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"Dodge Em "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: PG 13 Warnings: none whatsoever Summary: written for GW Safehouse's cliche month Pairings: None really
"Dodge Em "
"I'm jist so glad ya'll could come to ma lil' ole shindig," Wufei chortled. "It's just a real hoot." He pushed his ten gallon hat back so that it shaded his features slightly less. Then he fingered his turquoise bolo tie, as he contemplated the large crowd of guests his barbecue had attracted. He loved entertaining, and was pleased that this fandango had proven such a success. As he walked along the table loaded with salsa and chips, checking to make sure there was plenty of everything, the silver ornaments on his chaps and spurs jingled merrily. The ruffles on Heero Yuy's flowing lavender shirt fluttered as he gestured. "So then I told her, two hours wasn't nearly long enough an acquaintance for her to take such liberties with a guy like me. But if she would only stick around until after the showing closed, and I had the chance to powder my nose at least, then we'd see." He winked, hoping meanwhile that his eyeliner wasn't smudged. Because that would spoil the entire effect of the wink. "But then I bumped into Prissy, and we got to chatting up the seance scene, and I just totally lost track of my intentions. Do you know where I'm coming from here?" Duo Maxwell examined his own carefully neutral manicure. Then he raised his eyebrows in vague acknowledgment of the story. He had the fleeting notion that lavender clashed with the color of Yuy's eyes, whatever that might be. But he really couldn't be bothered, upon further consideration. He flicked a non existent mote of dust from the flawless length of his charcoal gray dinner jacket sleeve. Perhaps he would muster sufficient energy to dust the other sleeve in a while. Perhaps not. Meanwhile, he pondered Hegel's relationship to Marx in Venn diagram format, as viewed on the inner surface of his eyelids. Trowa Barton reached for a glass of champagne, but tripped over a slight bulge in the flooring. He fell full length, sprawling in an ungainly mess, and nearly taking the table with him when he went. "Fuck, Barton, you're such a klutz," Quatre Winner laughed coldly. "Good thing you always have that career as a clown to fall back on, huh?" "I think the hairspray is making my eyes water," Trowa confessed, while grinning ear to ear. He ran his hand over his carefully slicked back bangs. "Yadda, yadda," Quatre shrugged. "Get up and bring me something to eat. Might as well make yourself useful for something." "Thank goodness for the Salvation Army," Zechs told Relena enthusiastically. He stood proudly to display his polyester leisure suit to best effect. "I know," his sister replied. Her hair was braided in two pig tails, and she had a bright red bandana tied around her forehead. Her faded T shirt proclaimed 'Jakes Bait and Sushi Convenience Store'. "Isn't it wonderful how many bargains you can find there? Do you want a soda pop?" She turned to shuffle in plastic flip-flops, her ragged bell bottoms brushing the tiles slightly. "How's the stock market looking this afternoon?" Sally Po asked, a vulpine expression causing her angular jaw to tighten harshly. "Oh, um, that's um, yes," Noin replied vaguely. She pushed the wire rim glasses up on her nose, straightened the loose form of her matronly jacket, and looked down at the square toes of her practical penny loafers. The band started playing a square dance number. "Yahoo!" Wufei Chang whooped raucously. "Come on now, and everyone twinkle yer toes to the Cotton Eyed Joe." Duo Maxwell stalked across the floor. He grabbed Noin's hand, flung her about, and grabbed her. "Slut. Dance with me." Noin blinked, giggled, and offered the young man a priggish little school marm smile. "Argh!" Howard shrieked. The music halted abruptly. Everyone turned to stare at the well groomed, silver haired gentleman in his three piece business suit. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out his invitation. "Come as you Aren't Party! At Wuffer's Spread," the brightly colored paper proclaimed cheerfully. He shredded the invitation and tossed the confetti bits toward the heavens. "I can't take it anymore. Not another second," Howie shrieked. He ripped the sober woolen houndstooth jacket off his torso, revealing the Hawaiian shirt that lurked beneath it. The murmuring of the crowd grew steadily louder now. Sounds of relieved conversations abounded. "Damn. I thought Maxwell would crack first," Chang scowled. "Hn," Yuy replied. "My money was on Winner," Barton divulged, finger combing the hairspray out of his fringe so that it would flop monocularly again. "I'm stronger than you think, koi," Quatre hugged Trowa warmly. "Hey, Kid. You can stop now," Howie poked Duo. "Didn't you hear the news? I cracked first." Maxwell gripped Noin tighter to him as they danced a lascivious tango. "Nuh uh. Are you kidding? How often do I get the chance to grope an actual chick?" He dipped his dance partner dangerously low. Heero growled. ~ * ~
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