(no subject)
Some more Eden/Satoru story preview. I love the character interactions XD;
I'm still working on typing up what I wrote in class the other day. Only about half of it is here in this update. Whoo. I stopped here to post, though, cause it's really rough and a bit more boring afterwards. I'm hoping to smooth it out and make it more interesting as I type it up. I may post it later for some more ideas in that arena too . . . .
(cause you know, it's always great for the people who actually read this stuff to tell me how I can change it to make it more enjoyable for them)
Recapped from the last post too (essentially from the beginning of the chapter), so that it's easy to find your place.
This is rough, so don't be surprised if you find mistakes XD;
Oh, and we get to meet Christopher :D But he's not being very like himself here.
Damien stared silently at the inked medicine wheel on his left wrist. So many meanings were wrapped up in the tattoo, and not all of them were strictly related to the history of the symbol itself. It was protection. That was all their small crew had been told, that was all that Satoru himself had been told. He, however, knew better.
He glanced up at Arman, speaking softly, “Are you really sure you want to give everyone the mark?”
Arman sighed, fingering the matching tattoo on his own left wrist, “It’s safer this way. After all, the rebels aren’t the only ones hiding out in Babylon. The wheel will still be remembered-its reputation made sure of that.”
“But is a memory really powerful enough to make a difference?” Damien frowned at Arman.
Arman smiled, “It’s not the memory we’re counting on. It’s the association that comes with the wheel--not just anyone comes by that mark. No one will mess with you.”
“I’m sure.” Damien covered the tattoo with his uniform sleeve. “As you say, not just anyone comes by the mark. You are aware of what this means, then?”
“It means nothing,” Arman waved him away. “The gang is part of the past.” He looked up at Damien, cutting off the younger man’s retort, “It may be disrespectful, but sometimes you do what you have to do.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Arman smiled at him, “If that’s how it is, then make sure they become worthy of it.”
The corner of Damien’s mouth lifted into a grin, “Yes, sir. They won’t know what hit them.”
“I’ll count on that,” Arman smirked, glancing at his watch. “You might want to run along, though. You’re already going to be late for your little partner’s meeting.”
“Oh, shit!” Damien muttered under his breath, giving a nod to Arman. “I want vodka served at my funeral, got that?”
Arman’s chuckled followed him out as Damien shut the door behind him, giving a slight nod to Arman’s secretary before passing out of the office and into the hall. He felt a little more confident about the upcoming mission. Speaking with Arman had reminded him that he had the upper hand on his partner for once.
He knew much more about the situation than did his partner, if he was honest he really knew more than he wanted to; which brought to mind the thing bothering him the most: his placement on the mission. He had not thought it the time to question Arman just yet, but it bothered him all the same. Whether coincidence, and with Arman he thought not, or by purpose he was deep enough in this particular situation that he could not act without personal bias.
“He doesn’t even know who we’re going up against,” Damien muttered, shaking his head as his thoughts drifted back to his partner, “But I do, for better or worse.”
“You do what?” Damien nearly jumped as a smooth voice cut into the silence of his thoughts.
He turned, smiling as he recognized Christopher. Christopher was the type of person, Damien thought, who should have been a pediatrician. The man was certainly bouncy enough to keep up with any child. With his easy smile and agreeable personality the man was perfectly suited to his profession as a doctor, he oozed bed-side manner.
“Just talking to myself,” he replied. Damien usually enjoyed Christopher’s company, but at the moment he just hit far too close to home.
The doctor rested a hand firmly on Damien’s shoulder, guiding him into an unoccupied room. It would seem Christopher had firmly set himself against Damien’s unvoiced wish. Damien’s eyebrow rose as the door was shut behind him, the lock clicking into place. Christopher’s face was uncharacteristically serious as he turned around to face the younger officer. Damien blinked, taken aback.
“You’ve been put on that mission, correct?” Christopher had steepled his fingers, the tips lightly touching, in a movement Damien had long ago decided was a nervous gesture on the part of the doctor.
“You.” Damien’s eyes narrowed, beginning to connect some dots that he had not seen before. “You’re why I’m on this mission.”
“Well,” Christopher hedged, drawing out the word a few beats, “it was rather convenient that Arman had already decided to assign your partner to it. He clearly favors that man.”
“Have you looked at his peer officers?” Damien’s tone was incredulous. “There’s just no contest.”
“You favor him as well,” Christopher commented, tactfully ignoring Damien’s blush. “However, I can see your point.”
“I’m still not sure how I haven’t made Lieutenant General, what with those fuck-ups that are there now,” Damien growled out.
“Perhaps because you’re too enamored of your partner to break your partnership? There’s hardly time enough in his schedule for a Lieutenant General to have another as a partner, even one as reputedly admirable as yours,” Christopher suggested cheekily.
“Oh, shut up!” Damien glared at him, he hated when the few people who were aware teased him about his crush on his partner.
“To finish answering your accusation: yes, I did request you put on this mission. However, Arman had already decided to place you both.” Christopher fiddled his fingers a bit, pausing. “You’ll watch over him?” They both know who he was referring to.
Damien sighed, “I’ll do what I have to do, Chris. You can’t ask more of me. Your kid brother’s really dug himself a hole.”
“I know,” Christopher closed his eyes. “I just wish that everything would work out.”
“We all do, Chris. We all do.” He sighed again, “I’m sure we’ll work this out one way or another. No one wants to see blood shed except the damned president.”
“I have faith in you,” Chris smiled at him.
"I wish you wouldn’t say that,” Damien shook his head, feeling like utter shit as he unlocked the door and left the room.
He only hoped he didn’t let Christopher down. Some things in life were considerably worse than death. Being the cause of Christopher’s sadness was one of them; consequently, facing Arman’s wrath after letting Christopher down was another. All in all, it left him with a sick feeling that he was truly fucked.
“That’s it!” he swung his arms out dramatically in the middle of the empty hallway. “Everyone is out to give me a headache--bunch of fuckers.”
Resisting the urge to beat his head on a wall (there were several conveniently nearby), but only just, Damien instead turned his feet towards the conference room and the meeting with his partner and their crew he was almost surely late for. Life just got better and better.
“I should get a goddamned medal for putting up with this place.”
-----------
Satoru glanced at his wristwatch for what had to be the fiftieth time-and Damien was still late. His only satisfaction was that he was making everyone else develop a nervous tic. He checked his watch again, wondering what had happened to his partner and, a little less seriously, if the man was purposely trying to drive him mad. Damien had better have a good excuse for driving him up a wall, his partner knew better than anyone else what his policies on tardiness were.
There was a soft knock, it echoed in the dead silence of a room where no one was afraid to speak for fear of setting Lieutenant General Fujiwara off. A different truant shuffled in self-consciously, shrinking under the heated glare Satoru sent him and skittering towards a vacant seat. Satoru barely managed to keep his growl silent, glancing at his watch once more. Thirty-three minutes, forty-two second late, and counting. Another of the men twitched at the far end of the table. Satoru smirked.
Ten minutes later, just as Satoru was beginning to feel homicidal, Damien finally arrived. He did not bother to knock, simply opening the door and closing it behind him with a soft click. He sat down in the chair next to Satoru, settling a pile of folders on the table-the only reason Satoru had not just started the meeting without him.
“Everyone here?” Damien glanced up and looked around the long table.
Satoru wanted to smack him.
“Good,” Damien grinned, “I’ve got a file for each of you here. They’re identical, so just take one and pass it along.” He took the top to files off the stack and passed the others along. One of the two he kept for himself, the thickest he pushed towards Satoru. “Yours, of course, has more data, Lieutenant General.”
Satoru took it from him wordlessly, fixing Damien with a glare. He must suffer for his lateness. Damien merely grinned in response.
I'm still working on typing up what I wrote in class the other day. Only about half of it is here in this update. Whoo. I stopped here to post, though, cause it's really rough and a bit more boring afterwards. I'm hoping to smooth it out and make it more interesting as I type it up. I may post it later for some more ideas in that arena too . . . .
(cause you know, it's always great for the people who actually read this stuff to tell me how I can change it to make it more enjoyable for them)
Recapped from the last post too (essentially from the beginning of the chapter), so that it's easy to find your place.
This is rough, so don't be surprised if you find mistakes XD;
Oh, and we get to meet Christopher :D But he's not being very like himself here.
Damien stared silently at the inked medicine wheel on his left wrist. So many meanings were wrapped up in the tattoo, and not all of them were strictly related to the history of the symbol itself. It was protection. That was all their small crew had been told, that was all that Satoru himself had been told. He, however, knew better.
He glanced up at Arman, speaking softly, “Are you really sure you want to give everyone the mark?”
Arman sighed, fingering the matching tattoo on his own left wrist, “It’s safer this way. After all, the rebels aren’t the only ones hiding out in Babylon. The wheel will still be remembered-its reputation made sure of that.”
“But is a memory really powerful enough to make a difference?” Damien frowned at Arman.
Arman smiled, “It’s not the memory we’re counting on. It’s the association that comes with the wheel--not just anyone comes by that mark. No one will mess with you.”
“I’m sure.” Damien covered the tattoo with his uniform sleeve. “As you say, not just anyone comes by the mark. You are aware of what this means, then?”
“It means nothing,” Arman waved him away. “The gang is part of the past.” He looked up at Damien, cutting off the younger man’s retort, “It may be disrespectful, but sometimes you do what you have to do.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Arman smiled at him, “If that’s how it is, then make sure they become worthy of it.”
The corner of Damien’s mouth lifted into a grin, “Yes, sir. They won’t know what hit them.”
“I’ll count on that,” Arman smirked, glancing at his watch. “You might want to run along, though. You’re already going to be late for your little partner’s meeting.”
“Oh, shit!” Damien muttered under his breath, giving a nod to Arman. “I want vodka served at my funeral, got that?”
Arman’s chuckled followed him out as Damien shut the door behind him, giving a slight nod to Arman’s secretary before passing out of the office and into the hall. He felt a little more confident about the upcoming mission. Speaking with Arman had reminded him that he had the upper hand on his partner for once.
He knew much more about the situation than did his partner, if he was honest he really knew more than he wanted to; which brought to mind the thing bothering him the most: his placement on the mission. He had not thought it the time to question Arman just yet, but it bothered him all the same. Whether coincidence, and with Arman he thought not, or by purpose he was deep enough in this particular situation that he could not act without personal bias.
“He doesn’t even know who we’re going up against,” Damien muttered, shaking his head as his thoughts drifted back to his partner, “But I do, for better or worse.”
“You do what?” Damien nearly jumped as a smooth voice cut into the silence of his thoughts.
He turned, smiling as he recognized Christopher. Christopher was the type of person, Damien thought, who should have been a pediatrician. The man was certainly bouncy enough to keep up with any child. With his easy smile and agreeable personality the man was perfectly suited to his profession as a doctor, he oozed bed-side manner.
“Just talking to myself,” he replied. Damien usually enjoyed Christopher’s company, but at the moment he just hit far too close to home.
The doctor rested a hand firmly on Damien’s shoulder, guiding him into an unoccupied room. It would seem Christopher had firmly set himself against Damien’s unvoiced wish. Damien’s eyebrow rose as the door was shut behind him, the lock clicking into place. Christopher’s face was uncharacteristically serious as he turned around to face the younger officer. Damien blinked, taken aback.
“You’ve been put on that mission, correct?” Christopher had steepled his fingers, the tips lightly touching, in a movement Damien had long ago decided was a nervous gesture on the part of the doctor.
“You.” Damien’s eyes narrowed, beginning to connect some dots that he had not seen before. “You’re why I’m on this mission.”
“Well,” Christopher hedged, drawing out the word a few beats, “it was rather convenient that Arman had already decided to assign your partner to it. He clearly favors that man.”
“Have you looked at his peer officers?” Damien’s tone was incredulous. “There’s just no contest.”
“You favor him as well,” Christopher commented, tactfully ignoring Damien’s blush. “However, I can see your point.”
“I’m still not sure how I haven’t made Lieutenant General, what with those fuck-ups that are there now,” Damien growled out.
“Perhaps because you’re too enamored of your partner to break your partnership? There’s hardly time enough in his schedule for a Lieutenant General to have another as a partner, even one as reputedly admirable as yours,” Christopher suggested cheekily.
“Oh, shut up!” Damien glared at him, he hated when the few people who were aware teased him about his crush on his partner.
“To finish answering your accusation: yes, I did request you put on this mission. However, Arman had already decided to place you both.” Christopher fiddled his fingers a bit, pausing. “You’ll watch over him?” They both know who he was referring to.
Damien sighed, “I’ll do what I have to do, Chris. You can’t ask more of me. Your kid brother’s really dug himself a hole.”
“I know,” Christopher closed his eyes. “I just wish that everything would work out.”
“We all do, Chris. We all do.” He sighed again, “I’m sure we’ll work this out one way or another. No one wants to see blood shed except the damned president.”
“I have faith in you,” Chris smiled at him.
"I wish you wouldn’t say that,” Damien shook his head, feeling like utter shit as he unlocked the door and left the room.
He only hoped he didn’t let Christopher down. Some things in life were considerably worse than death. Being the cause of Christopher’s sadness was one of them; consequently, facing Arman’s wrath after letting Christopher down was another. All in all, it left him with a sick feeling that he was truly fucked.
“That’s it!” he swung his arms out dramatically in the middle of the empty hallway. “Everyone is out to give me a headache--bunch of fuckers.”
Resisting the urge to beat his head on a wall (there were several conveniently nearby), but only just, Damien instead turned his feet towards the conference room and the meeting with his partner and their crew he was almost surely late for. Life just got better and better.
“I should get a goddamned medal for putting up with this place.”
-----------
Satoru glanced at his wristwatch for what had to be the fiftieth time-and Damien was still late. His only satisfaction was that he was making everyone else develop a nervous tic. He checked his watch again, wondering what had happened to his partner and, a little less seriously, if the man was purposely trying to drive him mad. Damien had better have a good excuse for driving him up a wall, his partner knew better than anyone else what his policies on tardiness were.
There was a soft knock, it echoed in the dead silence of a room where no one was afraid to speak for fear of setting Lieutenant General Fujiwara off. A different truant shuffled in self-consciously, shrinking under the heated glare Satoru sent him and skittering towards a vacant seat. Satoru barely managed to keep his growl silent, glancing at his watch once more. Thirty-three minutes, forty-two second late, and counting. Another of the men twitched at the far end of the table. Satoru smirked.
Ten minutes later, just as Satoru was beginning to feel homicidal, Damien finally arrived. He did not bother to knock, simply opening the door and closing it behind him with a soft click. He sat down in the chair next to Satoru, settling a pile of folders on the table-the only reason Satoru had not just started the meeting without him.
“Everyone here?” Damien glanced up and looked around the long table.
Satoru wanted to smack him.
“Good,” Damien grinned, “I’ve got a file for each of you here. They’re identical, so just take one and pass it along.” He took the top to files off the stack and passed the others along. One of the two he kept for himself, the thickest he pushed towards Satoru. “Yours, of course, has more data, Lieutenant General.”
Satoru took it from him wordlessly, fixing Damien with a glare. He must suffer for his lateness. Damien merely grinned in response.