Nightelf presents...
*****
Ever since she was a small child, Relena always tried to stand for what
was right.
Perhaps it was her upbringing, she thought as she raced down to the
submarine. In some ways, she was a spoiled princess, Daddy's girl to a
T. However, when your father is an ambassador, that takes on such a
remarkable meaning. He was a true peacecrafter, always trying to keep
war from the world, and she tried to adopt some of his candor as her
own.
War had come to her sheltered world, washed up on a beach only a few
days ago. He'd been injured; she could see the pain clearly etched on
his face. Despite this, he struggled on as though nothing had happened,
as though he could still fight - as though he still had to fight. The
next days were surreal, as he struggled with a thin veneer of humanity,
one caging a beast within.
That beast was now loading some tubes into a submarine. She shouted his
name; he made no move.
"You can't do this." A simple demand, one for peace; as expected, he
ignored her. "Those are torpedoes, aren't they. What are you trying to
do?" Again, he ignored her; she fought down her temper. "What's going
on here? What are you trying to prove? Tell me!"
He said her name; the syllables flowed off of the tongue, like a strange
lullaby. He had a way of doing that; even the smallest movement could
charm. The way he said it... she had hope that maybe, just maybe, she
could stop this.
That is, until she saw the pistol. In that moment, she remembered a
lesson from history: while diplomats had saved millions of lives in wars
averted, ultimately they were the first to die when the weapons were
drawn. She had chosen her father's path; unlike her father, it had
resulted in her death. She looked into his large, golden eyes, and
heard that melodious, sing-song voice.
"You-se know too much, Relena. Me-se gonna kill you now."
"Jar-jar..." A tear rolled down her face as he pressed the trigger...
*****
Gungan Wing
A Sunrise/Lucasfilm joint production
*****
Duo Maxwell had been trained in the art of mecha piloting. His body had
been pounded repeatedly, preparing him for the rigors a fully-powered
Gundam would put him through. Weaponry of all types were familiar to
him; the scythe was only one he preferred. He had honed his mind for
all forms of unarmed combat; the only difference between his Gundam and
his smaller body was armor and really cool weaponry.
Still, despite all his experience, he'd never seen fighting like *this*.
The Gundam in his sights fought with... well... he'd heard of drunken
styles roughly similar, but that was about as close as he could come to
describing it. The Gundam would dance, weave, even trip and fall flat
on his face - but, wherever he went, mecha died. Three Aries would be
cut in half by an errant swing; the wrechage of a dead mobile suit would
entangle in his legs and discharge, destroying a pilot who'd gotten the
jump on him. He'd swing, and it would fail - but cut the one next to
his intended target. In the end, it was impossible to tell if the pilot
was either dumb and lucky or smart and very, very good.
After a moment, he decided on the latter. The guy may play the fool at
times; no fool could play this game for long and live. Nevertheless, he
had, and did. After what he'd seen, maybe Jar-jar was for real after
all.
Finally, no witnesses were left. Only his own Gundam and the Gungan's
were left. He watched as the Gundam flopped down one last time, then
stopped.
A moment later, the chest hatch popped open. Jar-jar staggered out,
took an uneasy step, then flopped onto the ground.
"Me-se woozy..." Duo heard from Jar-jar, then groaned. Okay, so he was
still an idiot. At least he could fight...
*****
Coming when hell freezes over to a theater near you.
*********************************************************
Hello.
I'm sorry. I came up with this silly idea months ago - it was just the
name. I had this picture of Jar-jar flopping around in a Gundam,
killing everything in sight in typical Jar-jar fashion. Then, earlier
tonight, Doug Reeves and I were sitting around enjoying some Jamba when
he needled at me again about it - and planted the idea for the first
scene.
Okay. The damn thing's excised. Now it can torture you, rather than
me.
I apologize to Lucas, Yatate and Tomino; to quote the Angels, "It's not
my fault!" Anyway, take care, all.
Nicholas Leifker
nightelf@thekeep.org
http://www.thekeep.org/~nightelf/fanfic
June 26, 2000