|
"Five Boy Curry "Written By: Asymphototropic
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam wing. Author: Asymphototropic (attracted toward the
light, but never quite arrives there) Email: asymphototropic@aol.com Rating: NC 17 Warnings: language, yaoi, het Summary: sharing a blanket leads to storytime Pairings: 1x2, 11x2, others tba? Note: "Five Boy Curry" is an actual recipe I got from an in-law who grew up on a Philippine island. I was cooking some curry the other day and the name reminded me of the five gundam boys
" Five Boy Curry "
Part 6. "Death's Son?" The Grand Vizier's alabaster brow remained perfectly unwrinkled, despite his puzzlement. "He has a beautiful visage, and a sturdy form, albeit small," Heero replied. "He possesses an ever-cheerful mien," Quatre added. "He has a pleasant lilt to his voice when sharing a joke," Trowa nodded emphatically. "He is always hardworking and willing to help, no matter the endeavor," Wufei agreed. "All who know him think well of him," Heero began a second round of accolades. "Heavens above and Earth beneath! How is it I have never encountered this palace paragon of pulchritude and pleasantry?" the Empress demanded. "I was just asking myself that very question," Zechs admitted. "Unless you had need to dispose of a body, you wouldn't have had the opportunity," Wufei explained. "His name is Duo," Quatre said. "He is the Gravedigger's boy," Trowa admitted. This revelation was met with a sudden sardonic silence. Une clasped Maxwell's silent form to her body. "Damnation," she declared. She had managed to get his jeans tugged up over his hips again. But her numb fingers, once more encased in the gloves of her flight suit, refused to grasp the zipper of his fly. She finally admitted defeat, leaving it undone. "Well. If they ever recover our corpses, they can just draw whatever meddlesome conclusions they like. We'll be beyond caring, won't we? Gods. Thank you for it, Duo. It was grand. Just grand, that's all." Her nerveless lips brushed his senseless forehead, stirring his fine hair with an exhalation that instantly congealed to crisp ice. It occurred to her suddenly, terribly, that she minded his death as much as her own. "I must love you. How very strange. I didn't think I could. Love anyone. Ever." Absurdly faithful devotion, yes. To a commander, to a cause, to an ideal. Certainly. She knew she had those attributes. Faithful to the death, Lady Une. But sweet affection? Where had this ability been hiding all her life? How deeply must it have been buried within her, to have crouched in hidden shadows, such a long, weary time. And how cruel to discover the gentle capacity in herself at the bittermost end of her life. She would have sobbed for herself. Certainly she would have mourned Duo's death, if she could. But the rasping dryness of her eyes signaled to her the close approach of her frozen demise. She no longer felt defiance, sensed no pain at all. Just an overwhelming exhaustion, an urge to be done, and to Hell with it all. Her eyes settled shut. "Good-bye," she whispered to him. But she knew he was already gone. "What a wicked cruelty!" the young man cried in a fiery temper. "To urgently summon the mortician, with no one dead." The Empress stared in astonishment at the young man. No person alive had ever dared to address her in such a manner. "Well, in spite of your occupation, surely you must agree that nobody having died is generally a good thing?" she demanded coldly. Duo, panting from having run, ceased ranting long enough to take stock of the situation. Two things came suddenly, alarmingly to his attention. This room was echo-huge, elaborate of decor, and contained what appeared to be a throne. And upon what appeared to be a throne sat a beautiful lady who eyed him with considerable disfavor. Throne, ergo The Throne Room. Seated upon said throne, in state, a lady, a fine lady, a Very Fine Lady Indeed, ergo The Empress. Gods, was he in deep shit now! He, Duo, the Gravedigger's grubby boy, had just scolded the Empress of all the Land. He sank to his knees and pressed his forehead to the floor. "Celestial Lady, pardon." "And regardless, why such outrageous haste, if you are summoned to attend to a dead body?" the Empress asked in scathing tones. "Yes, that's it. That is exactly the point," the young man looked up eagerly, instantly forgetting he was meant to be humbly abasing himself before the supreme ruler's wrath. "You see, folks get so upset, sometimes they call the undertaker, when they should call the doctor. And if I rush to bedside. Sometimes I find the body isn't so dead as people suppose. And the Palace Physician. He's a great guy, but you probably already know that, so I needn't tell you. The Doc, when he found out I was interested and all. Doc told me how to tell whether the body is really dead or not. You'd be surprised how difficult that is sometimes, to see the difference between a living and a dead body. But you're a great warrior. So being a soldierly type, maybe you wouldn't be so surprised at that, after all. I mean, have you ever dispatched an enemy, and turned your back on him, to proceed with the carnage and all that stuff, only to have the guy leap up and attack you with his gawdsawful great bloody sword? When you had figured he was gone for good, snuffed out, down for the count? I mean that's probably happened to you sometime or other, right? I talk a lot, don't I?" "Yes, you do." The Empress eyed the young man with great curiosity. Rightfully he should be lying on the floor, trembling for fear of beheading. Instead, he had, without her permission, bounded energetically to his feet, and was now talking ten beats to the count, while dancing from foot to foot in his enthusiasm. "There's a good reason for that," he continued. "Y' see, I spend most of my time in the graveyard. And its full of nothing but dead folk. Course you knew that already, and I needn't have told you. But y' see, it leaves me all day talking to the dearly departed. Well, they're great listeners, the deceased, 'tis true. But not big on replies, no. So I have these great big grand daddy conversations, totally one sided. Some fine poet er other called that A Soliloquy. See, I spend all day, every day, year in and year out, Soliloquizing. And I've got so used to doing it, I can scarce stop myself, unless I tap myself on the shoulder. Like just now, I'm saying to myself, 'Duo, old son, yer talkin' too much again, shut up.' And then at last I do. Shut up, I mean." "Well, that does make a certain amount of sense," Une agreed, stifling a strong inclination to smile. She was taking in the appearance of this strange, unearthly being. This unlikely mixture of poetry and prosaic. He was small, extremely lean, and surprisingly broad of shoulder. Likely from perpetually toiling with a shovel, she reflected. His bare feet were almost feminine in their delicacy. His leggings were raveled, stained with mud, and potentially, fluids of an unappealing nature and obvious source. His tunic was quite threadbare, cinched about his waist with a colorful belt, formed of knotted rags. His fair complexion was dotted with tiny cinnamon freckles, a sprinkling on his forearms, and a few gathered laughingly upon his upturned nose. The heliotrope eyes set in his cameo face, sparkled with good humor. His sweet mouth, now enforced to restless silence, seemed equally ready to next joke with the living, or eulogize the dead, upon demand. And finally, the amber hair, a tumultuous cloud about his head, gathered its sun-kissed highlights into the intricacy of a long, bounding braid. He had an air of grass and flowers, pine needles, rich soil. All overlaid with the dust of decay and demise. Overall, a very strange and contradictory creature. He interrupted her reflections. "I figure you can't really forgive me for sounding off before. Lest I tell you first how I came to be doing that. But nobody told me what it was all about, y' see? Just that I was to come here as fast as ever I could move. But not where I was going nor why. So naturally I just assumed it was about someone having died. Which is the onliest reason that anyone ever calls for me. And, as I started to explain before, but somehow took a turn astray, though where that happened I can't recall now. The Palace Physician, who is just great, as I said before, took the time and trouble and all to teach me what to do to find out whether a person is still with us. And if they are, how to care for them, meanwhile sending in haste for the Doc. And y' see, the sooner you take care of things for those people that still need it, the more likely they are to be still around by the time the Doc arrives. Which is why I get all pumped up and ready for action whenever there comes an urgent call for the mortician. So I hope with this clarification, you wont be put out with me for storming in like I did, before I realized where I was and just who present company was, and all that." Duo concluded with a wide grin. "Why aren't you afraid of me?" the Empress frowned. "Oh. Cause any fool can see, if they look into your eyes, that you're sweet and nice, and wouldn't harm anyone without sufficient reason. Though maybe the rest of them don't look into your eyes. Now that I think about it, probably 'tisn't proper, that. And the others, being schooled on manners, don't do it. But me, being almost never in company of any sort whatsoever, much less bowing to Empresses, would just forget such details, for lack of practice. Maybe if I had seen you before, I wouldn't be forgetting how to act now." "Somehow I doubt that," Une replied wryly. "But since you have yet to receive an explanation, I shall offer one now. You were summoned, in spite of the total absence here of deceased bodies, to help in serving lunch. It is a sort of idle game, just for the sake of entertainment." "Serving lunch, huh? Well, sure, I could do that. Always available to be useful, whenever possible, that's me. No task too large nor too small, but I'll set my hand to it with proper enthusiasm. Howsomeever, you'll perhaps forgive me for saying so. And just lump it in with the rest of my pardon, which seems to be getting larger by the second. But doesn't it seem strange to get a mortician to act as a waiter at table. I mean, most folks would be off their feed in a second, just thinking about it, eh?" "You will perhaps have noted in passing, that I am emphatically NOT 'most folks'," the Empress retorted in dread tones. "Oh, indeed, that's true, surely enough," Duo agreed amiably, his nodding head causing his braid to bounce gleefully. "You do realize that I shall have to punish you, do you not?" the Empress demanded. The young man's cheerful countenance plummeted in an instant. "That's true too, I suppose. Can't let the underlings give you guff, can you? That wouldn't be politic at all, would it? Or folks would be perpetually rude and saucy, wouldn't they? But I can hope at least, can't I, that it wont be too too gawdsawful harsh, nor painful, nor lengthy, can't I? The punishment. Otherwise I wouldn't be useful for serving lunch, not to mention burying the dead, thereafter. If you were to order, for instance, my hand cut off. Not to mention beheading. Definitely not to mention that, no," Duo shuddered eloquently. "I have something more suitably humbling in mind. After all, we are attempting to school a case of insolence here, are we not? Ho, my Grand Vizier," Une called out regally. "Imperial Highness?" Zechs responded, contorting his face painfully, to avoid guffawing out loud. "Have a tub brought at once to the center of the Throne Room. Filled to the brim with hot bath water and lavender oil. Make haste. Before the Imperial Chef dies of apoplectic fits over the lateness of Luncheon. Thereby requiring a mortician's presence, and stealing away our fifth beautiful boy." The Empress turned her attention again to the youthful gravedigger. "You may strip now, in order to save time." Zechs hastened laughingly off to follow the imperial orders. Meanwhile Quatre, Wufei, Trowa and Heero stared at Duo with goggle eyes. Having recommended their friend to the Supreme Ruler of all the Land, they felt they had a somewhat vested interest in his not being summarily executed. They silently willed him to undress. Death's Son slowly unfastened the belt from his waist. It dropped softly to the throne room floor. ~ * ~
|
