Elevator Love_Closure part 8a
By Tralla
Contains: angst and 1+4?1
For a substantial amount of time, I've been walking with the creepy girl, traversing over her brother's property while listening to her talk, but now her talking is over. In opposition to what I wanted to hear, she'd discussed everyone but the blonde. The last bit that I heard was about Trowa and the Marquis's wife and how they were a brother and sister dynamo in the gymnastics world. But, with some consideration and categorizing of the details I'd heard, it slowly became clear that I hadn't interpreted her chatter in the way I should have. It took her sudden quiet to push me to understand that she'd given me more information than I initially realized.
It's possible to discover a lot about a person by who orbits them, by who that person keeps close, by who is drawn to that person. The people surrounding the blonde…there's something exceptional about all of them. And the most noteworthy information has been revealed about the person we've stumbled on in our wandering. From where we are, we can see the blonde conversing with the Marquis.
We have hedges preventing them from noticing us, and, as we watch them, two scraps of the information I'd heard about the Marquis are on replay in my head: out of college by the age of 20. Doctorate in Bioenergetics by 23. At that time, the blonde would have been 19 years old and a graduate of Caltech for 2 years. Considering their combined intellect, they would have been a dangerous pair. But now they're a duo that can't get along. On the blonde is an acrimonious expression even I have never provoked.
The Marquis has finished what he has to say. Now, the blonde takes his turn speaking. I can't make out his words, but, when he's done speaking, the Marquis says nothing and there's a lull where they're both on the verge of a mutual look of disgust. A few seconds pass before the blonde starts walking away.
And now there's talking from my side, from the creepy girl.
"Quatre is right. We should head back."
We've arrived at the destination, the locale of the dinner.
The tent is up. Lights have been strung around trees. Surrounding the tent are tables of appetizers and drinks. Despite the victuals and the decorations, it appears as though there is still some time before the dinner begins. There aren't enough people present to occupy half of the set places underneath the tent, but there's more to note.
I watch the people who are here. They're milling about in clumps. My gaze moves over to the musicians. Their performance is acting as a soft backdrop for the chatter that my ears pick up every now and then. And I watch the blonde. He'd looked my way when I arrived with the creepy girl and now he seems to be particularly occupied. What I notice about him is a method of moving I haven't seen him employ for some time. He's in social butterfly mode. He's expressive, he's cordial, he's talking…almost to the point of excess. As I continue to watch, I can't think of a scenario where we've had to associate with groups of people as a pair. And then I realize the obvious. We aren't moving around as a pair.
Before arriving at the location of the dinner, the creepy girl had informed me that, for the other guests, I would be the only strange face. Her words were: "They're aware that Quatre is bringing someone. However, they know your name and nothing else. Brother never told them that you're Quatre's 'traveling companion'. I believe he's being cautious, just in case Quatre doesn't want everyone knowing what kept him contented abroad for so long."
He was contented abroad, but he's something else at the moment.
It took moving around, visually tracking the guests, and casing the area for me to notice my current social standing. Everyone is keeping their distance but occasionally looking my way, as though they're curious but wary. Even the creepy girl has occupied another area. Everyone knows something I don't and it took my observation as well as calculated mobility to understand their behavior. They're taking cues from the blonde's movements. Since he isn't haunting the same area I am, I've been deemed unapproachable. I would consider the current scenario beneficial at all other times, but he isn't doing me a favor. I'm being ignored, passed over for others. So this is how he operates when people from his past are around.
There's a sudden distraction. I'm being addressed by someone, a woman, from somewhere behind me.
"A number of people are interested in meeting you, but I don't think they'll introduce themselves."
I turn around and see a woman with long, light brown hair that is twisted into pigtails.
She introduces herself as she outstretches her hand and smiles. "Dr. Sally Po. It's been over 5 years, Heero."
Briefly, I shake her hand, but I don't let her know that I never forgot her name.
She's looking where I was looking earlier as she says with an encouraging tone, "I'm sure things will go into full swing when Trowa and Duo arrive."
At least, the reason why there has been no progress towards dinner is clear. There are stragglers, and they're probably not the only people arriving much later than they should. My gaze goes back to the apparent surplus of tables under the tent.
"You're curious about the tables," comments Dr. Po.
"It's unusual to have large groups of people late."
She briefly tilts her head in the direction of the house before saying, "Given the current situation with Mr. Winner, Milliardo and Catherine decided to limit the guests to those who would respect Quatre's privacy. Most of the people in attendance work directly for Mr. Winner." Her voice is warm as she says, "At the moment, many of them are in the mansion, helping. With the sudden decision to move dinner outside, Milliardo's staff is grateful to have helping hands."
With this new information, my isolation is understandable. The people here are not the blonde's cohorts. I may have stirred their curiosity, but their interest isn't strong enough for them to disregard propriety and approach someone who may be from the blonde's personal life. At most, in terms of boldness, they'll keep their distance until I make myself approachable by introducing myself. They're waiting for the impossible.
It wasn't too long before Dr. Po found somewhere else to be. I haven't been idle in her absence. I've been watching the creepy girl. She's been ogling the guests as I have been. At the moment, she appears to be watching the blonde. We have a common interest and I make my way over to her.
As I halt my approach, she murmurs, "It's dangerous when you make people feel important and then grow tired of them and let inconsistency reign."
I follow her gaze. It's more than a suspicion that she isn't just talking about the blonde, but also the person who just walked past. Her gaze is tracking Catalonia as though she's some variety of wily prey that's almost too bothersome to catch.
Catalonia. She's an unexpected sight and I find myself watching her as closely as the creepy girl. The joint scrutiny is short-lived. When the blonde turns to greet Catalonia, the creepy girl excuses herself and walks off. I don't watch her leave. It's the blonde and Catalonia's first face-to-face meeting in years. I want to see how a sudden reunion will cause him to move and I get an immediate interaction to process.
He's touching her, holding her hand in his as he's speaking to her. That hand of his needs to be broken. And something else is clear. Given the events of these past weeks, I'd forgotten how cunning and manipulative he can be. I'd also forgotten how engaged he can be when he is at task. They have each other's full attention. Everyone is watching them and they haven't seemed to notice.
I'm noticing plenty.
In his presence, something about her seems to soften; she's recognizably human, vulnerable, and grateful for the apologies he's probably offering. He left her in the dust, used her to his convenience as a babysitter for his droids, and now he has her looking away from him. Self-conscious. Has he moved her to embarrassment with his attention?
After close to ten minutes, they've had their fill of each other and found other spaces to haunt. But the blonde is not allowed to be alone for long. Now, the Marquis's wife is talking to him. The blonde looks my way. She's probably telling him that he's committed a grave blunder. He made a mistake of buddying up to his ex while his current sex toy is watching. Isn't that what I am? Something cheap and convenient? Good for a fuck and then ignored in every other scenario-- Someone just crept up to my side.
Catalonia.
"Greetings, Heero." She gives me something unwanted and familiar, an almost feline smile, as she says, "I suppose this would be as good a time as any to address the rancor between us." She's watching a passing guest as she says in a bedroom voice, "It's difficult to hate you when I'm fond of your counterpart." She looks my way. "It's not too forward to hazard that you find yourself in the same situation with Raberba. I wonder if, in moments of weakness, red hair appeals to you more than blonde."
There's a sadistic thought that brings relief. I want her skin peeled off and then fed back to her. She interrupts the fantasy.
"Here. Drink yourself into civility. That malevolent expression is stealing my youth."
I had only just realized that there was a drink in her hand. I watch it with suspicion. I'm certain that, because of the blonde's twisted need to force sobriety on everyone, there's no liquor being served. I stare at the glass.
"It isn't poison," she says while suddenly sounding docile. "It's just something I brewed especially for you."
There's a female voice from our side. "Dorothy."
Catalonia and I both turn. It's the creepy girl and she joins us as she says, "I'm more than willing to accept that drink."
There's something that sounds like a scoff from Catalonia before she replies, "You wouldn't relish this." She lowers the drink. "It'll put hair in places you wouldn't want."
Death by becoming overly hirsute. I never saw it coming.
There's a small smile on the creepy girl. "I'm very good with hair removal, Dorothy. As far as I can tell, I'm the only one talented enough to handle those famous eyebrows of yours."
Catalonia's face is red, and her words are clipped. "_What_ did you just say?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
Earlier, I was lulled into a false sense of security, but now I've learned my lesson. It's a mistake to deal with anything sporting a pair of breasts.