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"Yestermark"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: extreme Asyness Summary: Mingling of possibilities occurs at this vortex source. Don't leave home without your Ticket firmly in your fist. Else you may never return. Pairings: 1x2 other GW characters may appear upon progression
"Yestermark " Part 3: Sleight of Hand. "You want to explain that?" an outraged voice demanded. Yuy awoke, looking up into moonlit midnight eyes. "Explain what?" he asked with a sluggish tongue. "What happened to my money clip and pocket watch? They were right there on the bed stand. I turned my back for hardly two seconds, and now they've vanished." Somewhere, a radio played a jazz number over a tiny tinny speaker that crackled with static. Heero perceived he was clad merely in his undergarments, lying on an old, lumpy mattress. A single naked light bulb dangling from a cracked ceiling shed a cone of dirty yellow light on the room. He glanced toward a rickety bedside table upon which rested a book. "Das Kapital," he deciphered the title from the volume's leather bound spine. "It ain't even written in English. Not much of a swap for all my Friday night earnings. Not to mention my ticker. And you didn't have a book on you when I dragged you up three flights of stairs. So where did that just magically appear from? What gives, huh?" Yuy groaned. "I could explain, yes. But you wont like it." "Try me." "Very well. I have just arrived here, at your Time and Place. The means I use to Travel through Space requires the cooperation of the Universe. The Universe is sentient. And sometimes this intelligence is manifested by a bizarre sense of humor. Your watch in exchange for the hour glass. Your money, in exchange for Das Kapital. Its a fair trade, as far as the Universe is concerned. "Let me get this straight. We're talking 'War of the Worlds', or 'The Time Machine' here. And the gods in charge of you Moon People, they like to play practical jokes on us poor unsuspecting Earthlings. Is that what you're trying to put over on me?" Heero sighed. "Not quite. However, let me attempt to communicate with the gods of the Moon People, as you say. And maybe we can persuade them to give you back your possessions." The kid grinned, an absolutely sinfully sensual expression that ruffled his tousled bourbon bangs upon his scrunching forehead. "Hocus pocus, parlor games. Go ahead then, and make with the spooky stuff." Yuy observed the boy. He was dressed in a dingy sleeveless undershirt and a pair of baggy pants that went with a zoot suit. The waistline hung low upon slender hips, which swayed continuously, subconsciously to the percussion of the radio tune. "Ahem. We will have to sit close to one another. Else I cannot vouch for your safety," Yuy lied. In fact, he was afraid to access the Source, with all its instability, for fear of losing his current contact with the boy. And he was damnably tired of the constant shifting of their contact. Keeping the closest possible company with him might delay their separation. "I am Heero Yuy. What are you called?" "Dirk Makeswell, the one and only. Leastwise that's my stage name, when I play saxophone for this joint." "Dirk. Come sit here." Yuy sat up on the side of the bed closest to the table. As he came upright, a sick giddiness hit him hard in the head and belly. "Hey, when was the last time you ate, brother?" "Too long ago," Heero admitted. "Well, if you make my money reappear, Mr Houdini, I'll take you straight over to the neighborhood diner for some eats. How's that for a deal?" "Very appealing. Come here. The sooner we attempt the retrieval, the more likely it is to succeed." The kid rolled his purple eyes laughingly. "Sure, sure." Yuy spread his legs, and patted the area of mattress there exposed. "Sit here." "You're kidding." "Hurry up." "Whatever you say. You're the magician I guess." The kid sat down, and Heero instantly wrapped his arms tightly around him. The kid tried to squirm loose, all the while glaring over his shoulder. "Look. Just cause I work in a cat house, doesn't mean I'm looking for any hanky panky. I'm a musician, buddy, so just you forget any notions you might have." "The contact is not for the purpose of hanky panky. Be quiet and let me concentrate." The kid's thick braid of hair was in the way. Yuy grasped the long silky thing in his hand, and was nearly overwhelmed with his sudden craving. It reminded him that he had been mid coitus with some iteration of this boy at the Point on the Line that he most vividly recalled. He pressed the slender body against his chest, his Ticket caught between them, heated intensely. He pictured the boy's money clip and watch returning to their place upon the bedside table, and willed the event to occur. There came a tingling sensation deep in his vitals. "Gods bless me. Right before my eyes. With both your hands on me. How did you do that? That's just one hell of a grand trick." The kid reached for one of the objects now on the bed stand. Marx had vanished, replaced by an ancient looking hour glass, and a glittering bauble, which the boy handed to Heero. "This yours? Cause it sure ain't mine." It was a solid gold money clip, crafted cunningly in the shape of a dragon. The creature's eyes were emeralds, and a few small rubies graced the flames issuing from its mouth. It held no money in its extended claws. Heero returned the clip. "It's yours now." "Terrific." The kid bounced up irritably. "That's just grand, buster. What good is this supposed to do me, huh?" "It appears to be quite valuable." "Which buys me just nothing, see?" "You could pawn it." "And get arrested for having stolen it? Sure, sure. What would I tell the coppers when they asked me where I got it?" "Dirk, I'm sorry about your missing things. Really. But I dare not risk trying for them again." "You're serious, aren't you? Of course you are. I can see it in your eyes. You really believe you're a rocket passenger from the land of green cheese. If you were a clever fellow in the confidence racket, you'd surely pick a better mark than down-in-the-dumps Duo Maxwell. There's just nothing in it for you, trying to con me. Well, never mind." The boy rested his hand on Heero's shoulder in a friendly gesture of comfort. "I thought you were called Dirk." "Oh yeah, that. Duo's my orphanage name, see? But somehow, whore house customers expect some glamor. Don't know why, but they do. Guess they think they're less likely to catch the clap, if the house seems prosperous. How's that for sheer dumbness, eh? As if high class floozies are somehow healthier than the street walkers, never mind how they all spread their legs the same direction. So, hey. I play my horn from sundown to sunrise, I'm Dirk Makeswell, some kind of red hot man about town." Heero chuckled. "I see." "And speaking of men about town. I got me a notion, somewhat sudden like." "Indeed?" "Oh, don't worry. I get all my best notions sudden like." The kid rested his chin on his fist, causing his left cheek to dimple. His purple eyes glittered with amusement. "You were just born a gentleman. No disguising quality, I always say. So here's the deal. We dress you up as swank as my best togs can manage. And we hop the streetcar down to China Town. You pawn the dragon thingamabob over there. Nobody'll bat an eyelash twice if you do it, instead of me. And then we wine and dine uptown. Some place real classy, ha cha cha. What do you say to that?" The boy snapped his fingers briskly to the radio music. "I'm willing to give it a try. Considering I have no better plan to offer." Their efforts were not as simple as that, however. First Duo dressed Heero. The kid expressed disappointment that his best clothes really weren't good enough, nor a fine enough fit for Heero's physique. He made Yuy stand still, turn, and then stride across the small bedroom, repeatedly, the boy meanwhile cocking his head to one side as he determined the impression each article of clothing offered to view. And since Maxwell made his living as a performer, he possessed quite a full wardrobe, all giveaways or purchased second hand, as he cheerfully divulged. Finally Duo whistled shrilly. "The gods damn me, but you're a hot number. You look swell, Heero, really. I'm going to have to smuggle you out of the house, or else some of the gals might try to steal you away." The next delay in their dining plans came after they hit the streets. In Yuy's opinion, with the single exception of Duo's extraordinary hair, the two of them looked like characters from an old gangster film, in fedoras and pin stripes, balloon pants, broad silk ties and double breasted waistcoats. Maxwell had his saxophone case in hand. He kept close to Heero's side as they strolled along. They walked several blocks in a convoluted pattern of alleys and back streets, before they came to a busy roadway, full of bustling pedestrians and roaring automobiles. Here, Duo scanned for "the fuzz". Determining to his satisfaction the absence of "heat, official or otherwise," the kid planted his feet on the sidewalk, and stuck a woodwind reed in his mouth. He retrieved and fixed his instrument, slobbered a moment, sucking on the mouthpiece, licked his luscious lips, ran softly up and down a few bluesy scales, and then winked at Yuy. "Hey, fellow. You know any songs?" "Only in Japanese." "I can play jazz to anything you can sing. Blast away, Yuy, and I'll traipse right alongside." They certainly made a strange sound together, Duo wailing mournfully mellow on his horn, Heero, in his rich but rather shy tenor, singing tagrags of songs he could but vaguely remember from childhood. Ill at ease, Yuy stuck his hands in his trousers pockets and fingered the form of the dragon money clip hiding there. He stood as close to the kid as he could without impairing the flow of music, elbow to elbow, nudging him slightly. And oddly enough, he felt a certain sense of peace, deep in his soul. They got some quizzical looks from the passersby, several laughing nods, and a few coins tossed into the open saxophone case. They busked awhile, until Maxwell became antsy. "Let's close up shop, before trouble finds us. We've collected enough to pay for the streetcar. And I don't want you to go fainting away from lack of food, huh buddy?" The ride on the streetcar was a breezy pleasure. After a couple of stops, they were able to grab seats next to each other. Duo hugged his instrument case, afraid of someone kicking it off the open sides of the trolley. Heero placed as much of his anatomy as civilly could be allowed to rub against the kid in that warm position, and concentrated his mind on their staying together. The Universe seemed to be in a whimsical but benevolent mood at this Point on the Line. Evening progressed to night, sparkling neon sending signals of life up and away to distant galaxies of brilliant starlight. Watching the city views trailing past, Yuy became aware of the changing street signs, offered in Chinese symbols as well as English. And the pedestrians now were predominantly Asian, with a smattering of goggle eyed tourists. Heero stirred restlessly, a vague sense of danger prickling discomfort in his chest. Duo pulled on Heero's hand, nodded his head toward the exit, then bounced off, his braid dancing wildly over the subtle curves of his ass cheeks. Hastily, Yuy darted up to follow. The instant his foot hit the pavement, he was nearly knocked over by his feeling of dread. Frantically he ran to catch up with the kid, grabbed his arm, and dragged him into the nearest alley. He shoved the boy against the brick wall of a tenement, pressed his body against him and stared into the swirling color of his eyes. "Yuy? What gives?" the boy asked in astonishment. "Duo, please, please listen to me. I may not have much time. I must explain while I can. I believe you do not belong here." "Well, yeah, I'm not Chinese," he chuckled. "But hey, I could be a tourist, so its okay." "Not like that. Does the word 'Ticketeer' mean anything to you?" "No. Should it?" "Yes, perhaps. You have certain signs about you, very subtle. You are quite adept at fitting into this environment. But surely you get the feeling, sometimes, that you come from a far away place?" "Hey, I'm an orphan. Its only natural to feel a little lost from time to time, I guess." The kid's expression became troubled. "I must explain, about 'yestermarks'. Because you have them. The atypical way you arrange your hair, the unusual color of your eyes. You wear a Christian cross, and yet, when you curse, you mention 'the gods', as if you were polytheistic." "Well, so I'm a little weird. So what?" "You went from living in a Catholic orphanage, to being an employee at a house of prostitution. You rescued me, a total stranger. You watched things impossibly transmuted before your very eyes, and shrugged your shoulders in acceptance. You excused me when you had every reason to believe I had stolen from you." "Hey, so you're extremely likable." The boy's eyes drifted shut and his lips parted. Heero devoured Duo's mouth, desperately probing every inch of his tongue and cheeks. "Wow," the kid chuckled, eyes opening wide. "Wow," shaking his head. "Yestermarks, huh? And here I figured I was just one of life's total misfits." "I may be wrong. But I believe not. I think you are a Traveler, as am I. I think that you have Traveled from a far distant Point upon this Line. Maybe even from another Line altogether. And I am very much afraid that your presence here may pose a threat." "Me? Shrimp supreme, Duo Maxwell, dangerous? That's a good one." Yuy groaned aloud. "Duo. Your life, soul, intentions, all may be utterly gentle. And still you could be a danger. To yourself, to those around you, maybe even to the composition of the Universe." The kid gulped hard. "You mean, you think I should maybe shoot myself or something like that?" "Hell, no! Don't ever say that. Duo, promise me you will never think that thought again. Promise me, right now. Say it." "Okay, I promise. Gods, Heero, don't blow a gasket." And instantly, the kid paused at the telltale sound of his yestermark comment. "Feel it? That tingle in your guts that says 'I'm different, I don't belong here, I need to leave'," Yuy prompted. Duo cocked his head. "Yeah, sort of an excited jumping up and down. Almost like I could sprout wings and fly?" "That's it!" Yuy nodded triumphantly. Duo grinned. The brick wall trembled. And melted. Yuy felt intense heat against his skin. But it came, not from the chained Ticket on his breastbone. But from his pocket. The golden dragon burned. Yuy ripped the sizzling object from his pocket. As he watched, it transitioned from a small trinket. For a moment, it became a living entity, writhing in his fist, alive with turmoil. "You will tell me how you have come into possession of that object." Heero stared at the solid dragon, again inanimate, still gold and bejeweled, but transitioned to a larger version. Still clenched in his hand. "Thief. That belongs to my clan. How dare you try to pawn it?" He found himself face to face, eye to eye, with an intrinsically Mandarin persona. A dynastic young man, sleek and beautiful, dark eyed, black haired, seething with wounded pride. "Answer me, immediately. Before they kill your friend." Heero looked into Duo's face. Blood streamed along the boy's cheek, collected on the angle of the mandible, and dripped to the pavement. He struggled between two large and vicious assassins, the three forms backlighted by street lamps, piercing the dank shadows of the alley. Yuy's cerebration was in chaos. The Ticket burned. The dragon responded with a flash of light. And strangest of all, the boy's body glowed the brightest of the three. Then the scene shattered into shards as the Universe exploded. ~ * ~ |
