capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

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(no subject)

WHO: Wufei, Trowa
WHERE: Hell Towers #10-04
WHEN: Tuesday, Jan. 4/2011
WARNINGS: Violence, probable yelling, god only knows.
SUMMARY: See 05. See 05 confront monster. See 05 discover powers. Go, 05, go!
FORMAT: If it feels good, do it~

He'd extended the invitation a few days before, figuring that Wufei could use a familiar presence; they hadn't had time to really sit down and speak since Wufei's arrival, what with their schedules failing to match up--they were never in the same place at the same time, too busy between Mexico, Africa, the hotel, and dealing with the holiday. The new year seemed promising enough, though, as nothing of great importance had popped up to interrupt.

Of course, he couldn't just sit around waiting, either. Might as well use the time to work on certain skills...

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Quatre's house was the kind of building that garnered excellent reviews in architectural magazines, was much coveted in home and garden circles and elicited enthusiastic proclamations about it's 'open floorplan' and 'bright, airy atmosphere'. Whatever he'd paid for it had likely been worth the money, at least so far as colloquial sources could be concerned and of course Wufei hated it.

It had a wall, nearly an entire wall made from little else but glass.

To describe Wufei's dislike of this feature aloud would more than strain his relationship with the man who was ostensibly putting him up. And so it fell to Trowa's charity, when 05 could no longer stand the inescapable sensation of some unseen gunman, lining up a shot between his shoulder blades. Even then he felt, after seeing the world again through that narrow and bloody insurgent's filter, that the apartment was to small and too crowded and— just...

He opened the door of the apartment, meaning to leave. To go running or to find someone to punch or just to walk....somewhere. Get some distance. Be alone.

The problem with trying to be alone in an apartment complex was that a person was, by the very nature of his or her living arrangements, constantly surrounded. Sometimes a little more blatantly than usual--at the instant that Wufei had opened the door of 10-04, Trowa had come back from a runaround and was about to do the same, intending to catch a shower and some more sleep before the evening picked up the way it always did in the City.

Of course, it didn't look that way to the casual observer.

Instead, Wufei found himself met with a huge, impossible monster staring down at him from a good four feet up.

...Oops.

As a gundam pilot, a martial artist and a person, Wufei's reactions to danger, surprise and panic were well-honed and practiced to the point that they represented instinct and reflex more than conscious decision. If looking up and up— and up into fangs that were as long as a decent knife had any effect at all, it was that; to reach down into the instinctive core of him and shake.

His response was appropriately instinctive, hands moving as if of their own accord, to strike at the threat, and red-orange fire bloomed in response. The heat and presence only served to fuel the shock further, turning what had been a panicked spark into a brief but intense gout of flame.

The realization of what was about to happen hit him a moment too late, the beast's big, green eyes widening as he saw what had previously appeared to be nothing more than empty space abruptly igniting itself. With a (loud) thick, rolling gurgle of surprise and a resounding thump, Trowa dropped to the floor in a desperate attempt to avoid finding himself with 'barbecued cat' as his newest form.

He smelled the burning fur and hair before he even understood that he'd caught fire, roaring, automatically battering at his borrowed mane with both hands and rolling on the floor to try and quickly smother the flame before it could flare up and do real damage to him--or worse, catch to any other part of the building.

Wufei had fallen back into stance automatically, running on nothing more concrete than muscle memory and adrenaline. He wasn't entirely certain where the hell all the fire had come from, but there were people— human beings in this building. Letting it burn down would be a disgusting waste of life... So, he got the fire extinguisher and quickly leveled a long, quenching burst and the rolling, flaming fury that the whatever-it-was had become.

...and then, he drew his sword and advanced.

The water spray from the extinguisher put what remained of the fire out, soaking him down to a bit below the shoulders and drenching the floor. Free from the threat of having the flames do more damage to him had he shifted down before they'd been put out, as they would not have followed suit and decreased in size, Trowa finally let himself slide down into human form. The fur covering the creature's body quickly sucked in and rebuilt itself into his clothing (with a big burned-out patch on the neck of his sweater), muscle and bone condensing and twisting back into shape much too fast for pain to register.

For the last three months, as part of his attempt to discover how it felt to be a normal teenager, Trowa had been growing out his hair a little in imitation of some of his floormates, trying to see why they liked longer styles so much. Thankfully, the extra length had absorbed some of the damage, but now he would have to cut it back to the way it had almost always been... if a little bit shorter than usual in regard to his bangs. To make matters look even worse, the majority of it was plastered firmly over his face by the water, forcing him to use reddened fingers to separate it so he could see.

The hallway smelled of burned hair, wet lion, and ash, and Trowa turned a wordless glower in Wufei's direction.

If the other young man did so much as even think about stabbing or hacking at him with that blade, after all that, Trowa would send him back to Quatre's house... by throwing him through the glass wall.

Wufei's cautious advance came to an end when he met Trowa's furious eyes with his own. Shit.

"What exactly is going on here, Barton?!" He spat, using the name as if it were the worst of insults. Wufei was angry, and confused, and most of all...he wanted answers.

Trowa slowly stood up once Wufei was no longer approaching him with the intent of running him through, careful not to make any sudden movements lest the other decide it was a good idea to turn him back into a living candle.

"You attacked me," he snapped, more than a little verbal ice crowding around the obvious reply. It was somewhat easier for him than most people not to take such things as an insult as the name didn't belong to him in the first place, but still, the point remained that he had been about to enter his apartment with nothing more in mind than a good doze when Wufei had chosen to blast him out of the blue. He folded his arms, careful to mind his hands until they could stop stinging, and added, "Being brought here gives everyone unusual talents--that was mine."

Trowa rarely chose to speak in a manner that wasn't mostly calm. It was generally saved for more important incidents. Like being greeted with a faceful of flamethrower instead of the standard 'hello'.

"You were a—" Wufei accused acidly, some kind of monster, twice Wufei's size, with fangs as long as his hand. He remembered the impression of a mane, and tawny fur, like a, "A lion!"

Typical 03. How damnably typical. By the way; shouting in the hallways, very classy.

"That isn't a talent! That's ridiculous!"

"It's useful."

Trowa moves with the intent to push past Wufei and get into his apartment. If 05 is determined to shout, they can argue inside, where people won't be as inclined (or able) to peek out of their doors and watch.

"And you can throw fire. So get out of the way."

For a full minute he just stood there, sword still in hand, looking again like he was about to run Trowa trough, strangle him, or both. His face is an interesting portrait study in confused outrage. Since fucking when can he throw fire?!

But as strong as is his impulse to have it out right then and there, so too is his strong desire for privacy. So he backs into the apartment and stomps off into the kitchen.

Tea, motherfucker. Do you speak it?

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