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"The Case Brief "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, Summary: in honor of upcoming April 1st, a small fic featuring a prank gone slightly awry. Pairings: 4x2
"The Case Brief "
Part 3. The conference had gotten past civilized niceties yesterday. Winner felt today was the day the representatives would take off their gloves. Hard core, nasty knuckles cracking mandibles. A make or break you day, this would be. He still felt his chief advantage lay in the fact that Garixsenn hadn't discerned his true goal. Quatre could afford to make some concessions over L4 trade. Lure Garixsenn and his cronies in with seductive promises. All the while angling for the L2 advantage. By the time the L1 bosses tumbled to this fact, it would be too late for them to back out of commitments without looking like two faced liars, or worse, fools. Winner eyed Maxwell appreciatively. He had been absolutely correct to insist on their daytime distance. People saw the Kid and thought "L2" simultaneously. Everything superlative about that colony shone in Duo. The wry humor, the fighting spirit, the will to survive, the uncomplaining fierce loyalty. Winner wished they could stay together during the conference. Maxwell was so good at kicking through the dromedary droppings and finding the kernel of truth inside the manure. However, they really should not be seen together. L2 was a great distance from L4, and never the twain should meet. Not until Winner had his wicked way with this conference. Speaking of distance, what meaty matters had Maxwell's attention so thoroughly? Quatre inched across the limousine seat and nudged Duo's elbow. The Kid spoke in somewhat detached tones. "Quat. What would you say was the most influential news source in the colonies? Taken as a whole?" Maxwell scrunched his face quizzically at his buddy. Winner wanted to suck tongues with Duo when he looked like that, all puzzled and thoughtful. Instead, he mentally scrolled through wire services and papers, publishing companies by the dozens, Posts, Tribunes, Dispatches, Gazettes. "Hmm. Arguably, 'The Explorer Voice'. Between wire services, magazines, e-boards, and hardcopy press, I'd say they were the most globally influential." "Yurp," Duo nodded agreement. "The owner-editor. The one that's so young-looking. You know who I mean. Good old what's his name?" "Dahvede," Winner replied without hesitation. "That's the one. Would you trust him very far?" "About as far as I can toss his headquarters building at one-gee," Quatre grinned. "Why do you ask?" "Thought I saw him hanging around the conference." "Really? I haven't seen him. And usually he'd be right in the thick of things. Are you sure?" "Nurp." Duo ran his fingers through his bangs, furthering their disorder, and looking so delectable, Quatre had to inch away to keep from trying to ravish him on the spot. Just about then, the limo pulled up to the assembly hall. If anything, the crowd seemed denser and more unruly than yesterday. Winner eyed it critically. "Is this the closest you can get us?" he asked the driver. "You wont even be able to open the doors through the bodies, if we go any farther in," came the reply. "Duo. You will wait until the bodyguard returns to the car. Its really not safe for you, trying to walk through this crowd." The L2 Kid turned to retort scathingly to what sounded like an order. But Winner was already out of the limousine, striding as close as humanly possible to the huge guard accompanying him. All annoyance suddenly vanished as Maxwell perceived what Quatre carried as he hurried off. In one hand, his briefcase. Under the other arm, a stack of legal-looking file folders. Duo's heart stopped in his chest, then pounded furiously double-time. Somewhere in that stack of unread case briefs lurked a fake. His demonic prank folder. The ridiculous, humiliating joke file. Quatre was unwittingly carrying the damn thing into the L1 Legislative Assembly Hall. If the dummy folder was opened in front of all those legal representatives. All those reporters and cameramen. All those observers in the audience. The file clutched in Winner's hands. Exposing what it contained to the eyes of the whole Earth Sphere. Disaster. Quatre's solid credibility, shot to hell in an instant. Maxwell shuddered violently at the vision his imagination evoked. He threw himself out the car door, flung himself into the midst of the crowd, crammed himself between bodies, moving forward as best he could, shouting "wait!" The L2 Kid, by a titanic effort, actually made it as far as the first step to the entrance through which Quatre had disappeared. Where he ground to an abrupt halt, one foot on the pavement, the other on the stairs. It occurred to him that he had no pass for this highly secured entrance. That he was a viewer from the peanut gallery, without admittance to the honchos' door. That there were several fierce looking security officers, all highly armed, all glaring at his contemplated incursion. As he hesitated, a stentorian voice came down from the threshold above him. "Duo Maxwell. Would you care to make a statement for the press?"
"Duo Maxwell!" someone at the front of the crowd shouted recognition. "Where?" someone else responded. Then there came a unified shriek of recognition. "Its Duo Maxwell. The gundam pilot. The L2 Kid." As the information rippled backward and outward, the crowd turned into a seething mob. People at the back, shoving forward to catch a glimpse of unperceived exciting events at the front. Bodies in the front pressed dangerously against barricades. Cops from inside the building, rushing out, grabbing their clubs from their belts, excitedly confrontational. Maxwell received elbows, knees, then torsos flung against him. He felt one of his legs, as if at a remote distance, yielding to the pressure swelling inexorably behind him, fold until he was nearly kneeling on the cement stairs. He heard the sound of his shirt tearing. Received fists bruising against his ribcage as individuals desperately sought to remain standing, struggled to grasp whatever they could reach. Screams of panic, now. Shouts of fear and anger. Instructions to back off, going unheeded, unheard in the clamor. Maxwell saw dribbles of blood upon the pavement. Stared up at the circle of random portions, body parts of people jammed together overhead. Rapidly, thoroughly, inexorably extinguishing the light from his view. There came a tug on his arm he had not perceived outstretched. A wrenching, tearing sensation, as if he were quartered as punishment for his manifold sins. Then the last of the light vanished. |
