[FIC] A Little Less than Human
Title: A Little Less than Human
Characters: Quatre, Rashid, "Man"
Ratings: M
Chapters: 1
Status: Complete
Summary: Quatre wants peace, bad.
This is not necessarily for the challenge, I just felt like writing it. ^____^ (loves) Sorry for some of the errors, I am trying to fix them. -_- Written on a the train on my QWERTY phone. (Meh....) My thumbs hurt. T_____T
Quatre's eyes settled upon the older man sitting across from him and let his hands rest lightly in his lap. The soft yellow glow of the Starbuck's ambient lighting cast a slight shadow under his eyes, darkening the all ready apparent dim semi-circles of fatigue beneath his intense and knowing gaze. He was a patient person, but that patience was wearing thin. He wasn't one to hide behind a mask, in fact he was always a little too open in kindness and rashness, and so his growing displeasure was becoming much more apparent to all who would look upon him.
However, it was a quarter to twelve and the nearing midnight hour had left the coffee shop practically barren, leaving the two men in relative privacy.
"I, well... that is to say, we are working as hard as we can," the man blurted as he fingered his mug of coffee with growing discomfort. He couldn't bring himself to look up at the slender, handsome blond who was now practically glaring daggers at his forehead.
"Your hardest isn't enough," Quatre said in a weary, annoyed mumble. He lifted his own brown mug to his lips and drew in a mouthful of his now lukewarm Turkish coffee. His eyes lifted from their barrage on the nervous man and scanned the abandoned coffee shop. The boy who worked at the counter was somewhere in the back chatting with what sounded like his girlfriend on his cell phone. There goes his idea to get a fresh cup. From the farthest part of his periphery he noted a tall, angular body standing just outside of the coffee shop's picture window, a looming shadow against the sallow streetlights. He knew that was Rashid, waiting for him to give the signal.
A wave of sadness swept across Quatre's mind. He was a nice person, he didn't want to have to go through with Plan B, so he hoped this man said the right things, or he would be forced act regrettably.
"I know, sir, it is just that he is too good at covering his tracks. Every time the team gets a clue to his whereabouts, he always manages to slip away," the man was sweating now. Did he know what Quatre's plans were? Quatre hoped not, but he was never too good at keeping secrets. Maybe something in his face told the man his uncertain fate? Or maybe the poor soul caught a glimpse of the Quatre's guard dog through the window.
"I want him now, I don't have time to dawdle. I don't think you understand the significance of your assignment." Quatre frowned and pushed his half empty cup of coffee away, letting it wobble dangerously at the edge of the table. "If you can't obtain him for me-"
"I... I know, I'm sorry... Sir. Just up until this point he has outsmarted us, after all, he is a Gundam Pilot," the man stammered nervously, his dark eyes watching Quatre's coffee mug with growing anxiousness. The blond smiled at the mention of Gundam Pilots.
"You may have a point there..." Quatre couldn't help but grin, "we Gundam Pilots are magnificent and skilled." He left a pale hand push the coffee mug even closer to the edge, its rounded bottom balancing upon the ridged table edge. "However, there is one thing you should understand. Fundamentally, when you strip down the layers of training, experience, and legend we all are the same. A little less than human, if you must know." His gaze tore away from the mug to the man again, a nameless lackey he had fetched from the accounting department; impressionable, moldable- willing to do his bidding. "If humans make mistakes, then those of us who are lesser generally make more. He will slip, and when he does, you will find him. You must remain diligent." Quatre sighed and watched as the man straightened at his words. Speaking of mistakes, this errand boy was starting to prove himself as one.
"Yes, of course, Sir," the man said, though with an apparent air of hesitation.
Quatre's tired, yet keen eye caught that note of hesitation and detected the taste of reluctance upon the man's lips.
This one is no good, he thought forlornly. He frowned, exhaustion and anguish filling his transparent expression.
"The time to eradicate war is now," he found himself whispering, more to himself than the man in his company. It was a sentiment he had repeated over and over to himself ever since the end of the war, something he truly believed in. The man, confusion painting his face, stared in bewilderment at Quatre's sudden open words. Quatre's gaze locked onto the man's wide, unknowing eyes. If only this man knew how important it was to find him, the last of the living Gundam Pilots other than himself. He was so close to achieving his goal. "The Gundam Pilots must be wiped from existence. I'm sorry, but you won't do-"
Before the man could react Quatre's hand lifted only an inch or two from the table. He swept the hand gracefully to the side, knocking his cup from the table. It dropped to the floor and erupted with a loud crash, splattering his what was left of his Turkish coffee with a loud splat. Simultaneously the man across from Quatre stiffened. His dark eyes rolled up into his skull behind his thick, round glasses before his body slumped lifelessly upon the table, a bullet hole in his forehead draining thick, bright red blood upon the smooth wooden surface. In the back room a mute gunshot sounded, followed by a sickening thump of another body torn from life. Quatre stood slowly from his seat, his eyes never leaving the now dead man sprawled across the table. He wiped his hands on the napkin in his lap before setting the bright white square of fabric upon the table in the center of the pool of blood. He paused for a moment to watch the napkin as it began to transform from white to red within the growing puddle of life.
Tired, and now utterly discouraged, he turned to walk slowly out of the coffee shop. Rashid was waiting patiently beside the car door of his limo, tucking the long barrel of a gun within a pocket inside his vest.
"I'm sorry, Master Quatre," the giant of a man whispered as his young, weary leader shuffled past him to slump into the back seat of the car.
"Me too," Quatre said flatly as he closed his own car door, happy to be concealed within the limo behind the darkened glass. He watched one of the other Maganacs slipped around the side of the building to join Rashid in the front enclosed space of the limo. The car started and began to pull away from the third blood soaked scene Quatre had seen this week. Once the coffee shop was out of sight he slouched against the soft, black leather of the seat and covered his face with his hands, squeezing his temples with his fingers as if to try and cut off the flow of tears from his brain to his eyes. Depression was an easy thing to fall into lately, and he fought it back the best he could.
"A few lives in exchange for many..." he mumbled to himself, hoping to soothe the aching pain in his chest, "I have to protect the world from us, Duo. You have to die, and so do I.".
Characters: Quatre, Rashid, "Man"
Ratings: M
Chapters: 1
Status: Complete
Summary: Quatre wants peace, bad.
This is not necessarily for the challenge, I just felt like writing it. ^____^ (loves) Sorry for some of the errors, I am trying to fix them. -_- Written on a the train on my QWERTY phone. (Meh....) My thumbs hurt. T_____T
Quatre's eyes settled upon the older man sitting across from him and let his hands rest lightly in his lap. The soft yellow glow of the Starbuck's ambient lighting cast a slight shadow under his eyes, darkening the all ready apparent dim semi-circles of fatigue beneath his intense and knowing gaze. He was a patient person, but that patience was wearing thin. He wasn't one to hide behind a mask, in fact he was always a little too open in kindness and rashness, and so his growing displeasure was becoming much more apparent to all who would look upon him.
However, it was a quarter to twelve and the nearing midnight hour had left the coffee shop practically barren, leaving the two men in relative privacy.
"I, well... that is to say, we are working as hard as we can," the man blurted as he fingered his mug of coffee with growing discomfort. He couldn't bring himself to look up at the slender, handsome blond who was now practically glaring daggers at his forehead.
"Your hardest isn't enough," Quatre said in a weary, annoyed mumble. He lifted his own brown mug to his lips and drew in a mouthful of his now lukewarm Turkish coffee. His eyes lifted from their barrage on the nervous man and scanned the abandoned coffee shop. The boy who worked at the counter was somewhere in the back chatting with what sounded like his girlfriend on his cell phone. There goes his idea to get a fresh cup. From the farthest part of his periphery he noted a tall, angular body standing just outside of the coffee shop's picture window, a looming shadow against the sallow streetlights. He knew that was Rashid, waiting for him to give the signal.
A wave of sadness swept across Quatre's mind. He was a nice person, he didn't want to have to go through with Plan B, so he hoped this man said the right things, or he would be forced act regrettably.
"I know, sir, it is just that he is too good at covering his tracks. Every time the team gets a clue to his whereabouts, he always manages to slip away," the man was sweating now. Did he know what Quatre's plans were? Quatre hoped not, but he was never too good at keeping secrets. Maybe something in his face told the man his uncertain fate? Or maybe the poor soul caught a glimpse of the Quatre's guard dog through the window.
"I want him now, I don't have time to dawdle. I don't think you understand the significance of your assignment." Quatre frowned and pushed his half empty cup of coffee away, letting it wobble dangerously at the edge of the table. "If you can't obtain him for me-"
"I... I know, I'm sorry... Sir. Just up until this point he has outsmarted us, after all, he is a Gundam Pilot," the man stammered nervously, his dark eyes watching Quatre's coffee mug with growing anxiousness. The blond smiled at the mention of Gundam Pilots.
"You may have a point there..." Quatre couldn't help but grin, "we Gundam Pilots are magnificent and skilled." He left a pale hand push the coffee mug even closer to the edge, its rounded bottom balancing upon the ridged table edge. "However, there is one thing you should understand. Fundamentally, when you strip down the layers of training, experience, and legend we all are the same. A little less than human, if you must know." His gaze tore away from the mug to the man again, a nameless lackey he had fetched from the accounting department; impressionable, moldable- willing to do his bidding. "If humans make mistakes, then those of us who are lesser generally make more. He will slip, and when he does, you will find him. You must remain diligent." Quatre sighed and watched as the man straightened at his words. Speaking of mistakes, this errand boy was starting to prove himself as one.
"Yes, of course, Sir," the man said, though with an apparent air of hesitation.
Quatre's tired, yet keen eye caught that note of hesitation and detected the taste of reluctance upon the man's lips.
This one is no good, he thought forlornly. He frowned, exhaustion and anguish filling his transparent expression.
"The time to eradicate war is now," he found himself whispering, more to himself than the man in his company. It was a sentiment he had repeated over and over to himself ever since the end of the war, something he truly believed in. The man, confusion painting his face, stared in bewilderment at Quatre's sudden open words. Quatre's gaze locked onto the man's wide, unknowing eyes. If only this man knew how important it was to find him, the last of the living Gundam Pilots other than himself. He was so close to achieving his goal. "The Gundam Pilots must be wiped from existence. I'm sorry, but you won't do-"
Before the man could react Quatre's hand lifted only an inch or two from the table. He swept the hand gracefully to the side, knocking his cup from the table. It dropped to the floor and erupted with a loud crash, splattering his what was left of his Turkish coffee with a loud splat. Simultaneously the man across from Quatre stiffened. His dark eyes rolled up into his skull behind his thick, round glasses before his body slumped lifelessly upon the table, a bullet hole in his forehead draining thick, bright red blood upon the smooth wooden surface. In the back room a mute gunshot sounded, followed by a sickening thump of another body torn from life. Quatre stood slowly from his seat, his eyes never leaving the now dead man sprawled across the table. He wiped his hands on the napkin in his lap before setting the bright white square of fabric upon the table in the center of the pool of blood. He paused for a moment to watch the napkin as it began to transform from white to red within the growing puddle of life.
Tired, and now utterly discouraged, he turned to walk slowly out of the coffee shop. Rashid was waiting patiently beside the car door of his limo, tucking the long barrel of a gun within a pocket inside his vest.
"I'm sorry, Master Quatre," the giant of a man whispered as his young, weary leader shuffled past him to slump into the back seat of the car.
"Me too," Quatre said flatly as he closed his own car door, happy to be concealed within the limo behind the darkened glass. He watched one of the other Maganacs slipped around the side of the building to join Rashid in the front enclosed space of the limo. The car started and began to pull away from the third blood soaked scene Quatre had seen this week. Once the coffee shop was out of sight he slouched against the soft, black leather of the seat and covered his face with his hands, squeezing his temples with his fingers as if to try and cut off the flow of tears from his brain to his eyes. Depression was an easy thing to fall into lately, and he fought it back the best he could.
"A few lives in exchange for many..." he mumbled to himself, hoping to soothe the aching pain in his chest, "I have to protect the world from us, Duo. You have to die, and so do I.".