[Ficlet] Homecoming
May. 3rd, 2008 03:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
misanagiI can type!
My arm is castless and the hand is feeling good enough ^-^ So...
Homecoming
Quatre gen. PG
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
clarediva
The man at the front desk looked him up and down and gave him a hard stare. He stood at least five inches taller than Quatre and had twenty pounds on him. His security guards uniform fitted him way too snugly, especially around the belly where the buttons seemed to be just moments away from popping loose.
Quatre kept his eyes fixed on the man, too aware of his bangs falling on his face again but he refused to pull them back. "I'm here to see Mr. Harlow," Quatre spoke in a clear voice. He stood firm but the strain was making his side ache. He wasn't supposed to be doing any physical activity yet but this was something that needed to be done and he wouldn't show any weakness, not to this security guard, Harlow or anyone who stood in his way.
"Do you have an appointment?" the guard asked and Quatre could see the 'kid' just brushing the man's lips. Quatre hardened his stare.
"He should be expecting me. My name is Quatre Winner."
The guard's lips parted and a sound between a gasp and a word came out. His eyes widened. Quatre knew how he looked, wearing secondhand jeans Abdul had gotten for him from a box of old clothes in MO3 and a spare black shirt Duo had been nice enough to give him as a parting gift. The old boots Auda had been lending him for the last week were muddy and tearing in parts but Quatre had refused to take the good pair from the man's feet and had made due with what he had. The too big combat jacket Ahmed had found him made him look even smaller. He ignored all this, though and gave the guard an expectant look. His name had been recognized, it was the one at the door after all, and he expected to be treated accordingly.
"Just a moment," the guard said in a whispered and headed for the phone in his small desk.
Minutes later Quatre was being rushed up to the twenty seventh floor by a man in an expensive suit that kept making excuses for the guard but Mr. Winner should understand his visit was quite unexpected. Yeah thought Quatre, I'm supposed to be dead, but he nodded at the man's words nonetheless, a polite expression firmly placed on his face.
Harlow was waiting by the double doors of Quatre's father's office. "Quatre, my boy!" he exclaimed and opened his arms in the most fake expression of fondness Quatre had ever seen. "You haven't changed," Harlow continued, "except for the clothes of course, you look like a war refugee," and he laughed.
Quatre didn't. Harlow knew very well where Quatre had been and he had probably hoped Quatre wouldn't come back. Harlow might think Quatre hadn't changed, but he had. The last time Harlow had seen him was before he had taken Sandrock to earth since the man hadn't even bother to appear in Mr. Winner's funeral.
Quatre walked past Harlow into the office and sat at his father's desk, pointedly ignoring the look Harlow threw at him. The door of the office closed and it was only when Harlow and Quatre in the room when the former let his fake smile drop from his face.
"That's my chair," he said.
"It's never been, though I guess you took care of it. Fortunately," Quatre let a small smile appear on his lips, "that service no longer required of you."
It was two hours after when Harlow exited the office and WEI building for good, his face red in anger and shame and his words promising revenge. Quatre took them to heart and quietly filed them with all the other threats he knew had and hadn't been voiced against him. Quatre allowed himself a moment, looked down at his clothes one more time and promptly asked the secretary to do some shopping for him. It was AC 196, the war had ended and year had just begun. It was time for a change of wardrobe.
My arm is castless and the hand is feeling good enough ^-^ So...
Homecoming
Quatre gen. PG
For
claredivaThe man at the front desk looked him up and down and gave him a hard stare. He stood at least five inches taller than Quatre and had twenty pounds on him. His security guards uniform fitted him way too snugly, especially around the belly where the buttons seemed to be just moments away from popping loose.
Quatre kept his eyes fixed on the man, too aware of his bangs falling on his face again but he refused to pull them back. "I'm here to see Mr. Harlow," Quatre spoke in a clear voice. He stood firm but the strain was making his side ache. He wasn't supposed to be doing any physical activity yet but this was something that needed to be done and he wouldn't show any weakness, not to this security guard, Harlow or anyone who stood in his way.
"Do you have an appointment?" the guard asked and Quatre could see the 'kid' just brushing the man's lips. Quatre hardened his stare.
"He should be expecting me. My name is Quatre Winner."
The guard's lips parted and a sound between a gasp and a word came out. His eyes widened. Quatre knew how he looked, wearing secondhand jeans Abdul had gotten for him from a box of old clothes in MO3 and a spare black shirt Duo had been nice enough to give him as a parting gift. The old boots Auda had been lending him for the last week were muddy and tearing in parts but Quatre had refused to take the good pair from the man's feet and had made due with what he had. The too big combat jacket Ahmed had found him made him look even smaller. He ignored all this, though and gave the guard an expectant look. His name had been recognized, it was the one at the door after all, and he expected to be treated accordingly.
"Just a moment," the guard said in a whispered and headed for the phone in his small desk.
Minutes later Quatre was being rushed up to the twenty seventh floor by a man in an expensive suit that kept making excuses for the guard but Mr. Winner should understand his visit was quite unexpected. Yeah thought Quatre, I'm supposed to be dead, but he nodded at the man's words nonetheless, a polite expression firmly placed on his face.
Harlow was waiting by the double doors of Quatre's father's office. "Quatre, my boy!" he exclaimed and opened his arms in the most fake expression of fondness Quatre had ever seen. "You haven't changed," Harlow continued, "except for the clothes of course, you look like a war refugee," and he laughed.
Quatre didn't. Harlow knew very well where Quatre had been and he had probably hoped Quatre wouldn't come back. Harlow might think Quatre hadn't changed, but he had. The last time Harlow had seen him was before he had taken Sandrock to earth since the man hadn't even bother to appear in Mr. Winner's funeral.
Quatre walked past Harlow into the office and sat at his father's desk, pointedly ignoring the look Harlow threw at him. The door of the office closed and it was only when Harlow and Quatre in the room when the former let his fake smile drop from his face.
"That's my chair," he said.
"It's never been, though I guess you took care of it. Fortunately," Quatre let a small smile appear on his lips, "that service no longer required of you."
It was two hours after when Harlow exited the office and WEI building for good, his face red in anger and shame and his words promising revenge. Quatre took them to heart and quietly filed them with all the other threats he knew had and hadn't been voiced against him. Quatre allowed himself a moment, looked down at his clothes one more time and promptly asked the secretary to do some shopping for him. It was AC 196, the war had ended and year had just begun. It was time for a change of wardrobe.
