imbrii (imbrii) wrote in imbrication, @ 2010-01-30 13:36:00 |
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Current mood: | relaxed |
Current music: | Hanson - Weird |
Vienna Teng prompt 13, Gundam Wing
Series: Gundam Wing
Characters: Quatre, Genet Gurmu OFC
Pairing: None
Type: AU, action sequence, backstory
Warnings: Violence
Spoilers: None, but set after series is over
Word Count: 920
Etc: Yet another story set in the American Gods crossover. This is my first attempt at Quatre, and he's different than most people write him. More intense and darker. It was difficult to write, especially as I'm unused to action sequences.
Quatre smiles, deflecting another insinuation of nepotism. The small crowd of reporters and cameramen surge toward him, waving microphones and papers like a many-limbed sea creature. Peace set a new standard of scrutiny, one he supports, but his face aches from smiling and he feels like he hasn’t been honest all day. He wants a warm cup of chamomile tea and a pastry, perhaps a pionono. He glances over at the event coordinator, Genet Gurmu, who’s standing a behind him. She gives him a sympathetic smile, and discretely holds up three fingers. Three more questions, he can handle that.
“Yes, in the back in the blue suit?” he gestures toward the mousy-looking man.
The reporter pushes his glasses up before speaking. “Mr Winner, in light of—“
The sharp tang of killing intent, a glint in the hands of two men pressing forward.
He reacts, memories of the war a heartbeat away.
Bludgeon target’s face with microphone, dispose, dodge. Grab the weapon hand as it stabs, redirect the motion, twist the hand, break the arm, use the momentum to slam into the ground, bash head, knife drops, threat eliminated.
Weapon acquired. Second target approaching: small caliber gun. Close into target to reduce civilian casualties, feint with knife, knock gun to discharge at ceiling, slash exposed stomach, backfist to face, cut fingers, gun drops, kick for later retrieval, dodge fist, punch wounded stomach, avoid second fist, knee groin, attacker hit on head with purse from non-target, threat eliminated.
Killing intent gone, no remaining targets. Backup arrives.
It is only now he hears the silent the cacophony of panic suppressed by awe, feels the weight of eyes on him in a still, lingering moment. Genet is still wielding her heavy purse like a weapon, watching him with wide eyes. Time snaps back to normal speed and everybody is shouting again, flinching in fear. Distantly he hears Abdul ask if he’s alright. Ahmad is already moving intercept the cameramen as the Maguanacs contain the violent motions of the crowd. It will cost a pretty penny, but no photographical evidence will remain. He’s lucky there was no live broadcast, but the word of nineteen reporters is a heavy blow.
There's a metallic whine as Genet steps over the prone form to grab his dropped microphone, her voice cutting through the noise by a palpable force of will. "Everyone, please calm down.” The noise settles to a low roar. His blood is rushing in his ears and he can’t quite pay attention to what she’s saying. It’s soothing, deflecting; a calm voice people automatically listen to because of the air of authority. Her small hands have the mike in a death grip as she speaks. Faintly, he makes out the end of it. “Mr Winner is done with questions for the day. Please remain here for the time being.”
She ushers him away from the throng, Mohammad and Soran moving to block the doorway behind them. Quatre retreats into the small sitting room tucked into the back hallway, ignoring the microphones reeling reporters jab at his back. With a firm hand she pushes him into one of the chairs, then relaxes her grip to something soothing.
"Mr Winner," Genet starts, a mix of brittle calm and repressed terror. Nervous fingers adjust her brilliant green shawl as her eyes focus on the lamp to his left.
“I always told you that purse was a deadly weapon,” he says with a disarming grin as he leans back into the uncomfortable beige chair.
She relaxes slightly, seeing the boy she’s worked with instead of the man who just eliminated two assassins single-handedly, but still doesn’t look at him long. “It seems to have worked well enough, in a pinch.”
“That was impressive, you know. Most people don’t have the presence of mind to react like that.”
Dark brown eyes meet his warily. “I could say the same for you, Mr Winner.”
“Nevertheless, I’m impressed.” The young CEO sits forward, hands clasped together at his knee. “How would you like to be my secretary?”
For the first time, her voice raises. “Mr Winner!”
He looks casually at his nails. “You’d have a ridiculous salary. At least triple whatever you make. And significant say in Winner Corp.” He meets her eyes again. “But the hours would be long and the work challenging.”
At the last word she straightens herself, head high and confidant. It washes the wrinkles from her face, making her look a decade younger. “I’d want self-defense training.”
Laughter pours out of him, sudden and loud as the tension fades from his body. “Of course, I’d hate for you to be at a loss without your purse.”
A hand moves to brush over her large gold earring, the only nervous gesture she’s shown. “I’ll need some time to move.”
“I’ll pick up the tab. And luckily, I think my life should be slightly less eventful than assassinations most of the time. But one more thing, before you say yes.”
“Mr Winner,” she interrupts, tone serious.
He smiles again, all boyish charm as he loosens his tie. “Call me Quatre.”
Her lips are still pressed tight, not succumbing. “Mr Quatre, then. Whatever your secret is, I will keep it. I started working at your company because I believe you will do good. Because I believe you when you say you only want to do what is best for everyone, not just line your family’s pockets.”
As he stands up, he takes her hand. “I was a Gundam pilot, 04.”