Goodbye LJ...

[windandwater]

This is just to make it official for those who don't know, but I'm leaving LJ completely. For the rest of this week at least. Tomorrow is the Bar Exam and it runs for three days, so don't expect to see me about at all until Thursday night. Or even until the weekend since I plan on spending Thursday after the Bar drunk and crying. No online time for me at all. *whines* It will be hard, but I know I can do it.

So, because I'm a total h0r like that, I am declaring this to be a spam post. Go ahead. Run wild! Give me fics, give me links, give me pics, just babble to your heart's content and rape my inbox so I have something to see when I finally DO come back to the wonderful world of LJ. I don't even care if you write me a drabble and post it one word at a time. XD;

Though, I've tried to make a spam post before and it failed a bit miserably, so I don't have very high expectations this time around. Feel free to prove me wrong though!

♥

Comments

Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

166 -- Treize born



170 -- Zechs born



172 -- Solo born



176 -- Wufei born



179 -- Trowa born



180 -- Relena born

Quatre born

Heero born

Duo born



185 -- Oz attacks Nito

Odin Lowe dies. Heero (5) becomes a soldier



188 -- Maxwell Massacre. Duo (8) and Solo (16) go into the wild.

“Let Slip the Dogs”

Five Kingdoms form provisional alliance.

Zechs (18) goes to Oz for schooling. At the Academy, he meets Treize (22)



191 -- Zechs (21) returns to Sanc

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

192 -- Solo (20) dies. Duo (12) takes over the Maxwell's Devils.

Heero (12) begins training to become an officer.

Zechs (22) has a dispute with his father. Relena (12) is appointed heir.



194 -- Battle of Long. Meiran (16) dies. Wufei (18) fights.

“On Desperate Ground”

Provisional alliance solidifies under King Jay.



195 -- Maxwell's Devils destroyed. Duo (15) is captured by Treize (29)

"To the Victor."

Wufei (19) takes command of the Army of the Five Kingdoms.

Heero (15) quickly becomes a trusted subordinate.

Quatre (15) comes west.



196 -- Zechs (26) begins giving secret aid to Treize (30)

Quatre (16) meets Trowa (17) and the two quickly become lovers.



197 -- Battle of Baruji Ford.

Heero (17) kills Treize (31) and wins possession of Duo (17)



"Spoil of War" opens.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

192 -- Solo (20) dies. Duo (12) takes over the Maxwell's Devils.

Heero (12) begins training to become an officer.

Zechs (22) has a dispute with his father. Relena (12) is appointed heir.



194 -- Battle of Long. Meiran (16) dies. Wufei (18) fights.

“On Desperate Ground”

Provisional alliance solidifies under King Jay.



195 -- Maxwell's Devils destroyed. Duo (15) is captured by Treize (29)

"To the Victor."

Wufei (19) takes command of the Army of the Five Kingdoms.

Heero (15) quickly becomes a trusted subordinate.

Quatre (15) comes west.



196 -- Zechs (26) begins giving secret aid to Treize (30)

Quatre (16) meets Trowa (17) and the two quickly become lovers.



197 -- Battle of Baruji Ford.

Heero (17) kills Treize (31) and wins possession of Duo (17)



"Spoil of War" opens.

To the Victor

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

To the Victor

Rating: R

Spoilers: This is a sidestory to “Spoil of War” and may have spoilers for that.

Disclaimer: Don’t own Treize. Just as glad. *shudder*

Blood type: B -

Feedback: Go for it, Domon W!

Warnings: Evil bastard Treize and poor, abused Duo-kun.





One of the hounds whined, and nudged at the man’s hand. Without looking down, General Treize Khushrenada turned his hand over and stroked the dog’s finely formed skull. The bloodhound let out a short, sharp bark -- the yelping sound that signaled a successful hunt -- and Treize glanced down, sliding his fingers to caress under the dog’s jaw. He tilted the dog’s chin upwards, studying it; there was blood on its teeth.

So it was Treize Khushrenada knew, even before the grubby lieutenant came puffing to a halt to make his report, that he had won. “Gener’l, sir, we’ve got him,” the man wheezed.

“Alive?” Treize said calmly, and the soldier’s head bobbed in a nod. “Very good. Bring him here, then.”

“Yessir.” The lieutenant -- his name escaped Treize, just this moment -- snapped into a salute that made up for in vigor what it lacked in crispness, and then jogged off again. Treize settled back to wait, tilting his head back momentarily to check the direction of the wind. Yes, they were still safe for now, even if the smoke on the wind was making the hounds mill nervously about. They had done their duty, and would be rewarded accordingly. So, too, the soldiers.

Treize knew, in a calm, analytical way, that his order to take the little rebel chief alive had most likely cost some of his soldiers their lives. He had studied carefully -- all the rebels, and their leader more than any -- and he had no doubts that the so-called Shinigami would fight as long as there was breath in his body. But he had given the order, all the same. Whatever kind of ‘peacekeeping’ operations the fools at Romefellar chose to call it, this was war, and people died. And his men, his loyal little soldier men, had many times made clear their willingness to die to for him.

Re: To the Victor

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Accordingly, Treize had stayed behind, clear of duty while the hunting party ran down the last of the rebels. He had chosen his location carefully, upwind of the fires they had set in the woods to burn the rebels out, and released his hounds and his soldiers to be his hands. His tools, individual extensions of himself. A faint, wintry smile touched his lips, and he gave the bloodhound’s head a last pat before releasing him.

He didn’t have long to wait; before five minutes had passed, the hunters he sent out returned, clustered in a tight knot around their captured prey. Almost unconsciously, Treize sat up, leaning forward and half-holding his breath.

The noise resolved into voices, shouting and cursing. Much of it was familiar to Treize after so many years, and he let the guttural vulgar sounds wash over him without effect. But one of the voices was new to him, lighter and clearer than the others. Treize felt a shiver work loose in his spine, just listening to the voice.

They came to a stop a few feet in front of him, and motion halted except for the form that still struggled and fought, suspended off the ground by the grips of two of the soldiers. Treize couldn’t help but marvel at the fluency of the prisoner’s threatening curses; the men who held him were each twice his size and near twice his age, but he doubted they could match his proficiency. At a slight nod from the General, the two burly soldiers flung the boy at the General’s feet.

He struggled to his knees, painfully without the use of his hands, but could manage no further. Treize took a moment to observe him, while he fought for his breath back. Most striking, and least expected, was the long braid of soft brown hair that hung down over his shoulder and trailed in the dirt. It was half-disordered already, strands coming out of the neat plait and plastering against his skin and clothes in a most appealing fashion. He could not pull the hair out of his face, for his arms were tied behind his back with coarse rope. His clothes were filthy, and torn in many places; Treize noted the places on his back, and on one leg, where blood soaked through the ripped cloth and crude bandages. Arrow wounds, he guessed; the hunters had been armed only with bows. His head hung down as he gasped for breath, chest shuddering in great heaves against his exhaustion.

Treize was not surprised; the boy had led him and his men on a merry chase over the past week. They had fought like demons, he and his fellow rebels -- only appropriate, since that was the name they had chosen for themselves. Maxwell’s Devils. They had been working in this area for almost seven years now, appearing to burn down a supply convoy or to attack a base camp in the dead of night before vanishing into nowhere again. They had fought with unbelievable tenacity, but now, it was over. This young man was the last one alive -- and, according to what Treize had learned about him, he had been the leader, too. Duo Maxwell. Fifteen years of age.

The boy raised his head at last, and the very arch of his neck bespoke his defiance. Treize nearly shuddered with pleasure as the boy’s eyes met his. They were a startling color of violet, eyes the like of which Treize had never seen before, and they blazed with such hatred and passionate intensity that Treize could nearly feel the scorching heat of it.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Spoil of War

Introduction



[... with their ambitions in the east and the south momentarily thwarted, Oz turned its attention back towards the west in AC 185. The low countries made a tempting target; a collection of small, loosely related states with relatively weak governments, rich in natural resources but with little in the way of a military. Over the next few years Oz began encroaching on the territory between the Victoria and New Edwards rivers. The Nito and Sanee governments sent protests, which Oz ignored.]

[In 188, the massacre of a small village along the base of the Pentares mountain range finally spurred the fiercely independent, non-militaristic countries to the point where they admitted they could not stand alone against the force of the Oz empire. They formed a loose, provisional alliance, calling themselves the Five Kingdoms.

At first the alliance was in name only. None of the countries were willing to give any authority to the others. Each still maintained its separate military, which stood little to no chance against the Oz army headed by General Khushrenada. Some unauthorized resistance groups emerged from the conquered areas, but they could do little more than slow Oz’s advance.]

[Not until 194 did the Five Kingdoms, in desperation, give full military authority to King Jay of Ichine. Immediately he reorganized the existing military, dispersing the local officers and combining the resources of all five countries into something he hoped could stand against Oz. He raised an army of approximately 11,000 troops to oppose Oz's standing army of 50,000. Luck was with the Five Kingdoms, however; at its head they finally managed to find a military mind equal to Khushrenada's.

Although the Shen dynasty was in no position to pursue their successful rebuff against Oz advances, they still bore hostility towards Oz. They dispatched a brilliant young officer to lead the army of the Five Kingdoms; Chang Wufei was only twenty-one, but had already fought in the battle of Long and showed much military promise.]

[The Allied army first began its organized resistance of Oz in 195. For the next two years they fought a steadily improving campaign to slow the Oz advance into Allied territory, culminating in a victory at Baruji in 197. For the first time, the military forces of the Five Kingdoms won a decisive battle against Oz and the Allied army took over the Oz encampment at Baruji Ford.

In the course of the Battle of Baruji Ford, Khushrenada was killed by Colonel Heero Yuy, a cold but fanatically committed officer under Chang's command. It was in the Oz encampment at Baruji that Yuy made a discovery, though seeming at the time insignificant, that would in the end change the course of the entire war.]



--excerpt from “The Unmasking of the Eve Wars”

ed. Bennett Nack

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Spoil of War

Rating: NC-17

Pairings: 1x2, 3+4

Spoilers: Fantasy AU. What is it about Gundam Wing that lends itself to fantasy AUs? Sorta a cross between Archaic Greece and Feudal Europe.

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing characters do not belong to me. The universe in which they are set belongs to no-one in particular.

Blood type: B -

Feedback: Go for it, Domon W!

Warnings: yaoi, violence, gory images, rape, various other unpleasantnesses, and graphic sex. Yike. O_O

/Lyrics/ are from K’s Choice’s “White Kite Fauna;” unlike my other songfics, they are only there to provide flavor rather than meaning.





Book 1

Baruji

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Spoil of War

Rating: NC-17

Pairings: 1x2, 3+4

Spoilers: Fantasy AU. What is it about Gundam Wing that lends itself to fantasy AUs? Sorta a cross between Archaic Greece and Feudal Europe.

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing characters do not belong to me. The universe in which they are set belongs to no-one in particular.

Blood type: B -

Feedback: Go for it, Domon W!

Warnings: yaoi, violence, gory images, rape, various other unpleasantnesses, and graphic sex. Yike. O_O

/Lyrics/ are from K’s Choice’s “White Kite Fauna;” unlike my other songfics, they are only there to provide flavor rather than meaning.





Book 1

Baruji

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

In some ways, the aftermath of a battle was chaos even more than the battle itself. The soldiers stayed in formation and fought with the crystal-clear knowledge of what to do and when to do it; Heero Yuy would allow no less under his division. But that iron-clad discipline vanished as soon as the last of the fighting died down, and a victory was even worse than a defeat. After a defeat the army could regroup and recover; after a victory, the ordered troops dissolved into teeming anarchy as the soldiers chose from among the goods their army claimed as rightful plunder. Senior officers chose before junior officers, and no-one could dispute that right, but squabbles and fights often broke out among soldiers of the same rank.

As General Chang’s second-in-command and the third highest ranking man in the army, Heero Yuy could have had his pick of the arms and armor, jewelry, and women that could be found in the defeated army’s encampment. It was plunder more than wages that paid a soldier’s way, and Heero Yuy could have been quite a rich man by now if he’d chosen to take advantage of it.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

In some ways, the aftermath of a battle was chaos even more than the battle itself. The soldiers stayed in formation and fought with the crystal-clear knowledge of what to do and when to do it; Heero Yuy would allow no less under his division. But that iron-clad discipline vanished as soon as the last of the fighting died down, and a victory was even worse than a defeat. After a defeat the army could regroup and recover; after a victory, the ordered troops dissolved into teeming anarchy as the soldiers chose from among the goods their army claimed as rightful plunder. Senior officers chose before junior officers, and no-one could dispute that right, but squabbles and fights often broke out among soldiers of the same rank.

As General Chang’s second-in-command and the third highest ranking man in the army, Heero Yuy could have had his pick of the arms and armor, jewelry, and women that could be found in the defeated army’s encampment. It was plunder more than wages that paid a soldier’s way, and Heero Yuy could have been quite a rich man by now if he’d chosen to take advantage of it.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

When dawn came, Heero left his tent with only an uneasy glance backwards at the boy still unconscious on his bed. He was tired, but not so tired he couldn’t function, and food was a more important consideration than sleep at the moment. Soft sounds of activity drifted to greet Heero’s ears as he pulled open the flap to his tent, and the rich meaty scent of cooking food that accompanied them told him that the kitchens, at least, were also up and about at this hour. The smells went straight to his belly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything since early yesterday, before the battle. Even soldiers needed to eat sometime... Heero stepped out of the warm darkness of his tent into the gray early morning mists, but stopped when he saw the sleepily nodding sentry posted in the muddy grass avenue that ran between the tents. Somehow, he had never noticed the man set to guard him before.

Even this early, the kitchens were a confused, noisy mess as the cooks prepared enough breakfast to feed an army. In the tumult, nobody recognized or even noticed Heero, which was fine as it spared him attention and left him unhindered as he hunted for some suitable food. He had a vague notion that badly injured people weren’t able to eat normal foods, so he scrounged up a pot of some kind of meat broth; as an afterthought, Heero salvaged some leftover bread and cheese for his own meal. He was almost past the point of wondering at his own actions; the familiar fatigue of his sleepless night left him without the energy to question the actions to which his instincts led him.

Instead of returning directly to his tent, on a thought Heero stopped one of the servants that always seemed to be hanging around his quarters. The grizzled old man was quite surprised that Heero had actually addressed him; usually it was the servants that followed the soldier around and pestered him with offers of services, not the other way around. The man quickly got over his surprise, however, and scurried to attend to his errand with barely a half-hearted glare to encourage him. Heero stared after the servant’s retreating figure, and wondered once again at the strange workings of the interior mind. Why would a person be so enthusiastic about performing a service for someone else?

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Preoccupied, Heero fetched up in front of his tent once more, and then froze with one hand on the entrance flap; an unidentified sound gave him pause. There was some sort of scratching or scrabbling from within. Freezing in place, instantly alert and battle-tense, Heero shifted the bowl of soup to his off hand and drew his dagger with his right; he might have looked a trifle ridiculous, if it weren’t for the deadliness of his eyes. He threw back the flap to the tent, prepared to deal with the threat of an unknown intruder --

-- and the first thing that met his eyes was the boy he’d left unconscious on the bed, crouched on the ground; the blankets tangled and trailed to the dirt floor behind him. His movement froze at Heero’s abrupt entrance, eyes startled and fearful fixed on the knife in the soldier’s hand. Heero relaxed from his battle-ready stance, slipping the dagger back into its sheath, and frowned angrily as he noticed that most of the bandages that Quatre had so carefully fastened were dangling loose or torn off completely. He took a step forward, and the boy backed awkwardly away, scrabbling on his three uninjured limbs until the bed hit his back, when he froze.

“Stop that.” Heero’s own voice surprised him, and the other too; the injured boy flinched at the unexpected noise, but didn’t react to the words. The frown stayed on Heero’s face, though he didn’t move any further into the tent; he looked down at the container still clutched in his off hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. Here -- I brought you some food,” he suggested, uncomfortably, holding the bowl of soup in front of him with both hands.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Preoccupied, Heero fetched up in front of his tent once more, and then froze with one hand on the entrance flap; an unidentified sound gave him pause. There was some sort of scratching or scrabbling from within. Freezing in place, instantly alert and battle-tense, Heero shifted the bowl of soup to his off hand and drew his dagger with his right; he might have looked a trifle ridiculous, if it weren’t for the deadliness of his eyes. He threw back the flap to the tent, prepared to deal with the threat of an unknown intruder --

-- and the first thing that met his eyes was the boy he’d left unconscious on the bed, crouched on the ground; the blankets tangled and trailed to the dirt floor behind him. His movement froze at Heero’s abrupt entrance, eyes startled and fearful fixed on the knife in the soldier’s hand. Heero relaxed from his battle-ready stance, slipping the dagger back into its sheath, and frowned angrily as he noticed that most of the bandages that Quatre had so carefully fastened were dangling loose or torn off completely. He took a step forward, and the boy backed awkwardly away, scrabbling on his three uninjured limbs until the bed hit his back, when he froze.

“Stop that.” Heero’s own voice surprised him, and the other too; the injured boy flinched at the unexpected noise, but didn’t react to the words. The frown stayed on Heero’s face, though he didn’t move any further into the tent; he looked down at the container still clutched in his off hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. Here -- I brought you some food,” he suggested, uncomfortably, holding the bowl of soup in front of him with both hands.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

When dawn came, Heero left his tent with only an uneasy glance backwards at the boy still unconscious on his bed. He was tired, but not so tired he couldn’t function, and food was a more important consideration than sleep at the moment. Soft sounds of activity drifted to greet Heero’s ears as he pulled open the flap to his tent, and the rich meaty scent of cooking food that accompanied them told him that the kitchens, at least, were also up and about at this hour. The smells went straight to his belly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything since early yesterday, before the battle. Even soldiers needed to eat sometime... Heero stepped out of the warm darkness of his tent into the gray early morning mists, but stopped when he saw the sleepily nodding sentry posted in the muddy grass avenue that ran between the tents. Somehow, he had never noticed the man set to guard him before.

Even this early, the kitchens were a confused, noisy mess as the cooks prepared enough breakfast to feed an army. In the tumult, nobody recognized or even noticed Heero, which was fine as it spared him attention and left him unhindered as he hunted for some suitable food. He had a vague notion that badly injured people weren’t able to eat normal foods, so he scrounged up a pot of some kind of meat broth; as an afterthought, Heero salvaged some leftover bread and cheese for his own meal. He was almost past the point of wondering at his own actions; the familiar fatigue of his sleepless night left him without the energy to question the actions to which his instincts led him.

Instead of returning directly to his tent, on a thought Heero stopped one of the servants that always seemed to be hanging around his quarters. The grizzled old man was quite surprised that Heero had actually addressed him; usually it was the servants that followed the soldier around and pestered him with offers of services, not the other way around. The man quickly got over his surprise, however, and scurried to attend to his errand with barely a half-hearted glare to encourage him. Heero stared after the servant’s retreating figure, and wondered once again at the strange workings of the interior mind. Why would a person be so enthusiastic about performing a service for someone else?

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“You must be joking,” Heero stated flatly.

“I don’t joke, Heero,” Trowa denied. “That’s Duo Maxwell, I’d bet my life on it.”

“It’s not possible.” Heero looked through the tent entrance, unable to see the bedridden boy from this angle; he tried to restrain his voice, not wanting Duo to overhear their conversation. “Duo’s just a boy; he’s not old enough to have fought against Oz five years ago.”

“He’s not a boy,” Trowa said firmly. “He’s seventeen, the same as you and I. He only looks younger because he’s so thin, and you haven’t seen him stand or walk yet.”

“But... leader of a resistance group at twelve?” Heero shook his head in disbelief. “He would have been just a child!”

Trowa glared. “Right. As opposed to you, who was a full-grown man when you became a soldier.” When Heero scowled and averted his gaze, Trowa gave an exasperated sigh. “I don’t understand why you’re having trouble with this. He told you his name himself.”

“It’s probably not that uncommon a name,” Heero argued. “There are lots of people named Duo, I’m sure.”

“Right. And how many seventeen-year-olds are there, named Duo, with yard-long hair and violet eyes, who vanished two years ago and miraculously turned up last week?” Trowa snorted. “Aside from older, he looks almost exactly like I remember him.”

“You remember him?” Heero glared at Trowa. “When did you meet him?”

Trowa shrugged one shoulder uncomfortably, as if embarrassed by the turn the conversation had taken. “I didn’t meet him, exactly. Four years ago I... happened to spend some time with the Maxwell group. I saw him then.”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“Unbelievable...” Heero muttered softly. “...Are you absolutely positive?”

“I’m as sure as I can be, Heero.”

They stared at each other for a moment, the implications of this revelation turning over in each of their minds. Heero spoke first. “I don’t want to ask Duo. He doesn’t remember anything about his captivity.”

Trowa grimaced, but nodded. “It’s too early yet. But then what can we do?”

“The only other one who would know for certain is Treize,” Heero said slowly. “It’s a little late to be asking him things.”

“He wouldn’t be the only one,” Trowa reminded him. “Any Oz soldier who was in the force that destroyed the Maxwell survivors two years ago would know. It seems that the next step would be to start asking questions among the prisoners we took.”

A blue-hot fire kindled behind Heero’s eyes, lit by the implications of their plan. It was possible, maybe even likely, that this task would bring him within arm’s reach of one of the bastards that had hurt Duo so much. “Mission accepted,” he said grimly.

Trowa studied the soldier from behind the curtain of his hair, a little unnerved by the menace his friend exuded. He felt two equal, opposite urges. One was to return to his and Quatre’s tent, safely out of the way of any imminent explosion on Heero’s part; the other was to go along with Heero, just to see the blood fly.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Trowa did not comment on it to Heero, but as the days slipped by he found himself astonished by Duo’s recovery; to Heero, it seemed agonizingly slow. Little by little he grew to know the strange young man who had been dropped so abruptly into his life; every moment he felt he could rightly spend away from his work, he attended to Duo, watching and waiting intently for every tiny little victory that fell through the silence. For the first time in his life, Heero didn’t feel alone. For the first time in his life, Heero was not encased in silence. For the first time in his life, Heero found himself...

“Heero, you’re a snake.”

...contented?

“Am I, now.” Heero didn’t bother to turn around.

“Yes. You are. A dead fish. A cold-blooded, scale-skinned reptile walking around in human skin. That’s what you are.”

“I suppose so, Duo, but you still can’t go out.”

Duo scowled angrily at Heero’s back, all he could see of him from this angle. He had been arguing with Heero for almost an hour now -- if you could call it arguing, anyway; Duo had been nagging to go out, and Heero had been ignoring him. “Damn it, Heero, why not?”

“Quatre said not to,” Heero replied, still focused on the map in front of him.

“Quatre’s not here,” Duo pointed out logically. “Come on, Heero. I’m getting really sick of the same gray walls...”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Trowa did not comment on it to Heero, but as the days slipped by he found himself astonished by Duo’s recovery; to Heero, it seemed agonizingly slow. Little by little he grew to know the strange young man who had been dropped so abruptly into his life; every moment he felt he could rightly spend away from his work, he attended to Duo, watching and waiting intently for every tiny little victory that fell through the silence. For the first time in his life, Heero didn’t feel alone. For the first time in his life, Heero was not encased in silence. For the first time in his life, Heero found himself...

“Heero, you’re a snake.”

...contented?

“Am I, now.” Heero didn’t bother to turn around.

“Yes. You are. A dead fish. A cold-blooded, scale-skinned reptile walking around in human skin. That’s what you are.”

“I suppose so, Duo, but you still can’t go out.”

Duo scowled angrily at Heero’s back, all he could see of him from this angle. He had been arguing with Heero for almost an hour now -- if you could call it arguing, anyway; Duo had been nagging to go out, and Heero had been ignoring him. “Damn it, Heero, why not?”

“Quatre said not to,” Heero replied, still focused on the map in front of him.

“Quatre’s not here,” Duo pointed out logically. “Come on, Heero. I’m getting really sick of the same gray walls...”

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

That night it rained again, the gentle patter of water on canvas soothing even through the promise of wet misery it brought. The next morning the ground lay steaming its excess water back into the air. Mist curled above the ground and twined among the building tops, blanketing the muddy walkways to half a man’s height all that day. No-one moved about the encampment unless their business called for it; several messengers came and went from Heero’s tent, bringing him news from the scouts and neutrally-worded dispatches from Wufei. Heero read them aloud to Duo; it was all he could offer in the way of conversation, and all he could contribute to distract the troubled boy.

Duo sat on the bed, broken leg folded beside him and hands clasped about his knees, watching Heero. It was so much like the earlier, silent days of Duo’s recovery that Heero found himself slipping back into old habits; he spoke about whatever crossed his mind, tuning out his own voice in his ears. He wasn’t even paying attention to what he said, so that it nearly startled him out of his skin when Duo spoke at last.

“What happened to Treize?”

“What?” Heero jolted to a stop in mid-action, frozen in place, staring at Duo. He glanced down at the communication in his hand, scanning over the last words to come off the paper and out of his mouth. The Romefellar group is best positioned to take over power in Oz, but no-one has yet been appointed to replace Khushrenada as leader of the armed forces...

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

That night it rained again, the gentle patter of water on canvas soothing even through the promise of wet misery it brought. The next morning the ground lay steaming its excess water back into the air. Mist curled above the ground and twined among the building tops, blanketing the muddy walkways to half a man’s height all that day. No-one moved about the encampment unless their business called for it; several messengers came and went from Heero’s tent, bringing him news from the scouts and neutrally-worded dispatches from Wufei. Heero read them aloud to Duo; it was all he could offer in the way of conversation, and all he could contribute to distract the troubled boy.

Duo sat on the bed, broken leg folded beside him and hands clasped about his knees, watching Heero. It was so much like the earlier, silent days of Duo’s recovery that Heero found himself slipping back into old habits; he spoke about whatever crossed his mind, tuning out his own voice in his ears. He wasn’t even paying attention to what he said, so that it nearly startled him out of his skin when Duo spoke at last.

“What happened to Treize?”

“What?” Heero jolted to a stop in mid-action, frozen in place, staring at Duo. He glanced down at the communication in his hand, scanning over the last words to come off the paper and out of his mouth. The Romefellar group is best positioned to take over power in Oz, but no-one has yet been appointed to replace Khushrenada as leader of the armed forces...

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

“Westerners are crazy,” Quatre announced.6

Trowa sighed. It had taken hours to calm the blond Saracen down, and here he was still making grand condemnations. “Even me?” he murmured, keeping his tone non-judgmental and the motions of his hands soothing.

Quatre sighed contentedly, but a moment later was up on his elbows glaring at the dark-haired man. “Yes, you too! You knew that she and Duo had been involved, and you know how fragile Duo’s state of mind is now, and you still let that harpy follow you back to Heero’s tent!”

“I didn’t realize she would react that badly,” Trowa said quietly, his voice barely reflecting his troubled state of mind.

“Well you should have!” Quatre’s temper flared. “She all but attacked him with her bare hands! Weren’t you listening to a word she said? She called him a fake, she called him a mercenary, she practically accused him of being Heero’s whore! My God! Why does everyone in the West assume that... that everyone else is a prostitute?” Quatre’s voice rose steadily as he recounted the confrontation in the tent, his eyes flashing furiously. “And that was a woman who, supposedly, loved Duo!”

“Love can make people do foolish things,” Trowa replied softly. “She had the image of the Duo she remembered, and she didn’t want to let go of that. Nobody wants to face the pain of reality.” He pulled Quatre towards him, trying to land a kiss in his hair, but Quatre pulled away and rose from the couch, beginning to pace.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Two roosters in a pit together would fight to each other’s death. Dogs, chained in too close a kennel, would snarl and bite and hunger for blood. Ten thousand men kept in a close encampment for a week would quarrel, scuffle, and sometimes there would be blood and sometimes there would be death. The officers expected fights, accepted them, and disciplined the perpetrators only lightly. But things were different when a dozen raw recruits, bored and drunk to pass the time, got into an argument and then a brawl within earshot of Colonel Heero Yuy.

A handful of soldiers only standing around, watching the fight with minimal interest, happened to look up in time to see Heero Yuy bearing down on the brawl with no expression on his face but fury blazing in his eyes. Hardened soldiers, they quickly paled and melted aside to let their commander pass. He wasted no time in striding directly into the fray; the first undiscriminating arm to fly towards him was immediately caught and snapped like a twig. The shocked scream was only the first to break through the shouts and curses of the brawl as one at a time the participants were yanked apart and often thrown to the ground. By the time the fight had completely halted, half the men involved were unconscious on the ground, and the others lay moaning or writhing clutching at broken arms, broken ribs. Heero Yuy alone stood in the center of the ring, barely breathing hard, hands clenched and face set into a mold of fury.

“Nothing is so disgraceful --” he growled, and all those conscious to hear shook at the cold rage within his voice -- “as a soldier who spends his strength carelessly! We are fighting Oz, fighting for the very life and soul of our homelands, and I find you squabbling with your own comrades in the dirt like children! Are you men or are you animals?” he snarled, looking not a little feral himself. “If you waste your strength fighting each other, then you have no chance of defeating your enemies -- only be glad that I don’t choose to have you executed now, and save Oz the trouble of killing you myself!”

He swept one last burning glare over the soldiers littering the ground, and stalked away.

Re: Spoil of War, book 2

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Book 2

Kinekell





“All of them gone? At once?” Wufei echoed, harsh with disbelief.

Trowa nodded silently from the shadows, outside the range of the single candle lit to ward off the gathering dusk. “The courier hasn’t received any messages since last week,” he said softly.

“Ta ma de...” Wufei breathed, his face battling with some strong emotion. Abruptly he turned away from the candle, taking a moment to compose his features. When he turned back into the light, his face was the perfect General mask once more. “Oz is on the move again, then,” he said calmly. There. Said. It was the only logical conclusion, and it was no surprise -- he had been planning and waiting for some action from the Oz army for weeks now. It was only now that it truly materialized, going from may be to will be. Like the summoning of a demon, once called by name it could not be banished.

He frowned in deep thought, black eyes glittering in the golden light. Trowa stood perfectly still, not making a noise until finally Wufei blinked back into focus.

“Thank you, Trowa,” he said abruptly, nodding to the quiet young man. “You may go now. I need some time to think. A reconnaissance team will need to head north as soon as possible. And I need to speak with Colonel Yuy...”

“Should I go find him, and ask him to come?” Trowa inquired, shifting his weight to leave.

Wufei thought about it for barely a moment before shaking his head. “No... no. Tomorrow is soon enough. Right now...” His voice trailed off as his eyes lost their focus. “I need to think.”

Trowa nodded once, and withdrew. Wufei sat alone in his tent for a minute, hands folded precisely on his desk. At last he stood, pushing back the wooden chair, and paced across the tent to his dresser drawer. A box of plain unadorned wood sat atop it, strangely innocuous for its central position in his tent. With deliberate motions knelt before the tabletop; pulled the box open, and stared into the space revealed. In this dim light, he could not see the dyed pictures, but he did not need to; the image was engraved on his memory far better than mere paint could ever hope to reproduce.

“They’re moving again, Nataku,” Wufei said softly, letting his hands caress the air above the box. “There will be another battle. I will play the game for human souls... and every soldier’s death brings me closer to vengeance for you.”

He shut his eyes and bowed his head, staying perfectly still for a long time. And what thoughts went through his mind, no living man could tell.

Re: Spoil of War, book 2

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Book 2

Kinekell





“All of them gone? At once?” Wufei echoed, harsh with disbelief.

Trowa nodded silently from the shadows, outside the range of the single candle lit to ward off the gathering dusk. “The courier hasn’t received any messages since last week,” he said softly.

“Ta ma de...” Wufei breathed, his face battling with some strong emotion. Abruptly he turned away from the candle, taking a moment to compose his features. When he turned back into the light, his face was the perfect General mask once more. “Oz is on the move again, then,” he said calmly. There. Said. It was the only logical conclusion, and it was no surprise -- he had been planning and waiting for some action from the Oz army for weeks now. It was only now that it truly materialized, going from may be to will be. Like the summoning of a demon, once called by name it could not be banished.

He frowned in deep thought, black eyes glittering in the golden light. Trowa stood perfectly still, not making a noise until finally Wufei blinked back into focus.

“Thank you, Trowa,” he said abruptly, nodding to the quiet young man. “You may go now. I need some time to think. A reconnaissance team will need to head north as soon as possible. And I need to speak with Colonel Yuy...”

“Should I go find him, and ask him to come?” Trowa inquired, shifting his weight to leave.

Wufei thought about it for barely a moment before shaking his head. “No... no. Tomorrow is soon enough. Right now...” His voice trailed off as his eyes lost their focus. “I need to think.”

Trowa nodded once, and withdrew. Wufei sat alone in his tent for a minute, hands folded precisely on his desk. At last he stood, pushing back the wooden chair, and paced across the tent to his dresser drawer. A box of plain unadorned wood sat atop it, strangely innocuous for its central position in his tent. With deliberate motions knelt before the tabletop; pulled the box open, and stared into the space revealed. In this dim light, he could not see the dyed pictures, but he did not need to; the image was engraved on his memory far better than mere paint could ever hope to reproduce.

“They’re moving again, Nataku,” Wufei said softly, letting his hands caress the air above the box. “There will be another battle. I will play the game for human souls... and every soldier’s death brings me closer to vengeance for you.”

He shut his eyes and bowed his head, staying perfectly still for a long time. And what thoughts went through his mind, no living man could tell.

Re: Spoil of War, prologue

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Red! The sky was red and boiling with the smoke and clouds that covered the sky, color dripping down down low to fall on the earth. Broken earth churned mud sank under his feet and so he went to his hands and his knees sank into the mud; stuck to his hands when he lifted them to his face yes, red.

He crawled.

Gouges and scratches in the ground like little ditches and yes, they filled with liquid dripped from one place to a lower place and filled in the marks he made as he passed. It was dark and hard to see from down here anything except the fire that filled the sky and just a little bit of ground everywhere around him. The noise beat around him, ceaseless roaring rumbling thunder drums, drums. There was shouting too and screaming and crashing but mostly the drums.

He put out his hand to go a little further but his hand touched something a little too firm even if it was slick and cold and damp like the mud. He looked and yes, it was a man, and yes, he was hacked and dead. He saw the dead man’s face and it looked familiar yes very familiar but he couldn’t name it and there wasn’t anything he could do. So he moved on. Beyond him was another dead man and another and all around them and that was where the blood was coming from.

A long way off he could see a little bit of yellow that was Quatre; he was here too, had come with him here to crawl among the dead and search for the living. Over the thundering he could hear Quatre’s voice. “Duo!” he screamed. And again, “Duo!” but he could not go to help him. He could not go, he could not stop looking until he found Heero. That thought tolled in his head almost more loudly than the thundering.

Have to find Heero! No, that wasn’t him. Have to find Heero! No, that wasn’t him either. Crawl to the next one. Have to find Heero! He was dead.