Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Wayward ❯ Wayward - Prologue ( Prologue )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Introduction: Welcome all to my newest fanfic, my first delving into the world of Gundam Wing without the support of Sailormoon



Introduction: Now that Broken Wing is finished, I'm finally allowed to write this fanfic, entitled Wayward! YAY! I've had this idea in my head for the longest time, but wasn't free to write it because I wasn't finished with Broken Wing. But now I am, so without further ado: Welcome all to my newest fanfic, my first delving into the world of Gundam Wing without the support of Sailormoon. Wayward will be, I hope, a stronger and better story than Broken Wing. Perhaps not as long, but just as thought out and . . . well . . . everything else you guys said you liked about Broken Wing. ;o) It will be odd at some times, strange at others, and just plain weird in some. At least I hope so. And never, ever take anything at face value. And now, without further ado . . .

Disclaimers: Gundam Wing does not belong to me.


Wayward

Prologue


Sunlight shone in dusty rivulets through the old lace curtains and leaned its pale legs on the kitchen table. The window sat wide open, allowing sounds of chirping birds and laughing children to wander freely from the outside. The birds called to springtime mates and the children gossiped before having to go to school. And around them rose the shining, green, and happy world of the Earthsphere, finally at peace after so long at war. Humanity wandered unfettered around the planet and space again, without fear of fighting or dying. Life truly was wonderful.
Dorothy Catalonia shoved a spoonful of soggy cereal into her mouth and cursed the end of the war.
At her fingertips on the table lay the morning paper, filled with clothing ads, letters to the editor, and praise for Vice Minister Darlian and her crusade for true and lasting peace. Sure there were the occasional bank robberies or muggings, but none of that came even close to comparing with the majesty and grand sense of power that came with a battle. Why couldn't the rest of humanity understand this??
Disgusted with the lack of conviction in the rest of her species, Dorothy pushed her chair back and stood, tossing her long platinum hair over her shoulder. That was it then, it was decided. She would just have to start a new war herself. Her dark eyes glittered as she thought on all of the glory and power she would gain from being the one to lead humanity back into that magnificent age of wars. They would thank her for giving them back their backbones and their strength. Then they would go out to fight by her orders. It would be wonderful, like the old civil wars: brother fighting against brother and father against son. Sisters and wives going off to defend their husbands, brothers, and boyfriends. Oh the wonder of it all!
But first, she had to go to work.
Dorothy gave a short sigh and retrieved her small fencing foil from its case and her bag with the proper garments and other equipment from her closet. Just another day at Dorothy Catalonia's School of Fencing.
She swung the duffel bag over her shoulder and glanced about. Old newspapers littered the cream-colored carpet of her living room. Three coffee cups from previous mornings had taken up what seemed to be permanent residence on her kitchen table. Both of the rooms she could see from the hallway, which had a trail of dirty clothing leading back to the bedroom. Just in case she couldn't find it one night.
Yup, everything was fine. Time to go.
She strode across the metal border between her carpeted living room and her tiled kitchen to the front door. Her finger barely touched the knob before a knock resounded from the wood. Someone wanted to pay her a visit. But who? No one cared about Dorothy Catalonia anymore.
"Who's there?" she asked, leaning forward to peer out of the peek hole. The distorted image of a person with brown hair and rather large indigo eyes stared back at her over a pair of expensive looking sunglasses. It took her a moment to remember that it was the lens in the peephole that made their eyes so immense. This person was vaguely familiar.
"An old friend," called back a cheerful, wavering voice. Who DID that voice belong to? A name, a memory sat just on the tip of her mind but wouldn't jump. So she unlocked the deadbolt on the door and opened it just the tiniest bit, keeping the chain linking the door to the wall. The person, a boy despite his insanely long braid, flashed her a puckish grin and pulled his sunglasses further down his nose. "Long time, Dorothy."
"Who are you?" She felt extremely cliché and dull, not being able to come up with something more original to ask than that.
"Aw, you don't know me?" He put a hand to his heart and plastered a pained grimace to his face, "I'm wounded, really I am." Dorothy noticed he was dressed quite nicely in a suit consisting of tan colored pants and a jacket, a forest green shirt, and a white tie. A glance downward revealed expensive white shoes to match.
"No, I don't. Am I supposed to? Nevermind, I'd appreciate it if you would leave. I've got to get to work and you're a suspicious character in my way."
"Let me give you a hint . . ." His grin returned, a glint of something she didn't quite like beneath that expression. "It was during the war two years ago, before Mariemaia. You followed Relena Peacecraft around like a sick puppy dog and I was known as Duo Maxwell, pilot of Gundam 02. Although I preferred to call my dear friend Deathscythe. OZ never was very creative."
"A Gundam pilot." Dorothy scowled, resting her weight on one leg and letting her hip jut out in annoyance, "But I never even met you, I just saw your profile once when I joined White Fang. How am I supposed to remember you from that?" Although now she did. The picture formed in her mind, Duo Maxwell's gleeful face and sparkling indigo eyes.
Duo's grin never faltered as he leaned on his right shoulder against the aluminum siding and peered at her almost innocently. "Wishful thinking, I guess." One of his feet propped itself innocuously in contact with the door, keeping her from closing it in his face. "Can I come in?"
Dorothy blinked and stared at him a moment. Who did this guy think he was! He showed up at her house in the morning when she needed to go to work and expected her to let a complete stranger into her house! Crazy! He must have noticed her hesitation, because the next moment his soft hand was through the small crack between the door and the jam, gripping her own pale hand in its grip.
"C'mon, Dorothy. I just wanna reminisce about old times. War, battle, glory. Ya know."
Despite her growing agitation and the pang of fear at the feel of his hand on hers, Dorothy reacted to the magic words.
"Alright then, just a second." She pulled her hand away, watching as his snaked back to its proper place outside her door's boundaries. Closing it, she undid the chain and nearly flung the door open again, feeling strange and suddenly reckless. Why?
"Thanks." He stuffed his hands deep into the pockets on either side of his tan dress pants and stepped inside. Sunglasses still perched precariously at the edge of his nose, Duo peered about her small home. A raised eyebrow told her that he was not at all impressed. And why should he be? If she could gauge by his clothing, Duo Maxwell had become quite wealthy since the end of that spoken of war. He probably lived in a condo somewhere on the Riviera. So Dorothy could almost see the lie as it dripped from his lips in his next breath, "Nice place."
"It works for me."
"I can tell," he smirked, picking up a blue lace bra from the floor. Dorothy lurched forward and snatched it away, praying to God that she wasn't blushing. That would completely ruin her tough girl image. At least it hadn't been the pink lace one.
"That was rude. If you're not careful, I'll kick you out."
"You won't." He turned to her again. His stance was the self-assured one of someone who knew they had the advantage, and his ever-present grin did nothing to betray that image. "You'll like the deal I have to offer you too much."
"Deal?" Dorothy felt her eyes narrow in the automatic gesture of suspicion, "I thought you just came to talk. To 'reminisce about old times' I think you said."
"A tiny white lie. I had to get in, after all." He shrugged, his hands to his sides, fingers splayed in a 'what's-a-guy-supposed-to-do' gesture. That annoyingly sanguine grin never budged or even wavered as he stepped closer to her. Dorothy tried to make her legs carry her backwards as he reached for her, but those useless limbs refused to move. Neither would her mouth open to speak, to order him of her home.
Duo leaned in to her, indigo eyes sparking over the cold plastic barrier of his sunglasses. For one crazy, insane moment Dorothy thought he was going to kiss her. He knew it, and his grin widened as his face veered to place his lips near her ear. Despite herself she felt a tingle of excitement run through her from where his lips brushed her skin. He let them stay that way a moment before actually beginning to speak, but when he did the words he spoke were just as exciting as his touch.
Dorothy pushed him away from her and stared into his eyes, searching them.
"You can do that? Really?"
He shrugged and nodded, nonchalant about the fantastical thing he offered her.
"The price isn't all that much, Dorothy. You'll enjoy making your payments." He extended a hand out to her, tanned from the sunlight of some exotic place she guessed. "Do we have a deal?"
She hesitated. The price he asked, it was rather steep even though he claimed the opposite. And she wasn't sure she could pay it. But to get was he promised in return . . . he had been right. She liked the idea of that reward too much to throw him out or pass it up. Dorothy plunged her hand through the thickened air and grasped his.
"Deal."
Duo tugged on her hand, dragging her into him. His free hand pressed into the skin at the back of her neck, then slowly slid down the expanse of her back. Dorothy sucked in a breath and shivered. Taking the hand he had in his grasp, Duo placed that at his shoulder and his newly freed hand settled at her cheek.
"I forgot to mention the down payment . . . which I think I'll collect now."
She wanted to protest. She wanted to scream. She wanted to slap him and ask him if he was an idiot or if he was just plain conceited.
No she didn't.
She didn't protest when his lips finally did claim hers. She didn't scream when his hands calmly removed her clothing and moved over the most intimate parts of her body. She didn't slap him and she didn't yell at him when he lifted her into his arms and carried her ever so casually into the bedroom at the end of the hallway.
She didn't do any of these things.
She should have.


End Wayward Prologue.