Title: Interview with the Gundam Pilot
Author: BelleMorte lion@pc-intouch.com
Archive: GW Addiction, please.
Category: Angst, Alternate-Universe, OOC, Yaoi, Crossover, Script-Written
Pairings: 1x2, 4+2
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing, nor The Vampire Chronicles which rightfully belong to the wonderful Anne Rice.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Vampirism, blood, m/m relationships, mild language, and other rough material.
Notes: Originally, this was supposed to be a partner writing with Raihne, but we just never got around to it. So now, after months sitting in my Drafts folder, it will be put to light! And for those wondering, this story is to the book, not the movie. I haven't read or seen either versions in a while, so somethings might be different, bear with me please.
Feedback: Yes, most definitely!On with the story!
(Night)
The year is 1973, in San Francisco, Trowa Barton, a 20 year old reporter with auburn hair and passionate green eyes is in an apartment with Heero de Pointe du Lac, a french vampire of about 200 years. He has dark brown shoulder length hair with intense blue eyes. Trowa has his tape recorder on and listening to Heero intently...
Heero: You said you wanted me to tell the story of my life?
Trowa, nodding: Yes. You said you were a vampire, right?
Heero: Yes.
Trowa: So then tell me about it. What's it like?
Heero: Before I can start there, I'll have to start at the beginning....
Trowa: Go right ahead...
Heero, sighs as if it is painful to remember, but nevertheless begins his story.....
"In the year 1891, I owned a Louisiana plantation. I was 24, older than you are now, but back then I was still very young..."
(Scene changes to 19th century, Louisiana. There stands Heero, human, cheeks flushed by the chilly winter air, walking around the grounds of his property.)
"I had one sister and one...*he pauses slightly, almost unnoticably* younger brother..."
(Trowa, voice only)
"What happened to him?"
sighing... "He was not much younger than I, by about 3 years. He was studying for the priesthood. Our family was in the middle of being pleased and being disappointed. But I loved him dearly, and tried to help him in anyway possible. I had a small building built for him on the plantation, the perfect place for praying and silence. But one day, he started seeing and hearing things. He said God was calling to him, to give everything he ever owned to the poor. I worried for him, but let him carry on giving his books and clothes to the poor, until he came to me. He came to me saying that God wasn't completely pleased, for his brother hadn't contributed to the poor also. I said to him
'Paul, have I not made generous donations to our church and to charity? What more do you want of me, to give up the plantation and everything that I own?'
'Yes!' he answered. 'Things such as these do not matter to people such as us. The poor need them! they need us!'
'Paul! You have gone mad!" I exclaimed to him. But now, when I think on it, maybe he wasn't after all.
He turned to me, clearly very angry and then his face melted into a look of sadness.
'Perhaps I have....God does not need me anymore..I hear him. I must be vanquished....' he turned towards the staircase, ready to jump.
I yelled at him, I ran to him, put my arms around him to stop him, but it was no use. He struggled out of my grasp and tumbled down the staircase. He landed with a thud, but made no sound on the way down. I was left standing there, my mouth agape, arms out, just staring at him. The slaves came, and I can imagine they thought I had killed him. It didn't matter to me, for I might as well had.
"When Paul's life left his body, my sanity left with it. I was mad, angry, suicidal. I would sit hour after hour in the small prayer building I had built for him. My family thought it best to leave me alone, and I suppose they were right in doing so. Then, the gambling came. Going to the docks with the gangsters, the criminals, betting everything I was worth, and winning just so I could get the chance of someone murdering me in jealousy. I let myself be robbed and left bleeding on the street. I came close, sometimes, so close, but never close enough. That is how I met, Duo de Lioncourt."
TBC
Please, feedback is wanted and needed desperately.
Belle Morte
Please send comments to: lion@pc-intouch.com