"Hard days made me, hard nights shaped me, I don't know they somehow saved me / And I know I'm making something out of this life they called nothing / I take what I want, take what I need, You say it's wrong, but it's right for me / I won't look down, won't say I'm sorry / I know that only God can judge me..."
--- Good Charlotte, "The Young And The Hopeless"
It's A Hard Knock Life Part 1
Lost Boy's Haven
After checking into the seedy motel they were staying at, Duo and Heero went to drop off their belongings in their room. Duo threw his soft leather black traveling bag on the chair near the door, and Heero pushed his worn khaki duffel bag up against the wall. "One bed, eh?"
Heero looked over at him, raising an eyebrow, which was the most Duo could hope for in the way of an expression, anyway. "Hai. It's big enough. The room with two beds was more expensive. It would be a redundant waste of funds. You're not uncomfortable with that, are you?"
Duo shrugged, fidgeting in boredom. "Nope. Works for me."
/ Hell, I ain't complaining, / Duo thought with a grin. He watched Heero go through his own bag with systematic speed. Orderly. Organized. Methodical. Boring. Duo held back an insane urge to go over and throw Heero's spandex, cotton, and other things across the room in handfuls. Bust that goddamned laptop that made it so hard to get the Japanese pilot's undivided attention. And then maybe, just for the hell of it, he would ruffle Heero's already mussed hair.
It sounded like a great chance to see the inside of an L2 emergency room. The look on Heero's face, Duo decided, would almost be worth it, though.
But not quite. Duo stood by impatiently as he watched his stoic Japanese partner finish unpacking.
"Uh, Heero, I want to go out and catch some sights. I haven't been back to L2 in five years--"
"Fine."
"--and I wanted a chance to check up on things... huh?" Duo trailed off as he realized Heero had said it was okay. He looked at Heero with a mix of shock and surprise. "What? No argument? No 'the mission comes first baka', no nothing?"
Heero turned around, facing him.
"We don't have any responsibilities at the moment, and I'm not your superior. You don't have to ask my permission to leave. And you should take advantage of the fact that you have a home."
Duo wasn't sure, but he thought he could hear just a tinge of self- consciousness in Heero's voice.
/ He's probably afraid I'm gonna ask him about his home, / Duo thought.
/ Well, don't worry about it, man. For now, I don't wanna know. Anything that can effect you enough for me to get a feel of it has got to be pretty rough listening material. /
"Yeah, sure... I'll email if I'm gonna be late, all right?" (1)
"Hai."
~*~
Duo was silent as he walked down the Midway of L2-2384. Passing the bootleg tape stalls, moving through the music zones, picking up the walking pace for one beat, slowing it for another. Powerman 5000 told him to stalk, as if he needed to be told. A Techno beat pumped out of fuzzy, dilapidated speakers, Limp Bizkit, Good Charlotte, Metallica. God knew that band was an oldie but a goodie here.
L2. Techno, heavy metal, clubs--strip and otherwise--switchblades. God, Duo hated this colony, but it was still like home to him. He knew every street, every alley. He had lived in half of them. The synthetic weather system, on the blink for ten years and never fixed, kept the temperature in the sordid, dangerous streets at a steady blazing ninety-eight degrees, give or take. If the environment of the poor and dirty place didn't drive you crazy, the heat sure as hell would.
Duo strained for the smell of marijuana to complete the connection, and found it easily through the stench of a hot gutter and sticky tarmac. It was so thick it made him light-headed and dizzy. He thought it was mostly from above--a rickety balcony full of thin dirty kids, enjoying the scene below.
A hand flashed out of the thick crowds and caught hold of Duo. A big, sly looking guy by his stall gripped his arm.
The man began stroking Duo's forearm with his free hand, smoothly and swiftly, not loosening his grip. "Well, aren't you a tight piece of ass," he whispered. "What kind of change would it take to get a kid like you in the sack?"
"I'm not for sale. Fuck you," Duo snarled in true L2 fashion, trying to pull away. But the guy was bigger, and the slender braided pilot held fast.
"You would, wouldn't you? Your clothes say you would in a heartbeat. All you L2 kids are alike. Anything for a piece of bread. Money talks and bullshit walks," he continued, taking Duo's hand and bringing it toward his thigh. Duo's fingers clenched into a fist and his knuckles pressed against the man's skin. People pushed past him on the pavement, knocking Duo with their shoulders. An old woman caught his eye and smiled sadly, figuring he was just another young L2 hooker looking to turn a trick. The guy stopped stroking Duo's arm and started stroking his leg.
Duo looked at the man with a furious, calm calculation. He could have killed the guy easily, but they had just gotten to L2 and Duo didn't want to attract any attention to them just yet. He figured his braid would kinda stand out on an all-points-bulletin, especially one for murder.
The guy's face was passive and unreadable as Heero's; his gaze was leveled at Duo's waist. He gave Duo's leg a very suggestive caress, turning his wrist so his thumb slipped briefly--though a little too far for Duo's taste- -under Duo's black shorts. (2)
Duo took his chance and grabbed the vendor's wrist, twisting it just to the breaking point. Duo heard it start to crack and stopped, holding pressure. The guy let out a yowl, but nobody stopped. This was L2, after all.
~I probably could murder the bastard, and nobody would care.~
It was a known fact in L2: If you were burning to death in an L2 street, screaming and hollering, no one would stop and put you out to piss on you.
Duo leaned down to the vendor's wide, pain-filled eyes. "It's too fuckin' hot. Your best bet is to stay away motherfucker. My suggestion is to keep your distance, 'cause I'm dangerous," he said in a conspiratorial whisper, then let go of the vendor's wrist.
The man jerked it away, glaring daggers at Duo, who borrowed Heero's glare. He turned away, and the vendor shrieked curses at his back, holding his fractured wrist in disbelief.
Duo walked on. He had places to go, things to see, and twilight was already falling. The blazing artificial sun of L2 was starting to set, lighting everything with a bloody glow. Already, most of the shops were closing up, their fronts being shuttered. The streets were gradually being lit with neon signs that glared out "24 Hours", "XXX", and the names of various dance and strip clubs.
The Lost Boys would begin hunting soon.
TBC...
(1) Phones are obsolete. It's all about the email now... speaking of which, any questions, comments, or if you just got something to say, email ME, the author, will ya?
(2) Hey, nobody but the Scooby Doo gang wear the same clothes over and over again... hence, the shorts. L2 climate would call for 'em.
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