proxied;

[firstterm]

[ Video turns on... and look who it is. In his office as usual, and he's looking rather smug this time. In the background, standing off to the side, Trowa can be seen, though the camera is focused on Ellis. ]

Thank you, thank you, the cooperation was much appreciated. I have what I need now, and really... was that so hard? I'm just going to assume

Comments

[comment not here]

[pacifisted]

[For those of our audience playing at home watching the feed, Trowa suffers no visible change of any kind on the outside. However, Quatre, you're treated to a ten-second glimpse of his mind and what's in it before he walls himself off completely.]

[A touch of loneliness; a dash of determination. The sight of sand fusing itself into glass by an unseen force. Feelings of warmth and sweat; then shock and alarm at the unexpected hands on his throat, pressing down and slowly crushing it. A familiar (and very opulent) room with a wooden cabinet full of musical instruments standing up against the wall by one archway.]

[Afterward, there is--and will continue to be--nothing.]

[audio]

[pacifisted]

[Annoyed.]

What?

[audio]

[pacifisted]

[That's the way it goes.]

[With a mild air of boredom:]

And?

[audio]

[pacifisted]

[He does. For a split-second a tiny spark of sad recognition flits across his face, but he smothers it so fast it's almost as if it were never there at all.]

[Instead, he just gives a quiet, I couldn't care less 'hmph' and ends the connection.]