It's not really a coincidence that Wufei is in the elevator when it opens, silent and stoic - he moves through places like a ghost, and rarely gets questioned about it - he just is, like he's meant to be.
(Reporters don't really stand a chance - he's right by the panel, and the door shuts, mysteriously, just as soon as Treize passes the threshold. Someone's arm nearly catches in the process, and Wufei just gives them a curt smile. They can still use their fingers.)
"Don't be a brat," he sighs, not without affection. And that settles it, of course; Wufei is staying until this summit is out and they can get back to - whatever. Permitting his schedule stays unchanged, it means he gets to go home.
"I'm teleconferencing about the Mars progress in eight hours. Did you happen to run into anyone off that the last time you were on the satellite base?"
He huffs something that may or may not be half a chuckle. "I did, actually. I was too busy to run into anyone for any real length of time, but then the people I did talk to made me wonder if they knew which side of their space suit was up without assistance..." This is being kind; Wufei actually wondered far worse things.
What did he just say about being a brat, Wufei? Treize smiles inwardly as he investigates what's left of the food to see if he can get Wufei to eat something besides a damn salad. "Ah, I suppose it'll be a short conference."
The fact that there was no fits thrown upon the pilot's return means it was nowhere near that bad, but his impossible standards are charming.
Look, it wasn't a lettuce salad, it was a weird chunky salad with stuff in it. (Certainly there're some sort of carbohydrates, make him eat them. He goes through enough of them.)
"I'd be surprised," he says, quirking a brow again as he looks over at Treize. It's good that he knows Wufei's standards so well, or else he might not realize that 'these people are utterly useless, why am I bothering' just means that some poor person probably sneezed at an inopportune time.
Well now he has some kind of chicken and asparagus thing, too, which is actually legitimate sustenance.
"Besides, it's not like they need to know more about space suits than how to get them on," he says. "I'm more worried about the potential side-effects of the chemicals they've been cleared to use." Which Treize got voted down on, in a tragic situation where he couldn't just have anyone killed. Damnit, democracy. "It'll either transform the soil or create plant monsters bent on destroying us all." Deadpan.
Plant monsters are, to be fair, not remotely in the realm of potential disasters concerning the Mars project, but Treize has developed a terrible habit of excessive flippancy in private, exacerbated by the enabling of certain parties. It's the potential damage to the entire atmosphere there that's the issue - playing god with evolution, trying to force things to grow on a world whose ability to host life was drained away so long ago that even the evidence of it is little more than a ghost - and the repercussions damage there could have on the rest of the solar system.
Still, it's a necessary step forward. As grand as the idea is of healing the world, the innate purpose of all these debates and meetings, human beings have long since grown to the point where they cannot help but damage her. The best thing for the earth now is for them to just stop, but of course, that's impossible. And thus they've made a goal out of creating something to abuse
( ... )
Things like that bother Wufei, niggling annoyances at the back of his mind - maybe it's why he dislikes the majority of people still, or maybe it's because of that. Either way-
He does smile faintly - it's more of a slight twist to his mouth than anything, but it's something and it's probably because he's thinking that at least, plant monsters could be remedied.
"I never said it wasn't," he adds, almost as an afterthought.
Humanity is a disease - but such an ambitious, multifaceted one that Treize can't help but love it anyway. Like anything that grows without limits, the excess occasionally needs culled, but he would never work to maintain something that he did not adore and believe in fully. Case in point: the man before him.
Who is still being a brat.
"Well then guess who's being assigned the front line of plant monster defense?" You, Mr. Chang.
It's not pure luck that Wufei has learned to keep a better balance on things - experience maybe, though he's still so very passionate about everything, and perhaps even doubly so that in the way he sees Treize.
(It explains so much about him.)
"Good. My full potential will finally be realised," a beat, "in killing plant monsters."
"I'm sure you will be stunning in your magnificence," he deadpans, giving him a dry look over his water glass. Should he order cake slices, or something equally pointless and decadent? No, probably not; as entertaining as it would be to go to excess while at a function about conservation, it's a little festive for his current mood.
"Of course I will be. It's what I do," he states blandly as he sits back in his seat. He's not fiddling with anything currently, but he looks a little like he might want to. (He's fine.)
"You've been doing a lot of instructional work lately." Not a question; Treize knows, just like he knows what that barely-behaved caged-animal look is. It's one of the reasons he finds him so damn intriguing. Everything is always, always right there beneath the surface, reachable, tangible.
"Mm," he agrees, glancing over at Treize like he hadn't already been semi-watching him (as always). "I prefer it to idleness, even if it's occasionally a less than smooth course." But Treize knows all of this already, of course - the only person he's stricter on than those he teaches is himself, and he prefers the rocky bits of road anyway.
(Reporters don't really stand a chance - he's right by the panel, and the door shuts, mysteriously, just as soon as Treize passes the threshold. Someone's arm nearly catches in the process, and Wufei just gives them a curt smile. They can still use their fingers.)
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"If you're kicking me out, at least let me finish first." ... Just. Say 'yes,' Wufei, it would probably be easier.
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"Don't be a brat," he sighs, not without affection. And that settles it, of course; Wufei is staying until this summit is out and they can get back to - whatever. Permitting his schedule stays unchanged, it means he gets to go home.
"I'm teleconferencing about the Mars progress in eight hours. Did you happen to run into anyone off that the last time you were on the satellite base?"
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What did he just say about being a brat, Wufei? Treize smiles inwardly as he investigates what's left of the food to see if he can get Wufei to eat something besides a damn salad. "Ah, I suppose it'll be a short conference."
The fact that there was no fits thrown upon the pilot's return means it was nowhere near that bad, but his impossible standards are charming.
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"I'd be surprised," he says, quirking a brow again as he looks over at Treize. It's good that he knows Wufei's standards so well, or else he might not realize that 'these people are utterly useless, why am I bothering' just means that some poor person probably sneezed at an inopportune time.
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Well now he has some kind of chicken and asparagus thing, too, which is actually legitimate sustenance.
"Besides, it's not like they need to know more about space suits than how to get them on," he says. "I'm more worried about the potential side-effects of the chemicals they've been cleared to use." Which Treize got voted down on, in a tragic situation where he couldn't just have anyone killed. Damnit, democracy. "It'll either transform the soil or create plant monsters bent on destroying us all." Deadpan.
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"Plant monsters," he muses, eyeing a piece of asparagus, "would be interesting at the very least." More so than conferences, apparently.
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Plant monsters are, to be fair, not remotely in the realm of potential disasters concerning the Mars project, but Treize has developed a terrible habit of excessive flippancy in private, exacerbated by the enabling of certain parties. It's the potential damage to the entire atmosphere there that's the issue - playing god with evolution, trying to force things to grow on a world whose ability to host life was drained away so long ago that even the evidence of it is little more than a ghost - and the repercussions damage there could have on the rest of the solar system.
Still, it's a necessary step forward. As grand as the idea is of healing the world, the innate purpose of all these debates and meetings, human beings have long since grown to the point where they cannot help but damage her. The best thing for the earth now is for them to just stop, but of course, that's impossible. And thus they've made a goal out of creating something to abuse ( ... )
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He does smile faintly - it's more of a slight twist to his mouth than anything, but it's something and it's probably because he's thinking that at least, plant monsters could be remedied.
"I never said it wasn't," he adds, almost as an afterthought.
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Humanity is a disease - but such an ambitious, multifaceted one that Treize can't help but love it anyway. Like anything that grows without limits, the excess occasionally needs culled, but he would never work to maintain something that he did not adore and believe in fully. Case in point: the man before him.
Who is still being a brat.
"Well then guess who's being assigned the front line of plant monster defense?" You, Mr. Chang.
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(It explains so much about him.)
"Good. My full potential will finally be realised," a beat, "in killing plant monsters."
Now he is being a brat.
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"I'm sure you will be stunning in your magnificence," he deadpans, giving him a dry look over his water glass. Should he order cake slices, or something equally pointless and decadent? No, probably not; as entertaining as it would be to go to excess while at a function about conservation, it's a little festive for his current mood.
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A pity, he might've actually eaten some cake.
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Eat your damn dinner, Wufei.
"You've been doing a lot of instructional work lately." Not a question; Treize knows, just like he knows what that barely-behaved caged-animal look is. It's one of the reasons he finds him so damn intriguing. Everything is always, always right there beneath the surface, reachable, tangible.
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"Mm," he agrees, glancing over at Treize like he hadn't already been semi-watching him (as always). "I prefer it to idleness, even if it's occasionally a less than smooth course." But Treize knows all of this already, of course - the only person he's stricter on than those he teaches is himself, and he prefers the rocky bits of road anyway.
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