9-17-2001

Too Much Coffee
Part: 4/7(?)
e-mail: all_in_leather@yahoo.com
warnings: Ah yes, more stuff to make tapioca pudding out of the average brain. Well, what can I say, this is getting more and more screwed up. The pairing is 1+2+1 hopefully I'll sit down and have a honest to God part that explains everything, but I really needed to bring Trowa and Wufei into this. Someone tell me that they caught the whole Arial and Dorothy part in this…PLEASE!
Notes: I'm lurking, why? Because I am a freak, because I spent the past week in shock, because school is getting to me, and people are too. Damn, the more people I meet, the more I like my dogs. It sucks, really. But that is all beyond the point. First of all, I send my condolences to everyone, because, well this week was really really bad, I send my love to those that need it, and even to those that don't.
This part is screwy, I was going to give notes for the previous parts here, but I decided against it. I figure everyone here is smart enough to figure things out on their own. I dunno, I feel really defeated, and can't write too powerfully right now, so this is the best I can do. Gohmen. Thank you to everyone that responded to the previous parts, I know I did not reply to all your wonderful e-mails, but that is simply my insipidity showing again.
Gohmen. Thank you to Liz, as always, because she is the one that betas my ideas. I mean, if you think that this is screwed up you should see the plots that she does not get a chance to comment on (those are trashed, btw).

 

Too much Coffee
Part 4
Sunday

 

He saved me when He came to me.

He saved me from myself.

But pray-thee, tell me, who will save me from him?

 

It was no longer quiet. They could all hear it, he was sure of this. His lips pressed into a tight line, as he closed the book he had been attempting to read. The oppressive heat of the nights shadow beating against his flushed skin as surely as the words of the whispers, but they whispered no more.

The choir of the banal had ceased their rehearsal. The flat voices had stopped their chanting, breaking instead into a melody, depth tugging at one's very will to live. Losing themselves within one another, as surely as those voices lost themselves within another's soul, begging it to leave behind a corporeal existence, and be lost within them, shine and sing in a way that no mortal could. But there was no individuality, only flat perfection, the rise and fall of the voices restrained pulled tight, and thin, like ribbons floating thinly in the air, layered so thickly as to give the impression of a depth that could never exist. After all, the dust of the dead spread thinly, and layered as thick at the voices within the song that now danced strongly on the night air. He exhaled slowly, listening as the voices swirled away from his breath, pushed themselves against his hands, encircled his wrists before once more pulling high into the air. Pushing upon the oppressive moisture as surely as it did them.

He had felt her die, had felt her horror, and the other's triumph, and with her death he had awakened. With his wakefulness came the realization that once more it was he that was last, that now had but one side to choose. He pulled at the red velvet that had been tightening around his wrists.

The frown stretched as the voices once more sang, this time their melody increasing in urgency, the seduction frantic, as the voices grew higher, the soprano no longer singing as much as screaming in the background. Its agony was dulled by the hysterical course, swallowing up its pain as surely as it dulled the mind of any mortal who dared listen.

Wufei frowned, his mind as clear as the sharpest of blades.

 

Trowa?

The green eyed boy stared up at Quatre's concerned face, the blond gazed at him worriedly, gnawing upon his lower lip. "Are you alright?"

The voices eclipsing Quatre's words, pulling at their sounds making them all the more dull, dulling the pain, sharpening the indifference of the unaffected skin. Making a lack of pain almost unbearable. Trowa pulled himself up, the choir singing not so much to his ears as his blood. Somewhere he could hear them screaming, the dead realizing the existence that they had damned themselves to.

"Quatre?"

"No."

Trowa gasped, pulling at the ribbons woven around his neck. He knew their colour without looking.

 

Duo licked his dry lips, Heero looked up from where he was staring at the walls. Watching the shadows play patterns upon the walls, and the dead hiding within the darkened corners. He listened to the song, cocking his head to the side, allowing the lyrics to whisper against his paled skin, move the stale air against his exposed neck, sending shivers down his back. The lilting voices catching when they drew close to his ear, and added a breathlessness when they neared his lips. The breeze stirring the ribbons strung loosely round and round the pale column of his neck.

Heero frowned,

Duo turned a page within the book he had been reading. "Stop it."

And the voices stopped.

 

Dorothy did not know what had stupidly compelled her to check up on Relena in the middle of the night. She would not admit it to herself, but she felt for the somewhat flaky woman. She frowned at that, moving stiffly through the hallways until she came at a rather unexpected sight, there within the small sitting room adjacent to Relena's room sat two young men. Both watching her indifferently. She cleared her throat, dispelling the feeling of dread that was almost palpable in the air, ignoring the way that it pushed against her deaf eardrums. She shook her head, glared at both, before dismissing them as guards, civilian dress guards. Neither seemed surprised to see her, so perhaps her message, announcing her arrival, had not been lost. Her displeasure deepened as she thought of the incompetent guard at the front gate, giving her such a hard time. But still, there was something wrong. Looking at them once more, she found her thoughts muddled.

It is late, she reassured her rather panicked self. How was she supposed to have a clear thought at 4am in the morning? With that she opened the door into Relena's room and stepped in. Moments later she screamed.

 

There is a body…"

"I know." Duo's replied, turning another page in his book. He erased a name, and added another `Donna'.

The blonde's pale fingers snapped together, her entire frame strung tightly. The muscles beneath her ivory skin bunching and unfurling, all of them visibly shaking with barely restrained violence.

"Duo." The fingers curled lightly against Duo's neck, before beginning to squeeze it slowly. The pink polished nails, digging into the boy's white skin. A book clattered to the ground, the dull patter stirring the dust that lay there, and the whispers that hid. Heero gazed up at her. Lightly he stretched; watching his lover being strangled.

Duo's smile widened, before he ripped the girl's fingers from his throat, and threw her across the room. She landed gracefully, tucking the platinum hair behind one ear.

"Arial." He whispered.

The woman grinned lightly, before swaying towards Heero, running her hands down his neck. He grunted, before throwing them off. "strangulation…" her smile widened, she pointed at Duo "and…ha… I should have thought you would be the first to break and awake."

Duo raised a brow. "It was an accident."

"of course." The blond stiffened once more. "mind you…"she fingered her own neck, where blood dried brown and thick, the layers peeling from the freshly healed skin, sticking to the ribbons that lay matted to that ivory surface. "..your violence towards me was hardly accidental."

 

Quatre watched as Trowa sat in front of a mirror, the boy was staring indifferently at his image, his fingers woven around a velvet ribbon. A tug, and Quatre stumbled forward, frowning. The light in the room became almost unbearable, washing out the tall boy's skin, and the fair boy's features, until it did not appear as much that he stood there as he glowed, a solidified form of light.

Trowa frowned, releasing the ribbon, allowing it to fall upon the greenery that carpeted the room, standing to crush a delicate petal beneath his boot, approaching the young Arabian, who was collecting the end of the ribbon that now lay within the foliage. He picked it up, and wove the rest around his neck.

Smiling as Trowa approached him, the grin turned feral as the taller boy bowed lightly in front of him.

 

Heero frowned. He stared into the night air, before standing from where he sat, and walking towards the window. "They have declared war." He watched the sky turn a light shade of violet, as the rays of the sun struggled to penetrate the inky mass of the night.

"Now love, be good…judgement is in our favor." Duo's voice low and thick pushed aside the whispers that were building once more. Crawling up Heero's side, resting against his cheek, an invisible caress.

"It is 6 am." Murmured Arial, perched upon the air, a staff in her hand, and a set of keys held between her lips. One black as the night, carved as fine as silk, as smooth as skin; the other white as light sharp as glass, and rough as fate.

Heero smiled, the grin feral, his eyes dead and dark as he looked at the horizon willing the sun to cease its ritual. His lips directing the song of the chorus, and the chorus listened.

And the sun forgot to rise.

In the distance the rooster did not crow.

People awoke with horror in their eyes.

And the sound of horses, lay behind a wall as thin as skin.

Wufei's frown grew, his eyes falling upon the twin knives that lay clean upon the floor, their blades spotless within the morning's night. The lack of blemishes to mar their surface, to mark his passage, a disgrace. With a sigh he left them, stepping outside, resigning to the fact that angels bled tears.

******

please oh please tell me that all of you realise who arial is, and is anyone getting a grasp on what is going on, please? I need to know *whies pathetically*.
all_in_leather@yahoo.com