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GW/Temeraire -- Dragons and their Boys -- how No-name got Heavyarms
Dragons and their Boys archive.
~700 words.
He woke in the middle of the night to a man in white coat leaning over him, hand stretched out toward his shoulder.
"Ohfuckdon't" were the first words that made sense in the middle of a torrent of whispery babbling. No-name gave a slow blink and took the point of his knife off the man's neck. He recognized him; head scientist's right hand man. Friedriks.
Three in the morning and some change, station-time. He sat up on his bunk as the man stumbled back and smoothed his coat.
Friedriks looked tense. But not ashamed, like a guy caught trying to slip in a teenage boy's bunk in the middle of the night ought to be.
"Corridor," Friedriks whispered. No-name considered it, then shrugged, slipped off his bunk straight into his old combat boots, and padded silently after him. No doubt they'd woken up other mechanics; it wasn't no-name's problem. They'd fall back asleep if nothing else happened.
The dormitory door sealed closed. Arms crossed casually, knife still in hand, he stood in the gloom of night-lights and waited for Friedriks to notice he wasn't following.
"We've got no time!" the man hissed. No-name shrugged. He could have spoken, but being woken up in the middle of the night made him edgy, and the adrenaline jolt still running in his veins didn't especially dispose him to friendliness.
"Alright, fine, fine. You're pretty good with weapon systems. Resourceful. How old are you? Not eighteen, don't even try it. Whatever, doesn't matter."
"What does matter?"
"Listen, it's sanctioned by Doktor S. He'll explain."
"Is it sanctioned by the base commander?"
Aha, he thought, thoroughly unsurprised, as the man's face twitched. It wasn't.
"I'm going back to bed." He turned away.
"Do you want your own dragon?"
Doktor S's voice stopped him first -- hadn't heard him coming, bad for survival -- but the words were what made him turn around, against his best judgment.
Showing people that you had buttons to push only ensured that they keep pushing them.
"There's only one egg on this station," no-name said; something they both knew, but everyone also knew the egg was to be someone else's -- had been tailor-made for someone else. It wasn't like Trowa Dekim Barton the Fourth, of the Barton Foundation, was especially secretive or modest about it.
Doktor S gave him a heavy-lidded look, and then a small, lopsided smile. "Can't raise him on the radio, and he's not in his quarters."
No-name was sure they'd tried very hard. Yeah. And he had talon-sheaths for sale, made in L2, guaranteed authentic silver-and-ivory.
A dragon of his own. He'd... mentioned he liked animals, once, mostly because not answering would have made Trowa keep pushing. (He liked them much better than people, was what he hadn't mentioned.) The scientists didn't, for some reason, want Trowa Barton to captain the dragonet, and they couldn't afford to have it go masterless and feral on a space station, especially since so much money and time had been sunk in its genetic engineering; if no one captained it, would it be killed and used for cloning samples? Locked in a cage?
He could see their point of view. Better some random mechanic with no agenda of his own and a liking for animals (and who was, apparently, able to take care of the dragon's armament on its own) than Trowa Barton; but if no-name said no, they'd just go and find someone else. Anyone but Trowa Barton.
He shouldn't get involved. Sounded dangerous. And when Trowa woke up and found out, he was bound to go berserk on no-name and anyone else remotely involved.
He already knew too much, anyway, just from this little discussion, so why not.
"The Bartons won't like it," he said, even as he took his first steps toward the waiting scientists.
"The Bartons won't know about it," Doktor S replied. "If we're lucky."
No-name arched a doubtful eyebrow.
"You won't have to care long, boy." The man rested a hand on his shoulder, totally ignoring the knife still in his hand. "Your dragon can survive in space. There's nothing that can trap you."
~700 words.
He woke in the middle of the night to a man in white coat leaning over him, hand stretched out toward his shoulder.
"Ohfuckdon't" were the first words that made sense in the middle of a torrent of whispery babbling. No-name gave a slow blink and took the point of his knife off the man's neck. He recognized him; head scientist's right hand man. Friedriks.
Three in the morning and some change, station-time. He sat up on his bunk as the man stumbled back and smoothed his coat.
Friedriks looked tense. But not ashamed, like a guy caught trying to slip in a teenage boy's bunk in the middle of the night ought to be.
"Corridor," Friedriks whispered. No-name considered it, then shrugged, slipped off his bunk straight into his old combat boots, and padded silently after him. No doubt they'd woken up other mechanics; it wasn't no-name's problem. They'd fall back asleep if nothing else happened.
The dormitory door sealed closed. Arms crossed casually, knife still in hand, he stood in the gloom of night-lights and waited for Friedriks to notice he wasn't following.
"We've got no time!" the man hissed. No-name shrugged. He could have spoken, but being woken up in the middle of the night made him edgy, and the adrenaline jolt still running in his veins didn't especially dispose him to friendliness.
"Alright, fine, fine. You're pretty good with weapon systems. Resourceful. How old are you? Not eighteen, don't even try it. Whatever, doesn't matter."
"What does matter?"
"Listen, it's sanctioned by Doktor S. He'll explain."
"Is it sanctioned by the base commander?"
Aha, he thought, thoroughly unsurprised, as the man's face twitched. It wasn't.
"I'm going back to bed." He turned away.
"Do you want your own dragon?"
Doktor S's voice stopped him first -- hadn't heard him coming, bad for survival -- but the words were what made him turn around, against his best judgment.
Showing people that you had buttons to push only ensured that they keep pushing them.
"There's only one egg on this station," no-name said; something they both knew, but everyone also knew the egg was to be someone else's -- had been tailor-made for someone else. It wasn't like Trowa Dekim Barton the Fourth, of the Barton Foundation, was especially secretive or modest about it.
Doktor S gave him a heavy-lidded look, and then a small, lopsided smile. "Can't raise him on the radio, and he's not in his quarters."
No-name was sure they'd tried very hard. Yeah. And he had talon-sheaths for sale, made in L2, guaranteed authentic silver-and-ivory.
A dragon of his own. He'd... mentioned he liked animals, once, mostly because not answering would have made Trowa keep pushing. (He liked them much better than people, was what he hadn't mentioned.) The scientists didn't, for some reason, want Trowa Barton to captain the dragonet, and they couldn't afford to have it go masterless and feral on a space station, especially since so much money and time had been sunk in its genetic engineering; if no one captained it, would it be killed and used for cloning samples? Locked in a cage?
He could see their point of view. Better some random mechanic with no agenda of his own and a liking for animals (and who was, apparently, able to take care of the dragon's armament on its own) than Trowa Barton; but if no-name said no, they'd just go and find someone else. Anyone but Trowa Barton.
He shouldn't get involved. Sounded dangerous. And when Trowa woke up and found out, he was bound to go berserk on no-name and anyone else remotely involved.
He already knew too much, anyway, just from this little discussion, so why not.
"The Bartons won't like it," he said, even as he took his first steps toward the waiting scientists.
"The Bartons won't know about it," Doktor S replied. "If we're lucky."
No-name arched a doubtful eyebrow.
"You won't have to care long, boy." The man rested a hand on his shoulder, totally ignoring the knife still in his hand. "Your dragon can survive in space. There's nothing that can trap you."
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Yay! No-name makes a much better rider than Trowa the first ever would, in my humble opinion. u.u
I like that you manage to portray so much about Trowa (er, No-name, to be specific) in so few words. He has a hair trigger kill reflex, he likes animals more than people, he doesn't like to be caught in a trap, he's cautious around authority, and he doesn't like the idea of the Bartons controlling a dragon. It paints a picture of who he is in a very short space of time.
Also, I still adore this 'verse. Gundam Wing boys and dragons? Couldn't be better. XD Fabulous!
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♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
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Okay, off topic question. I remember one time, you did a comic for Mel and Christy, where Duo was with Fei and Heero, Fei and Heero wanted Duo to choose, and there was Trowa choking, and Duo and Quatre giggling, and two twosomes which happened to overlap, and I can't get their site to pull it up, so I was wondering if you happened to have it hosted somewhere else? I've seen you use an icon from it, if that helps any?
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And no, it was only on one other site and that site went down years ago. I don't have it saved on my computer or on my personal site and I don't remember where the paper originals are or if I even still have them. Sorry. But you could ask
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Yea, No-Name is definitely the best pick
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Mercenary mechanic! Of course he'd have developed mad competence skillz. XD
(in his heart of hearts he's just thinking baby dragon all alone in the world baby dragon baby dragon waugh. XD)
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*melts*
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*looooooves*
No-name gave a slow blink and took the point of his knife off the man's neck. He's the Trowa from the series! Actually pretty boring to watch! His character is much better served by your story, in my opinion. He's so internal. I mean, throughout the series he just does so much crazy stuff, but it doesn't translate well without knowing what he's thinking.
"Is it sanctioned by the base commander?" I don't remember the series well enough to tell, but it makes sense to me that as a very successful infiltrator, he'd be good at seeing all of these unspoken things. If it isn't in-character, I just love your interpretation of his character.
Especially since, with all of his understanding regarding how shit will go down if he gets involved in this, he basically goes "what the hell" as an excuse for taking care of a baby dragon. He's so focused on his own survival and staying in the background, and then they're just "...babydragon?" and he signs up for a spot in the limelight. Its adorable.
Also, you succeeded entirely in conveying to me Trowa's point of view. I'm not sure how, but I think it had something to do with the very short simple sentences in the first bit. I think that's it because the sense of it faded when he went on about animals, and then came back as he went back to considering his options.
Also: Heavyarms can survive in space! *glees*
Re: *looooooves*
I'm glad you agree on Trowa being boring to watch because everything happens inside. XDDDD Oh, that boy, what am I going to do with him. I suspect him interacting with Heavyarms will be way more interesting, she's really fun.
I see Trowa as naturally observant to those types of introgue, considering his mercenary unit was at one time infiltrated which resulted in them all killing each other; he'd probably become hyper-aware of that kind of undercurrents so he isn't betrated/made to be a scapegoat again. DUnno, it both makes sense AND makes him more interesting to me, so yay for headcanon. XD
All the gundams can survive in space! But not any other dragon. Well, Epyon and Tallgeese, but that's because they're all descended from Tallgeese. Of course, Trowa himself had better grab a suit and some air tanks before he comes with, but hey. >__>
*loves on you* thank you for the comment~ it is an awesome comment. u.u
*blush*
I like your headcannon, and am going to adopt it for my own, if you don't mind terribly. The only time I ever read Episode Zero was as a sixteen year old, and it was a really terrible translation. I just had a "so that's what was going on" moment. ^^
Thanks for responding, by the way. I doubt all of my comments will be awesome, but I can pretty much guarantee they'll all be long. I'm working on it.
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You make me really like Trowa. Trowa. Whut, how did you do that.
Hee. I love how pragmatic and cold he is. Well, up until he finds out there's a baby dragon involved, after that he's making excuses. Good excuses, but still. XD
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♥