Monologues::Fallyn
I still remember how old I was the first time I saw him, any of them, on TV. 14. I was 14 years old and wandering around Europe. I almost hoped I might bump into one of them, but I knew I would have to run if I did. That was back when all the pilots were killing any and everyone who laid eyes on them.
It was his eyes and his vehemence that caught me, drew me to him. I don't know how, but it just did. One of the recovered cameras from a destroyed Oz base played a picture of just his eyes. And they kept showing that on the news. Deep cobalt. And dark brown hair that fell into his eyes. I was lost and I didn't even know it.
'Mon ami, mon cher. If only I could meet you.' crossed my mind. He symbolized all that I was preparing for. Bravery. At the time, honor. Revenge.
For the honor, I found a different person to tag my own expectancies for myself onto. Raven hair and ebony eyes. Raised with honor, honor to uphold. But it was the hardness of his eyes that inspired me. He was perfect at what he did. And I wanted to be that parfait.
And yet, perfection was not mine to attain, and it irrité me. But I was not one to let anger stand in my way and get me down. For my mother I had always played the insouciant girl, and it was an act that I found I couldn't drop. A blagueur's mask had been handed to me and I had played it for so long, it was all I knew. But being able to do that allowed me, and possibly only me, a glimpse beyond the mask of one of the others.
Chestnut braid hanging lifelessly, head bowed with no strength to raise it. But I, and quite possibly only I, saw the embers of a fire in his otherwise unseeable amethyst eyes. His mouth curved into a small smile, so faint no one else, I'm sure, picked up on it. I knew that small smile. It was the smile a Joker puts on, even in the face of mort. How often have I done the same, I wonder?
As I had walked away, plans were forming in my head of how I could help him. Knowing Ma`Ma wouldn't allow it, I silently plotted a way to spring him without getting harmed or alerting Ma`Ma to my actions. But before I could do such a stupide thing, my cobalt-eyed amour helped him escape.
Ma`Ma had, of course, at the time, looked at my astonished and happy face, raised her elegant eyebrow and asked if I had been planing on doing that. I remember looking up at her sheepishly at first, then breaking into a wide grin and saying "It would have been for Peace!". That memory still brings a smile to my face, even through my pain.
I remember having heard that the fameux heir to the Winner fortune was actually fighting as well. It frightened me. What if he was fighting on the other side? I knew only from pictures what the heir looked like, but I knew I wouldn't want any harm to befall him. It wasn't until I met him, years later, that I would realize that he could not only stand up for himself, but that he could put someone in their place without lifting a finger.
We travelled, Ma`Ma and I. We had to. We were both DevAngels and the Foundation seemed to want us out of the way. We ended up in a town where a Circus was performing. Ma`Ma loved the circus and, using the excuse that no one would find us in the crowds there, got us in.
My favorite acts were the high-wire act and...the knife-thrower.
When Ma`Ma lead me through the crowd to leave, after the performances, I snuck off. Looking back, that was foolish of me, I could have gotten caught by whoever was looking for us and perhaps been killed on the spot. But I didn't care. I prefer to give my appreciation un sur un.
I smile on this memory, for though I was foolish, it seemed that someone recognized something about me and deemed my protection top priority. I felt his presence before his fingers encountered my arm. With the ghosting of his fingers, I whirled on him, a tiny gun pulled and ready to shoot. His single emerald eye widened a bit with the surprise, then I watched his mask slip into place as he nodded.
'Greetings, DevAngel.' was all he said to me. My own eyes, naturally wide with joviality, widened even more and he chuckled softly. A slender form hidden behind the costume he still wore belied the power that was rippling just under the surface. 'You can put that away, I won't hurt you. You are far too precious to me and I did make a promise.'
'Qu'est-ce que?' was my eloquent response. He made a sound that was reminiscent of chuckling. I looked at him and opened my mouth to demand what he was talking about, but all that came out was 'You...? Précieux? Promesse?' I lowered my gun, trying to figure out what he meant. 'Pa`Pa?'. He smiled sadly at me, but kindly.
The next time I met Trowa was after I awoke from being unconscious. I didn't realize it was the same young man who had openly shown me emotions at the Circus so many years ago, as I couldn't see him, but I recognized his voice and his name. It wasn't until I regained my full sight that I found I was with the five people I had looked up to during the previous wars. It was a wonderful find, for me, and I'll cherish it until the day I die and beyond.
~~ Oi! Okay! Okay! Before all start to rip my throat out for all the French, I'll hand you the translations, or at least, the difficult and little-to-never heard translations:
parfait - really, this should speak for itself, what with the context and all, but it is perfect
irrité - in this particular case it is angered
insouciant - essentially happy-go-lucky
blagueur's - joker's
mort - should be obvious, but in case it isn't, it means death
stupide - in this case, it means foolish
fameux - again, this is one of the more obvious meanings, famous
un sur un - fairly strictly means one on one
'Qu'est-ce que?' - as it was said, 'What?'
Précieux - Precious, since she's being stupified and just echoing the words that caught her
Promesse - again she's playing Echo, promise
There, that should clear things up some more. I hope, anyhow. Oh, and if you should be wondering, Fallyn's first language is French, all other languages she speaks are well learned. I hope you enjoyed the first in the series of monologues! 0^_~0 ~~
