Passage was with her own fame. His own father was a billionaire.
He wasn’t sure about the others, but he heard their names being pointed out, and those kids were either looked at with envy, or dislike because of what they possessed. It was a little unfair. Money was associated with automatic snob-reaction, or misapplications of spoiled brats. Perhaps they were–but those people didn’t know them enough to make those judgements. He certainly wasn’t a spoiled brat–was he?
He then noticed that Felicia was already missing, and scowled, hoping she wouldn’t pussy out of this moment.
He looked around once more, and briefly caught the eye of a smirking guy, who looked awfully familiar. He was then distracted by some little kids that ran by, one of them being a little boy with dark hair that kicked him as he went by. With an annoyed expression directed at the little brat, Quatre continued on his way with the others.
They walked into the crowded gym, which was just as big as it was last year, and all the benches were currently filled with both spectators and players. He saw Justin standing at the Home locker rooms nearby, talking to another teammate, and their team was dressed out to play. Justin waved at him, then continued talking. Quatre followed the others to a section near the far end of the court, and sat next to Winnie, who was a little quiet as he fiddled with his knee brace.
Since he’d torn his ACL last year, Quatre’s own knee felt a little weak after extensive movement, but not enough so that he needed a brace of his own. He’d prefer to go without it, and the surgeon had guaranteed that he wouldn’t need one after the work had been done.
Then he remembered his note, and walked over to sit next to Ramos, digging out his wadded up note.
The older man turned away from one of the assistant coaches and looked at him thoughtfully, then took the note with a questioning expression. He saw the content, blinked in disbelief, then scowled as he faced the teen.
“Is there more like this?” he asked, his voice stern and impeccably cool.
“No. Well...there were other things, but that’s, like, the most worst of them all,” Quatre said, gesturing at it. “I don’t have any idea who it could have come from.”
Ramos stared at him for a small second, then shook his head as he re-read the content. The threatening of Darken’s students lives were taken pretty seriously, and once he handed it in to the head security force that oversaw Darken’s protection measures over their esteemed scholars, they would immediately take immense maneuvers to find out who was doing the threatening.
“All right, I know this may be a little difficult, but who could you have pissed off recently?” he asked, Quatre immediately scowling at him.
Ramos took that back. It was a pretty pathetic question. He sighed heavily, folding up the note, and carefully tucking that away. “I’ll report this as soon as we get back to the school. But meanwhile, I’m going to call ahead and have security run over the room history within the past...how long has this been going on?”
“I don’t know...since Colin was poisoned...”
“That was connected to you?”
“Yes. That brownie was meant for me, but Colin took it before I could eat it. Then I found tacks in my shoe, and someone gave me a video–er...I take that one back,” Quatre said hurriedly, shaking his head.
“A ‘video’? What sort of video?”
“Nothing, never mind. That was an unrelated incident,” Quatre said. “And I always feel like I’m being followed, or someone’s watching me, and it’s really creepy.”
“Like you have a stalker?”
“I...” It couldn’t be Trowa. Trowa would never stalk anybody...but then again, he did follow him and Justin around that other day...it couldn’t be Trowa. Trowa would never lower himself to this level–! Could he? “I don’t know,” Quatre then finished, rather lamely.
“I’ll have security look into this, and I want you to have someone with you at all times,” Ramos directed. “To and from practice, during practice–which means you shouldn’t be training without having someone else with you–and if you noticed anything out of the ordinary, you’d damn well tell somebody, got it? I’m sure security can figure out ways to record your room’s history, using weight measurements and things like that, I’m not entirely sure what they do, but this is serious stuff, Winner. This is a threat on your life!”
“I KNOW. It just pisses me off. Why can’t they confront me directly? Why do they have to sneak around?” Quatre vented furiously. “GOD! I’m going to kick their ass if I ever catch them–!”
“Then you’ll have to face my wrath,” Ramos said dryly, straightening. “I don’t encourage that sort of behavior from the players of my team...If I hear about you fighting with someone, I’m going to drop you. Winner. We can’t have that.”
Quatre stared at him, not bothering to hide his disgust. “So, you’re expecting me to take this like a bitch?!”
“WINNER, watch your language! I’m still an adult, and I’m the authority over you,” Ramos growled, headache forming. Why was it that this seemingly sweet looking boy had such a bad temperament? Good thing he’d stocked up on his most expensive vodka before the season started...
“Well, I don’t take threats very lightly! I’m not going to lie down and let them do that shit to me! I’m not the type to let people push me around!”
“Well, you aren’t, granted, but impulsive decisions will lead to your demise from the team, so keep it cool,” Ramos said, frowning at him. “We can only rely on security from this moment on. Let me know if you find something else threatening, all right? We can’t have any harm coming to you...”
“Yeah, whatever,” Quatre muttered, rising from the bench and walking over to his previous seat. He found it so frustrating to talk to Randy–the guy was pathetic in his view. And besides, Quatre wasn’t going to take this threatening thing lightly–as soon as he found out who it was, he was going to kill them and hide the body somewhere...
He watched the current game for a small while, then relaxed totally as the game ended, and Sageville and Apollo Prestigious came out onto the court. The others were fooling around, getting comfortable as they waited for their turn on the court, and he found himself quietly reflecting on things.
Trowa had said that he’d no idea what he was talking about last night–maybe instead of reacting with anger, Quatre should have confronted him instead. He knew that Trowa was very ashamed of his behavior in the tape, and his own humility had suggested so. No matter how many times he wanted to point fingers in Trowa’s direction, sure that it was Trowa because of certain instances (the passcode, the video, the break-up as motivation...), he just felt wrong about it. Trowa had been distant to him, and they behaved as acquaintances, barely acknowledging each other unless they absolutely had to.
He doubted Trowa would want him dead–that just seemed so extreme. And while the threat was obvious on the note, he didn’t feel as if he were in that sort of danger–that sort of thing didn’t happen with people like him. That happened only in movies and manga–not ordinary boys like him. He was only going to take the threat half-heartedly, because he didn’t think someone could hate him enough to want to kill him...just annoy him severely.
He suddenly felt bad for reacting the way that he had last night–reacting with violence. He knew Trowa was used to it–after all, Quatre did rack him one with the wrench, and that was about as bad as it got. But, still...what if it hadn’t been Trowa that put the tape in there? He should have just talked about it first...
His doubts were getting to him as he watched the game. Suddenly, he had the urge to talk to Trowa, to apologize. And to find out in his own way if Trowa would lower himself to that sort of behavior. He could usually tell with Trowa lied–it had been soooo obvious that he’d been up to no good when he’d returned from Spain, so it couldn’t be that hard for Quatre to realize his own truths...
Sighing heavily, he straightened in his seat, then watched as Justin commanded the court in his own special way. Quatre idly found himself wondering what the dark haired boy did to tuck away that monster he was hiding within those shorts of his, and was startled when someone put their hand on his shoulder.
“We’re going to get something to drink,” Colin said, indicating a group heading over to the cafeteria. The senior had forgiven him recently, but joked about the incident constantly. “Want anything?”
“A strawberry Gatorade,” Quatre said, giving him a couple of dollars. Colin took the money and headed after the others, and Quatre returned to staring at the game. He heard an outraged scream from the other end of the court, and looked over to see Felicia scurrying away from a rather large military guy, a shit-eating grin on her face. She hurried over to him, laughing.
“Well, scratch that name off my list!” she said, hugging him. “Hey! You’re all alone!!”
“Get off me!” he growled, pushing at her. She took a seat beside him, pulling out her phone. He brushed his hair from his face as he looked at her curiously. “Who was that?”
“Adam Byrons. I asked him if he were gay because I thought I could hook him up with you,” she replied, Quatre looking at her in horror. She grinned at him. “But he’s not. He about kicked my ass. Ah, well, I’ve got at least five more guys too go...”
“FELICIA!”
“Whhhaaaattt? GOD! My life is PAIN!” she roared. “PAIN!”
He laughed. Whatever that meant. Nudging her, he looked over to where members of the Duncan Jones team were sitting, looking for a familiar face or two. That one that she’d run away from was steaming mad, and he remembered the boy being #72 from last year. It was those eyebrows of his...Quatre wondered if he and Dorothy Catalonia would ever get acquainted...
“Well? Where’s soldier boy? The one you want for your babies?”
“I hope your balls fall off, motherbitch!”
He gave her a dead leg.
She then elbow slammed him in the chest, causing him to lose his breath. “Anyway, that should be your answer.”
“Man, all we do is beat each other up. We don’t love each other anymore,” he complained, rubbing his chest as she laughed at that comment. “Hey, where’s your armbands? Put them on. I want to see how strong you are, then.”
“No. You’ll kick my ass! Boys are still stronger than girls,” Felicia sniffed, rubbing her thigh absently. “Besides, there ain’t no way I’m putting those on before a game. Diminishes my value and worth.”
He laughed again. Sometimes she was just retarded. He told her so.
“Well, I don’t think so. I...oh geez. Hide me,” she muttered, crawling behind him and trying to hide behind his frame. Quatre blinked stupidly as he looked away from her, seeing aforementioned soldier boy walking over, grinning.
He really wasn’t all that attractive–he just looked plain dorky, but there was a pleasantry about him that made him approachable and liked. He had round blue eyes, a somewhat large nose, thin lips, a dorky, somewhat eager expression on his face that suggested he liked to please whomever he was speaking to, and he was still around six feet two, lanky and broad in the shoulders, as much soldiers were. His brown hair was styled so that it was long on top and closely cropped at the back of his neck. Without all that muscle he carried around, he would have been a string-bean dork that Quatre could imagine himself beating up just for the sake of doing so.
“Get out from there!” he commanded. “Did you really ask Adam if he were gay?”
“What? He isn’t?” came Felicia’s innocent reply.
“NO! He isn’t! And what’s this I hear about you being on the team?” he asked.
He had a pleasant voice, Quatre thought, moving because Felicia was getting out from behind him.
“Exactly what you heard. Why?”
“Come on, let’s go talk somewhere.”
“No! You’re just trying to steal my virtue!”
Quatre had to laugh at that one. “Felicia, you have never had a virtue for as long as I’ve known you!”
“What do you know, you fairy?” she grumbled, leaving the bench. “Fine. I’ll give you a handjob, but that’s it, Ian!”
“..First of all, I’m not scamming on some pathetic high school chick that can barely pass her Pre-Algebra class, and second, getting something in that manner from you would be considered incest, since I see you as my little sister. God, sometimes I wonder about you, you know. Promiscuity signals an unhappy childhood and leads to more dangerous adventures in life. Everything can’t be solved with sex,” Ian Peters was saying as he led her away, one hand on her shoulder. Felicia was giving him an insulted expression, mouth working, but nothing coming out.
Quatre glanced after them, and wondered why they weren’t in a relationship. It was obvious those two had feelings for each other–whenever he saw Ian looking at her, it was often with a fondness and a soft liking that he’d once seen on Trowa’s face when he looked at him. And Felicia was definitely more subdued around him–it was quite eerie. It was as if she were trying not to be but couldn’t help it.
He sighed and leaned back on the bench, folding his arms behind his head. He watched the game, and laughed at Justin’s mistakes as time went on. During the second quarter, he looked up to see Jamie walking over to him, as well as another boy with wild brown hair. If he’d thought that Ian was a dork, this one took the master piece of the chocolate cake. The other boy had uncontrolled brown hair that looked as if he’d never fixed it after he woke up, squinting brown eyes behind heavy frames, a somewhat lurpy posture, and despite all the acquired muscle, looked like a ninety-pound loser. He wasn’t dressed in warm-ups, but casual clothing that looked far too uptight for him.
“Hey, Quatre!” Jamie greeted cheerfully, sitting beside him, dressed in his maroon and gray warm-ups. The other boy looked curiously around, shifting his glasses. Jamie gestured at him. “This is Larson Edwards. We call him ‘Lars’ for short.”
“Hey.”
“Hi. Where’s our fearless leader?” Larson questioned in a sharply nasal tone, as if someone were pinching his nostrils shut.
Quatre blinked in confusion, Jamie looking around curiously as well. “Did you see Peters, Quatre? Kind of tall, brown hair...”
“Yeah. He and Felicia went walking that way.”
“Ah, geez,” the other guy muttered, hurriedly running off in that direction.
Quatre blinked, and looked at Jamie questioningly. His friend had changed considerably since the last time he’d seen him. He looked older, tired, more mature than ever. His crewcut black hair had grown in slightly, but his face had shifted into that of a man. Quatre felt horribly self-conscious about his own looks, aware that he still looked young.
“Long story,” Jamie muttered, wiping at his nose. “He’s not supposed to be around her...”
“Why?” Quatre asked, confused.
Jamie shrugged. “That’s confidential. Anyway, how are you? I haven’t seen you in a very long time!”
“I’m good!”
They talked for a long while, catching up on each other’s business as halftime came and went. As they talked, Quatre kept an eye on the court and on his own team, waiting for Ramos to signal for them to get dressed out for their game. But then he noticed that Justin was looking over a few times at them, with some interest.
During the fourth quarter, Ramos called for all team members to dress out, and so Jamie and Quatre said their goodbyes for now, and the blond gathered his things to go and change with. He was looking forward to playing–especially against a good team. He made his way with the others, looking up into the bleachers to look at the crowd. He saw a few people from Darken sitting up there, but no one of real importance. He felt a little down that he would never see Trowa in the crowd, but then again...that was that. He just seemed to play better when he knew his friends and family were there, giving their support from the benches.
He wished Trowa had understood that while they were together.
He and the others swung their bags atop various benches and began to change, Quatre taking his time in doing so because he was feeling a little down about the Trowa-thing. He opened his bag, and carefully removed his warm-ups and jersey, then his game shoes. The others were talking and laughing, but he had no real connection with them, so he pretty much kept to himself.
He sat down on the bench and took off his off-court shoes, then proceeded to fluff out his jersey and shorts, and what he saw made him pause.
The bright white uniforms were simple in design–shimmery white with Darken’s colors of light blue and yellow. The shorts were knee length, with simple rectangle designs lining up the outside seams in bright neon yellow, and the jersey was fitted with fitting material over the shoulder and arm areas, displaying ‘Darken’ and the jersey number in front, and their last name and number in back.
Over his number 20 (which was his favorite Spurs player’s number, Manu Ginobuli), his last name Winner was marked out with black permanent ink and tagged with ‘LOSER’ instead. Gaping at it in disbelief, he saw that the front had been marked as well, labeled with the words ‘Cheating Liar’ and ‘Whorie Skank’. Looking down at his shorts, he saw that those had been marked too. He hadn’t seen these extras since his uniform had been properly folded over a metal hangar within the dressing bag, therefore obscured what etchings had been performed on them, and he hadn’t paid too much attention to them when transferring them to his game bag because he’d never think that someone would mark them.
But his shorts had been cruelly tampered with as well, the inline seam of the crotch littered with arrows and derogatory terms that made his face redden.
“Holy shit, someone fuckin’ hates you!” Winnie (#51)exclaimed, who noticed Quatre’s sudden state. “Dude, check this shit out!”
“Geez, did you piss of some girl that much?” Otto (#44) asked, blinking in stupendous disbelief as he stared at the destroyed material.
The other boys glanced curiously over as Quatre gaped at the mess, feeling rage and anger rise up from within, mainly because he probably wasn’t able to play. He hurled the offending pieces of material from himself as the others muttered amongst themselves, Duo (#30) hurrying out from the locker room to go and get Ramos.
Fists curled in tightly, Quatre vowed that when he got his hands on this dick that was going to far in their hate for him, there wasn’t going to be very much left when he got done.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
In the Girl’s Locker room, where she and Mariemaia were changing, Felicia was having some serious doubts and hesitation. The other girl was busy lacing up her ankle brace and paying attention to her own thing, and never noticed that Felicia was having such troubles. Her heart was racing wildly, and her stomach was churning with uncomfortable butterflies as she realized that this basketball thing was turning into something much bigger than she had ever imagined. She never thought she’d be this way, trying out for a sports team and actually making it...she never thought she’d get this far in this normalcy aspect.
She felt incredibly nervous, chewing wildly on her nails, eyeing the locker doors as if they were the gateway to doom. She knew all those people were out there, watching her, waiting for a mistake–the media loved people like her, the ones easily caught with cameras and displayed within their glossy holographic display for the masses...
It was an unfortunate side effect to being rich and within the company of questionable presence, but she’d never let it get to her head. She’d learned to deal with it, and that was it. Nothing she could do about it, but roll with it.
Still...she knew there were people out there, waiting to take her picture and guess what boy she was loved up on, and it was just...this entire normalcy thing got to her. While it was welcome and new, it was just unpleasant to actually know its effects...she really didn’t want to play. She didn’t share the same passion as the other players did for this sport–she’d rather she was with Drake, crammed into a small car, on their way to a party filled with booze, drugs, handsome college boys, and perhaps a jam session or two. Not on the court in front of cheering spectators and basketball hungry players that took an ultra-scary seriousness in their game...
And she’d gone back on her words–last year, she’d heavily protested the school’s mascot and the school’s apparent lack of respect for her minority group, and then here she was, dressed out in the school’s colors and losing what respect she had from the others in her decision to keep her ground in the continuous fight of slandering...
She knew a lot of kids were disappointed in her actions, Drake the most vocal of them all. She’d noticed that the kids she used to talk to were suddenly distracted by other things whenever she approached, and that her somewhat betraying actions were a strong reminder that she was just a hypocrite...it bothered her immensely. Especially when she was supposed to be dressed in those colors and playing for these team of ‘Warriors’.
She sighed heavily once more, and slowly started to change, Mariemaia (#10)leaving the locker room. Shivering at the cold air within the locker room, Felicia quickly shrugged on her jersey (#5) and shorts, and pulled on her newly acquired Nike b-ball shoes, grimacing at the newness of the black and light blue shoes. They didn’t match her uniform (which made her feel awfully obvious), but she had liked them, and to hell with a fashion statement. The other players wore shoes that matched their uniforms, and she had chosen shoes that didn’t match...well...She tugged on her wretched armbands, and adjusted them just below her biceps, where they were the most comfortable.
She then tied her long dark hair into a pair of low slung braids that flapped against her back, took a deep breath, then tugged on her warm-ups and nervously made her way to the locker room doors. The crowd that was watching the current game was cheering loudly, maniacally, and her pulse began racing with ultra-nervousness.
“Oh, God, c’mon...” she muttered to herself, taking several deep breaths. She saw the others gathered nearby, stretching their various limbs, and noticed that Quatre was talking angrily with Ramos, who was trying to calm him down. She saw that he was wearing his warm-ups, but gestured at them furiously. Too nervous to wonder why he was freaking out, she slowly ambled her way towards the others, hoping that her feelings weren’t showing on her face. How everyone would laugh at her (her, the girl that beat up boys when paid, the girl that talked and acted like a boy, the girl that led another life outside of Darken) if they knew she was scared. She had a rep to maintain! She couldn’t be human...
“Buck up, you fucking wimp,” she continued to mutter to herself, wiping her sweaty palms against her warm-ups, and hoping she remembered what the three-second rule was, what back court was, what Zone position meant. “Man up, asshole...stop being a baby...you’re not scared...you’re not scared...Oh, God, I’m scared I’m scared I’m scared I can’t do this...!”
Ramos then signaled for the players to line up, seniors in front, and Quatre stomped toward her, looking obscenely furious. Felicia nervously fiddled with her braids, clenching one in each hand, and tugging hard on them as she studied his face.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered as Ramos began handing out warm-up balls to the seniors standing in front.
“Someone fucked up my jersey!” he hissed, fuming mad.
“Are you going to play?!”
“Yeah, Ramos had a couple of extra jerseys, but STILL! I’m going to kill the fucking prick that fucked over my shit!”
Felicia felt a little down about that, but her nervousness was far too occupying for her to offer a comment or sympathy toward this new revelation. Her breath was suddenly heavy and far too rushed, and she clenched her teeth, finding her throat dry. She really didn’t want to do this...she really didn’t want to. She wanted to turn tail and run for the nearest exit, and haul ass back to the dorm.
Her chest felt tight, sweat was already beading upon her forehead, and as she gazed out the swinging doors that led into the gym, the thought that she had to face a gym-full of staring people involved in a sport she didn’t even know the rules to made her stomach flop uncomfortably. Her blood seemed to freeze as she thought about the media that was going to no doubt catch every one of her movements, commenting and laughing at her lack of sportsmanship.
She swallowed hard, finding it nearly impossible to do so, and reached out for Quatre’s hand. Her fingers clasped over his thumb, curled inward so that her knuckles were pressed against his palm. She didn’t know why she did that–just that the comfort of another person was always helpful in times like this...plus, having contact with something grounded always seemed to help.
“What the hell–?!” Quatre exclaimed, looking at her with an annoyed expression, not liking to play games before a ball game. He was serious and tough, and his experience in the sport put him in far higher levels than she could ever accomplish in this field.
Maybe that’s why she needed his contact–maybe some of his confidence and such would absorb into her.
“I’m scared,” she whimpered, finding it hard to let go, her arm shaking.
Quatre lifted an eyebrow, trying to dislodge her hand. He noticed the armbands were in place, but it was as if her fingers had locked tightly onto his. Her palms were moist, and her fingers were shaking pretty obviously.
“Are you serious?!” he gaped.
Felicia ignored his disbelief, chewing almost fanatically at her other thumb nail, drawing blood. She eyed the crowd gathered within the gym, and felt her fears pounding at her forehead. The thought that so many people were watching her, that she just didn’t get the full grasp of the game yet–that she wasn’t supposed to be ‘normal’, had her entire body reacting with an unnatural effect that her classmates never expected from her. Luckily, the only person to notice this suddenly normal and certainly natural effect on a person that was never expected to be this way, was Quatre. And Quatre was her trusted friend–she could count on him to not be such a prick about it...
“Felicia, are you serious? Are you seriously scared?” Quatre pressed, frowning as he used his other hand to pry her fingers from his hand. She just resumed her grip on that hand, short nails digging into his palm.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered, shaking her head as Ramos entered the gym, holding the door open as the buzzer signaled the end of the previous game. Her grip tightened suddenly, the absolution of her impulsive actions hitting her fully in the gut. She couldn’t believe she’d let Quatre con his way into getting her to do this!
“I can’t do this, Quat!”
“Ow...ow...ow, let go, you’re bleeding me,” was his answering mutter, as he accomplished the task of prying her fingers from his hand, only to have it reattach to his wrist. “Okay, stop playing! We’re going to go out there!”
“I’m NOT playing!” Felicia whimpered, shaking her head as Ramos started the signal for the line to move. “I can’t do this! I don’t wanna! I don’t know how to play!”
“Don’t do this now, Felicia! Get going!” Quatre hissed as the other players moved out from the hall, Ramos looking back at them curiously. He pushed at the girl, prompting her to move, but she faltered once more as the team began their traditional run around the court. “GO!”
“I CAN’T!” she wailed. “I can’t do it!”
“For the LOVE of–!” he growled, gripping her wrist and pulling her behind him. She started to drag her heels, to turn around and run, but he turned, using his currently stronger strength to pull her along behind him. As a result, their team was already halfway back to the hall, and they still hadn’t left it.
“What the hell’s going on?!” Ramos demanded, moving over to them questioningly as the telltale sounds of balls being bounced on the court began, their team already moving into warm-up drills as the other team took the court.
“I CAN’T!”
“Get out there and do your best, Goddamn it!” Quatre growled, hauling her into the view of the crowd, gripping both wrists.
Felicia looked terrified as she emerged, her usually tanned skin pale, eyes rounded with fear, body locked with paralyzation, but as soon as she eyed the media bench across the gym, with its multitudes of cameras and commentators, she seemed to snap out of it, yanking her hand from his and hurrying onto the court.
Quatre growled with severe annoyance at the entire thing, and ran out there as well, hoping that this wasn’t a prelude to something entirely sucky...