June 26, 2000
Argh...I actually had a GW dream last night...Heero in a Britney Spears red catsuit...whoa...::grabs tissue to stop bleeding nose::
I don't know...it may be fluff. It may be stupid. Feedback welcome!
Dedicated to Mini, who always makes me laugh. ^_^
Warnings: OOCness. Severe severe OOCness. But hell, I had fun writing it and I hope you have fun reading it.
I've taken the...coughcough...liberty of using songs from the 1990's and the...er...00's. Pretend they're from AC 195.
For the best effects, listen to the song posted at the beginning of
each part while reading. ^_^
This part's song is "Give It To You". ^.^ I think you all know who
sings this one...
Smile. Turn, wink. The tinny drum sounded and the bass rolled. "Anything goes, when I give it to you..."
"Catwalk, catwalk!" the director, a pudgy Frenchman with a megaphone in one hand and a Krispy Kreme donut in the other, "Dammit, Yuy, think catwalk!" The music blaring in the background suddenly fizzled out as he leaned down and yanked out the plug. "What ze *fahk* do you think you're DOing? You are rooooining my video!" Several of the backup dancers, all clad in tight spandex pants and body glitter, snickered as he waved his hands around frantically, accidentally bringing the donut up to speak through.
"Amateurs," he cursed at the unfortunate man standing next to him. That man just happened to be Dr. Johnsted, the most sought after agent on Earth, and Heero Yuy's uncle. "Your boy! He iz roooining my video! Catwalk, catwalk, catwalk!" He pointed directly at the impassive Japanese boy who stood examining his nails.
"Heero," Dr. J said reasonably, or as reasonably as one can when he is being attacked by a 400 pound Krispy Kreme wielding Frenchman. "Why don't you just finish this video and then we can go home to discuss the Oakdale concert?" He sounded almost calm, but Heero felt a momentary shiver run down his spine. "Or, rather, the lack of one." Smirking, thinking Heero was properly cowed, he left the studio to get a cup of coffee. Heero knew he'd be watching. He was always spying on him, watching him to see if anything he did could possibly endanger his career.
Heero reluctantly took his place on the stage, wincing as the two perpendicular plastic straps that served as his shirt cut into his skin. Taking his position in the middle of the troupe of dancers, the music started again. He stared at the camera, a little smirk on his face. That smirk was his trademark, and there was no way he was to change that. Heero wanted one thing, at least, to remind him of what lay behind the glittery surface. Everywhere he went, there were posters with his face plastered all over, advertisements for his concerts. He was the hottest music artist in the universe right now and had the bank account to show for it.
So he followed the routine and danced for the stupid Parisian, and when it was over the troupe gave a little cheer and moved to surround him in companionly love. He moved away quickly, wiping the sweat from his bangs, and crossed the divider to the next studio over, where Relena was shooting a music video.
As he watched he tugged at his makeshift shirt, feeling a sigh of relief escape him as it fell away. He was seized with the sudden urge to stomp all over it, but stopped himself. Not pop superstar material. Instead, he focused entirely on the green-eyed boy as he danced with the self-proclaimed teen queen of pop music, Relena Darlian. She saw him and gave him a little smile; Heero forced himself to smile back. Their agents had devised a little cover scheme that both delighted and horrified their fans.
Heero had taken her to the L-2 Music Awards, the hip awards show for the 20-something-wannabes and the prepubescent screaming girls and boys, and in return she had gone to his senior prom with him. People across the colonies were disappointed to hear that they were 'going out' (reduced their chances of getting with Heero or Relena) and delighted, since both had been party to speculation about gay and lesbians in music. None of which was true, of course, he reassured himself. At least about himself.
A hand tapped his shoulder and he frowned as he saw Relena, a devious smile spreading over her red-rouged lips. "Hello, Heero," said Relena, who was clearly going to enjoy torturing the Japanese boy. "Want to go out for coffee?" They looked around to make sure people were listening, then ducked behind a set piece, a metal construction that looked like a tree.
"I thought you'd gotten over me, lover," she teased, poking his arm. Heero scowled faintly, but said nothing. "I saw Dr. J; he looked fucking pissed. What did you do this time?"
"Me?" He pointed to himself in mock disbelief. "Nothing! But he's still fucking pissed, you're right..." She shook her head, sending tiny blonde braids flying into his face.
"Would this have anything to do with skipping the concert at the Oakdale? Darling..." She draped her arms over his shoulders as a red-headed dancer, the biggest gossip known to the business world, walked by. "You can't expect him to handle it well. He had a lot of money riding on it. May I ask why--?"
"Just needed to think," he mumbled, looking away. "It's so fucking loud around here. Can't think clearly."
She frowned at him, but said nothing. At last, pulling away, she laughed, "Well, try not to get into too much trouble. And Heero--" Relena paused. "If he does try anything, you come find me and you can tour with me, baby. I'm your friend, you know that. Your very lesbian friend who is very non-threatening," she added, seeing his expression sour. He gave her a tight smile, and moved to walk away.
"Heero..." He stopped and cocked his head just so to let her know he was listening. "Do be careful. There's ever so many more important things going on here, like friendship and love and courage-- don't be foolish."
He didn't reply but she knew he understood.
He was lucky, he thought as he held a tissue to his nose, that he wasn't a bleeder like some people. He didn't know any bleeders, but he was pretty sure it had to suck royally. Either way, he was covered in blood that had poured from his left nostril when Dr. J hit him. He sat on the couch in their hotel suite, listening with a bored expression to the good doctor rant.
"...goddammit, Heero! You're so fucking careless, such a spoiled brat. You know," he added, whirling around, "your image has taken a downturn in the recent months. You've skipped two concerts, blown off four interviews, and crashed five cars." They glared at each other for a moment, then he continued. "I was speaking with Sally Po who works in public relations and she suggested taking you on a little off-tour trip. A *secret* trip, which means that every newspaper of every city of every Colony will know about it before we even set foot on the plane."
He paused here, and Heero wanted to roll his eyes, knowing he was just dying to have him ask where. "Where?" he asked in his bored monotone.
"To the front of the war, Heero, where real men earn their keep." He waved his mechanical arm for emphasis. "You don't think I lost this in a thread spool factory, do you?"
"It was a rubber band factory--"
"Hush, child, it was in the war, the war of 185. I should never have let you pursue this soda pop business." Heero could feel his face flushing; he pulled the tissue away and saw that his nose had stopped bleeding.
"You are incredibly stupid," he snapped. "You're the one that made me into what I am and you loved every second of it. So you can go jack off in front of Relena for all I care, I'm through." He moved to get up, gulping as a claw closed around his throat.
"Now you listen to me, you little brat-child, and listen good." Heero nodded; he was listening. "You're going to the soldier's camp on Sunday. We leave tomorrow." Again Heero resisted the urge to snort or roll his eyes. "If you don't...well...you're only seventeen. Eighteen in 10 days. But that's enough time to move all your money, all 50 billion credits of it into a personal account that even you can't hack into. And then you'll have nothing. So, Heero," he said conversationally, his red glass eyes staring at his neck, "what's it going to be?"
He swallowed hard. "I'll go," he said fiercely, Prussian blue eyes blazing.
"Good." He released his neck almost reluctantly, as if he wanted to choke him to death. "Now get some sleep, brat-child, before I do decide to break your neck." Stumbling out of the room as fast as he could and hating himself for it, the Japanese boy whose face had graced every major magazine's cover fled into his bedroom and curled up into a little ball on his bed and wondered why he couldn't make himself cry.
End Part One
Ariana
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