“Is it really wise to keep them all in a group?” Quatre Winner, Rashid’s foster-son, eyed the captured rogues with some anxiety. Though defeated, the motley group of men did not look at all passive; even though they were outnumbered several times over, they kept up their defiance and every now and then a tussle would break out between captives and guards. “How many more of them are there?” “We’ve gotten most of them,” the Captain answered. “Normally, we would have taken them to the dungeons, of course -- but with things so uncertain, it’s quite possible that incarceration might not be necessary. We’re still not absolutely sure what their motives are.” “Is that why you asked for me?” Quatre surmised, looking up (and up) into the Maguanac’s face. Quatre had always been a sensitive person, and as he grew he had displayed some startling empathic talents. His ‘Heart of Atlantis,’4 as it was known, allowed him to some degree to sense the minds and the hearts of others. “Perhaps you should leave, Quatre,” Rashid said doubtfully. “I don’t think they will choose to push any major confrontations without their leader present, but you can never be sure. You should return to the palace...” “No, Rashid. I am one of King Yuy’s advisors too; I can handle myself.” Quatre’s shoulders straightened proudly; young as he was, he was one of Heero Yuy’s few agemates and one of his closest friends. He turned back to the prisoners with renewed confidence as he began to wander about the stadium, concentrating on reading what their emotions presented. He was more than a little surprised by what he found; it wasn’t the greedy, hurtful emotions of evil-doing men that he was expecting. Many of the men were angry, and bitter about their capture, but mostly they radiated anxiety for their companions, and an intense loyalty to their yet-absent leader. “You don’t seem like traitors,” he muttered to himself. “We’re not,” said a voice from directly behind him, and Quatre yelped as he spun around; he hadn’t even realized that he’d spoken aloud. One of the Eltonians was standing there; a tall, thin, sharp-featured man with black hair, dressed entirely in black. He smiled cheerfully at Quatre, opening his hands to show that he was unarmed. “Don’t act so nervous, I don’t bite. I’m just the Sweepers’ traveling priest -- a simple man of God, not a fighter. The name’s Garas.5 Yours?”
Re: Tenku no GUNDAM
Date: 2006-02-21 06:43 am (UTC)“We’ve gotten most of them,” the Captain answered. “Normally, we would have taken them to the dungeons, of course -- but with things so uncertain, it’s quite possible that incarceration might not be necessary. We’re still not absolutely sure what their motives are.”
“Is that why you asked for me?” Quatre surmised, looking up (and up) into the Maguanac’s face. Quatre had always been a sensitive person, and as he grew he had displayed some startling empathic talents. His ‘Heart of Atlantis,’4 as it was known, allowed him to some degree to sense the minds and the hearts of others.
“Perhaps you should leave, Quatre,” Rashid said doubtfully. “I don’t think they will choose to push any major confrontations without their leader present, but you can never be sure. You should return to the palace...”
“No, Rashid. I am one of King Yuy’s advisors too; I can handle myself.” Quatre’s shoulders straightened proudly; young as he was, he was one of Heero Yuy’s few agemates and one of his closest friends. He turned back to the prisoners with renewed confidence as he began to wander about the stadium, concentrating on reading what their emotions presented.
He was more than a little surprised by what he found; it wasn’t the greedy, hurtful emotions of evil-doing men that he was expecting. Many of the men were angry, and bitter about their capture, but mostly they radiated anxiety for their companions, and an intense loyalty to their yet-absent leader.
“You don’t seem like traitors,” he muttered to himself.
“We’re not,” said a voice from directly behind him, and Quatre yelped as he spun around; he hadn’t even realized that he’d spoken aloud. One of the Eltonians was standing there; a tall, thin, sharp-featured man with black hair, dressed entirely in black. He smiled cheerfully at Quatre, opening his hands to show that he was unarmed. “Don’t act so nervous, I don’t bite. I’m just the Sweepers’ traveling priest -- a simple man of God, not a fighter. The name’s Garas.5 Yours?”