Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ VIVA ❯ Arrivals in Eb major ( Prologue )

VIVA

1: Arrivals in Eb Major

The campus grounds were quiet, but not surprisingly so. Those who lived nearby were perhaps a little agitated by the long silence of the grassy hills and sprawling buildings that were usually home to more noise than they cared to recall, but for now it was to be expected. After all, the college of Music students were still on holiday for three more days and most would not arrive until the last available moment. Why? Fickle arts students and their temperamental ways.

The teachers and lecturers, on the other hand, were far from idle. New equipment arrived each semester and this one was no different as the numerous large trucks arrived and countless amps, desks, computers and other instrumental appliances were dragged through the massive garage doors and into the school performance space. From there they would make their way to various parts of the school, but for now it was enough to have them in one place where they could be assessed by the technicians.

Among the bustling rows of trucks, cars, teachers and technicians roaming the school, a lone, sleek black limousine crept up the main drive, around the back of the school to the residential space beyond. Huge towering buildings that would soon be anything but silent, each with hundreds of tiny box-like cages that were also known as student bedrooms. A single bed, a desk, a shelf and a phone. All identical little dives for identical little artistic perfectionists.

The limousine pulled up in near silence and before it had fully stopped three men were already piling out of the doors, each with a strange little red hat on their head. When the limo was safely in park, a fourth man, almost twice the size of the others, got out of the drivers door and opened the back door on the driver's side, bowing slightly.

Sighing heavily, Quatre Rabarba Winner slipped from the back seat into the cold breeze. He shuddered, hulking deeper into the dark navy ankle length coat and glaring at Rashid, the driver, from under his soft yellow bangs. He was not happy at all! Not only had his father transferred him from Julliard, without giving any explanation, but he had transferred him to a colony so far away from earth and L4 it was impossible to go home for holidays, and it was damn cold!

"What is this place anyway?" Quatre grumbled, not for the first time.

"The Wing College of the Arts, Master Quatre," Rashid replied easily, a bright smile plastered on his face. Apparently the man approved of the weird school, and his small charges presence there. "Colony F195."

F195…Quatre gaped. Rashid could not be serious, although it would certainly explain the weather! Glaring at the steel grey sky and the ice-covered ground, Quatre huffed loudly.

"A Finnish colony?"

Rashid nodded enthusiastically as he passed a rather beaten looking violin case to Master Quatre and proceeded to pick up all four of Quatre's other bags. Clutching the violin to his chest, Quatre followed Rashid, not really sure where they were going but certain Rashid knew every nook and cranny of the school by heart. How, Quatre did not want to know.

He would love to know how a little country like Finland, with such a small population and not nearly as much money as the other world nations, had managed to build a colony. Not to mention he would love to know why, when they could manufacture any weather pattern they wanted, they had decided to keep having snow all year round!

Abdul and the other Maguanacs Rashid had insisted on bringing with him pushed open a large glass door and Quatre was hit by a wave of heat so heavy he almost dropped his violin. He made to comment but was interrupted by a loud, rather nasty sounding welcome from the other side of the room, foyer…Quatre was not sure what it was.

"Welcome! I'm Professor Une, the supervisor for this building."

"Greetings to you, Professor Une," Rashid replied, none of his enthusiasm yet drained. Quatre wondered if the man ever sounded unhappy and vaguely recalled several times Rashid didn't think Master Quatre had been punished well enough for his disobedience.

"Ah, you must be the Winners, from L4? I was told you should be arriving earlier than everyone else. So, this is Quatre?" She looked down her nose, through slightly fogged glasses. Quatre wondered why it was so damn hot.

"I am the conductor of the Orchestra," Une explained quickly. "But I teach woodwinds, not strings, so I hope to only see you three times a week." It was a warning, of sorts, Quatre knew. If he mucked up on campus, he would answer to her, which he had absolutely no intention of doing. He was sure Professor Une was a very lovely lady, but she made Quatre think he just might wet the bed…

"If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your room…"

It was some hours later that Quatre finally found himself alone, the window slightly ajar to let the stifling hot air out and the cooler air in, jacket still around his shoulders but now a comfortable temperature. He sat on the head of the windowsill and looked out at the other campus buildings, a map in hand as he tried to get a feel for how everything was set out.

He was starting to figure out just why he had been transferred from Julliard to…the Wing College of the Arts. Stupid name, in Quatre's opinion, but a damn good school. Julliard had failed to produce a single virtuoso musician in ten years. Quatre had been tipped to be the one to break the bad luck. However, every virtuoso to have emerged in the last ten years had come from one place; the Wing College of the Arts. Quatre might have wondered why, if he hadn't been holding the evidence in his hand. The school didn't just have everything. It had the best of everything. The best studios, the best instruments, the best teachers, each a virtuoso in their own right! And, of course, it had the students. The best of the best. Every one of them just as good, if not better, than Quatre.

And it wasn't just music, oh no. Quatre was part of the music school within the college, and was majoring in Romantic Period, but he would be expected to study all forms of music. Jazz, Blues, Popular, World, Funk, Fusion, Classical, Baroque, hell there was even Renaissance! …People majoring in every area and expected to minor in all the others. He had never seen a timetable like he now had.

Then there were the other schools. For the Visual arts, for Drama, for Dance, each with their own majors, minors, demands, and each with only the best of the best. How did one even manage to stand out in such a school? And what was this college doing on F195?

Too many questions and only Professor Une to get answers from, Quatre decided his curiosity could wait until later. For now, he would explore…and find out where the heating gages for the campus was…

*

The campus grounds were getting louder. There were only two days until the semester started and students were beginning to arrive. There were no roosters for wayward country children, but the trumpeter on the bottom floor of the music campus made sure everyone woke early anyway, running through the major and minor modes, not even stumbling when he reached Phrygian. He was, like everyone else, technically perfect.

As he grabbed his bags from the back of the small yellow taxi, Heero Yuy glared at the window he knew the trumpet sound was coming from. After all, it had come from the same room every morning last semester…until that last week when he had finally met Heero Yuy and the infamous death glare. Then the trumpet had been silenced. But holidays do strange things to people and it was obvious Heero needed to pay the trumpet player another visit.

Hands full, he kicked the foyer door open, completely ignoring the slap of hot air that his him full in the face as the taxi drove off, marooning him in the ice school from hell. Heero didn't really think it could get any worse when Une appeared from behind her desk and glared at him.

"Yuy. You're on the top floor this year. I don't' want any repeats of last year please. Leave Standish alone, and don't touch his damn trumpet!"

Heero only nodded, taking the key with his one free little finger and hauling his gear up the ten flights of stairs to the top floor. He was the first to arrive on said floor, for which he was grateful; no one could stare at him if there was no one there. He dumped his belongings and unlocked the door, peeking inside, almost afraid to look.

He had every reason to be afraid. Small single bed pushed up against the wall, tiny desk, one shelf and a cupboard built into the wall. Every room really was the same. Sighing, Heero tossed his bags in the cupboard, not bothering to unpack them. He would eventually get everything out, but there really wasn't any need to make a mess.

Instead, Heero opened the larger, hard black case and took out his perfect rosewood acoustic Martin guitar. He took his time putting the new steel strings on, caressing the frets as his fingers worked down the neck. This was his pride and joy, the fruit of so many years of labour. When his parents had given him this particular birthday present three years ago, he had almost died. It was the only time he had ever cried.

Satisfied with the tuning, Heero began running through a few old jazz standards, humming very softly along to a much loved Billy Holiday tune. It was not until some time later that he realised he could hear a violin, playing along.

*

One day until the semester began and the remaining students arrived with a vengeance, as if trying to make up for lost time. Chang Wufei watched them rush around the college in contempt, wondering if they had any idea how completely ridiculous they all looked. He himself was, of course, not ridiculous at all. For starters, he was wearing a coat made for the peculiar weather of Scandinavia. The coat kept him perfectly snug and could be removed quickly and easily, so the T-shirt and jeans Wufei wore underneath were perfect for the perfectly insane temperature of indoors. Not that Wufei had not learnt his lesson in that regard the hard way last year. But he was not about to admit that.

Wufei was a double major, a very rare thing, even at the Wing College. He was majoring in gothic period drama and World Music. This made him doubly strange, as his two majors were from completely different schools within the college, music and drama, and had very little to do with each other. Not that Wufei minded. He liked to be kept busy, and he was that, if nothing else.

Subsequently, when he arrived at Lady Une's desk at 6am sharp, she growled at him through those oddly shaped spectacles and told him this year he would be sleeping on the drama part of the campus, not music. This, of course, only made Wufei feel like a fool as he collected his things and marched back over the icy drive to the drama dormitories.

A blonde head appeared from the Supervisor's doorway and Professor Treize grinned at him, waving him over.

"Chang, it's wonderful to see you!" And he actually meant it. Treize had an entire class of technically perfect actors and actresses. He only had one student who actually felt what he performed, and that was Chang Wufei. Even if Wufei's tastes did run to the…macabre.

"Professor, what room am I in, and why?"

"Why are you over here now?" Treize quirked an eyebrow.

"Someone finally heard all those complaints you kept making about Standish playing the last post at breakfast every day and decided you deserved a break. Besides, there are some more transfers from other music schools and they're all going straight into second year, so they need more room. All double majors are being transferred out of the music dorms."

Wufei nodded, actually quite pleased. Someone had listened to him about Standish? He wished they would snap that damn horn over the boy's head. It wasn't, after all, as if the boy would feel it!

"Top floor. I set it up so you can yell straight across the courtyard into Yuy's room," Treize whispered with a wink and Wufei actually laughed. If there was one thing he enjoyed more than reading the most grotesque play he could find to Treize, it was aggravating Yuy.

"Want a hand?" Treize waved an arm sympathetically at the numerous piles of boxes. "What's in all those anyway?"

"Books, as usual," Wufei explained. "A hand would be much appreciated. Just watch that one," he pointed at a particularly large box with red chinese characters all over it.

"What's in it?" Treize picked the box up and almost dropped it when loud clunking noises made their way through the thick cardboard.

"Traditional Chinese Instruments…" Wufei said conspiratorially, a wicked gleam in his black eyes. Treize laughed heartily, recalling last semester when Wufei turned up at school with a box full of traditional European instruments. It had been…an interesting semester.

*

Trowa Barton heard his stomach grumble for the tenth time and stamped his foot on the pedal. He was late, lunch was no doubt over already, and he was damn hungry! He just hoped someone had managed to sneak some food into the dorm for him.

The school came into view and he drove his car to the large garage on the south side. There, the only mechanic Solo took his keys and locked his baby away for the semester. Trowa felt the loss as keenly as every other semester, but knew it would be just as sweet when he finally got to drive it home…wherever home was…He had no idea where the circus would be at the end of each semester, which made going home a bit of an adventure.

Grabbing his gear, which was surprisingly little and rather light, he made his way to the music dormitory and took a deep breath before pushing his way into the stormy heated foyer. Une was already stamping her foot and glaring at him.

"Late as usual Barton, why am I not surprised. Here's your lunch, but do not make this a regular event! Now get upstairs! Top floor, right beside Yuy's room so you can get to work on those assignments I just know Catherine wouldn't have given you time to do over the break!"

Trowa nodded in thanks for the sandwich, grabbed the key and sauntered up the stairs, his long legs taking them two at a time as he hummed softly. Trowa was a double major, but both were music school majors. A practical major in flute and a composition major. Composition was certainly his favorite.

Unlocking the door to his room, he tossed his belongings under the bed, grabbed his sandwich and the flute from the end of the bag and marched into Yuy's room. He was met with an overly familiar glare that only slightly softened when Heero realised who it was.

Trowa ignored him, grabbing a sheet of manuscript from the pile already spread out across Heero's desk and scribbling away at it before passing the new melody to Heero and opening his flute case.

Heero played it flawlessly the first time, then continued to play it again and again, each time with a different feel. Trowa only vaguely listened, running his hands over the three parts of his instrument.

It was an old flute. A very old flute. A Deford-Elkhart, the company had split at the beginning of the 20th century and become Armstrong and some unknown outlet for musical contraptions. No flute was ever constructed in quite the same way again, and while the old Deford-Elkhart's were often considered rough and too breathy, when played the right way the tone was simply heavenly. Trowa had inherited the instrument, completely unmarked, from Catherine's aunt, who had bout it for Catherine before she realised Catherine had not a single musical bone in her body.

"Stop making love to that thing and tell me how I should play this."

Trowa felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he shoved a square of the sandwhich into his mouth, swallowed and began scribbling the dynamics and intonations on the small melody.

Several hours later, when the dinner bell rang and Trowa finally put down the flute, he could hear the faint echo's of a violin playing his tune.

"Don't ask," Heero said pointedly. "He's been doing it to me all day."

*

It was dark when Solo finally got off work long enough to go pick up his cousin from the bus stop. He had wanted to leave earlier, knowing the poor kid didn't even have enough money for a taxi, but so many students had arrived at once and needed their cars put away. Spoiled little rich kids whose parents had got them in. Nothing like Duo, who was one of only three full scholarship students in the Wing College of Arts.

Duo waited patiently at the bus stop, content to just watch the people go by. Or he would have been content if it wasn't so damn cold! After an hour of sitting down, Duo wondered if his toes were still there and decided it was time to stand up. He grabbed his discman, a Christmas gift from everyone at the orphanage, and put on the newest addition to his cd collection; a recording of the Wing College of the Arts final year performance from last year. It was awesome stuff, but he quickly flicked through the tracks until he got to the rock section.

Four four rhythm blared at him, and his feet started moving of their own accord. The seat became his prop, the station his stage as he danced through the afternoon. People stopped to watch, several remarking he must have been a student at the college. Some placed coins on the top of his bags as they passed by, others just waved, applauded or smiled as they walked past. Duo was oblivious to them all, wound up in the music and the way it made him think feel, move.

A hand eventually clamped down on his shoulder and Duo's eyes blinked open to stare at a very amused Solo.

"Kid, you've enough money here to have caught ten taxi's." Duo looked and realised his cousin was right. "But I'm glad you didn't." They hugged quickly before moving off to the warmth of the car.

"It's so damn cold here!" Duo felt the wind rushing against his fast cooling skin and pulled his beanie down tighter over his ears.

"Get used to it," Solo said softly. "This is only the start of autumn."

Duo gaped at him, praying it wasn't true but knowing it was. F195, it seemed, was not street rat friendly and L2 was a very long way away.

"So I take it dance is your major? I had been wondering about that when Father Maxwell sent me the letter saying you got that scholarship!"

Duo nodded, looking out the window.

"Double major, vocals and modern dance." There was snow in the trees! SNOW! In Autumn! "Father Maxwell says if I stuff up once he's gonna make sure I go to hell…"

Solo laughed heartily and clapped Duo on the shoulder. "You know he only says stuff like that because he loves you and doesn't want you to get hurt any more."

"I know," Duo whispered, a faint smile on his lips. His eyes widened suddenly as they rounded the corner and the college came into view. "Oh my god, it's huge!"

Solo didn't reply as he parked the car in the garage and hauled Duo off to the dance dorms.

"Solo, you're late! You said he would be in by 6pm, its almost 9!"

Duo gaped at the woman, hands firmly on her hips, dark hair swirling all over her head and bright blue eyes blazing.

"Sorry Professor Noin, but that rush of kids this arvo did me in!"

The Professor sighed and suddenly laughed. "It was rather horrendous wasn't it. Very well, I take it this is Duo then?"

"Pleasure, ma'am," Duo replied with a nod of his head, offering his hand which was taken with surprising warmth.

"I've heard some wonderful things about you. I look forward to our class in the morning."

Duo realised this was his teacher and perked up. She didn't seem too bad. All he had heard were horror stories about the task-masters of Wing college. So far everything seemed bearable. Duo, however, was very familiar with how quickly `so-far' could turn into `I spoke too soon'.

Taking the key and directions from Professor Noin and thanking Solo, Duo hurried up the stairs…all ten flights of them and looked at his room. His own room. He'd never had one before, and this didn't seem too bad. Hell, it even had a mattress on the bed that wasn't more than ten years old!

Grinning from ear to ear, Duo shoved the ear plugs back in his ears, threw a random CD in the discman and began to dance, this time scribbling lyrics on a piece of paper as he fumbled around the small room that was larger than anything he had had before. Which was, of course, nothing.

The next day was the first day of the new semester at Wing college of the arts. It began with a blaring trumpet and a rather bluesy rendition of the last post.