An attempt at writing a fic in 500 words or less.

*sigh*  Maybe next time....

Incarnation
a Gumdam Wing fanfic
by Krista Fisk
(1,074 words)

~*~


     Duo dressed in red for the mission. Everything he wore was
dark, deep red, from his velvet vest and tailed coat, to his trim
slacks, to his silk shirt with the fall of lace at his throat and
cuffs, right down to the ribbon that tied off the end of his
braid.

     Everything red... except the stark bone-white ivory mask
that covered the upper part of his face.

     When he first showed me his getup, I frowned. "That's a
disguise?"

     He rolled his eyes at me. "*Costume,* Heero. The party is a
masquerade."

     Hardly comforting. "I can see your braid, your eyes....
Anyone familiar with your wanted posters -- which includes most
of the guest list -- will recognize you in a second."

     "Maybe," he said, "but anyone who might recognize me also
knows that I'm just a poor L2 street rat -- one who's only known
starvation and disease and war. I'm the last person they'd expect
to be able to infiltrate high society." He flashed his signature
lopsided grin, but his eyes were hard, and glinting like chips of
ice behind the bone mask. "Trust me, Heero. There are times to
skulk in shadows, and times when the best hiding place is right
in plain sight. This fancy OZ shindig definitely qualifies as the
latter."

     I snorted. "Where did you learn *that* little nugget of
espionage wisdom?"

     "Edgar Allen Poe," he said with a wink, as he began to
practice palming his knives.

     I watched his hands like a hawk, but he was so quick, the
knives seemed to just appear and disappear into thin air. Best
pickpocket in all of L2, he had once boasted. Watching sharp
steel seemingly vanish between his fingers, I believed him. 

     "Edgar who?" I asked.

     He laughed. "I *knew* you hacked your American Lit grade.
Edgar Allen Poe wrote The Purloined Letter... among other things.
Look it up, genius."

     So I did.

     If nothing else, reading Poe gave me insight into Duo's
unique flair for the dramatic; not to mention his biting, dark
sense of humor.

     Especially now, as I holstered my .45 and stepped over the
fallen bodies of the seven soldiers unfortunate enough to get
stuck with security room detail, while the rest of the
aristocratic military-bent-on-world-domination indulged in music
and dance and drink in the Romerfeller Estate Ballroom, two
floors below. The 60 vid screens, one for each discreetly
positioned security camera recording the event, spread out in the
room before me, showing the party in all its colorful decadence.

     I spotted the target first. True to our sources, he was
dressed (unsurprisingly) as a king; draped in richly embroidered
royal purple, wearing a jewel-encrusted gold crown. He was
surrounded by a motley crew, each sporting strange and outlandish
costumes and masks, some bordering on the grotesque, all seeking
his attention. The target, however, was absorbed in conversing
with a masked woman who was decked out in flowing green and
silver, with sparkling gossamer fairy wings sprouting from her
back.

     Then, scanning the rest of the masquerading aristocracy, I
saw Duo. 

     Clothed in the color of fresh spilled blood, he moved among
them like he belonged, chatting with strangers as if they were
old friends, pretending to sip at his champaign, and rubbing
elbows with the best of them. If anyone spared him a second
glance, it was never with suspicion or animosity.

     There was something to hiding in plain sight after all, it
seemed.

     "I'm in position," I said.

     Duo's mouth didn't move as his subvocalized response came
through my earpiece. "Just in time," he said, and I heard the
first strains of violins playing something that sounded like
Mozart.

     As the music started, everyone watched as the king led his
fairy princess to the ballroom floor and began a Viennese Waltz.
Everyone else quickly followed suite, pairing up and joining in
the dance. Soon the room was a maddening whirl of color and
sound.

     I watched Duo, as he watched the king. Then he turned to a
young woman dressed in a gown adorned with brightly colored
peacock feathers, and invited her out on to the dance floor. She
went willingly, her smile shining from beneath her glittering
mask. Poor thing. She probably had no clue she was dancing with
the God of Death tonight.

     It occurred to me that I didn't know that Duo could dance;
but he could, and quite well. With each quick step and turn, he
whirled his partner through the masked throng of dancers. Soon,
he was approaching the king. He spun faster and faster; his
partner laughed in exhilaration, her cheeks flushing beneath her
mask.

     Duo moved ever closer to the king... and then in one
spinning rush, he passed the king and the fairy consort, and was
lost in the crowd once again.

     For several long moments, the king kept dancing. And then he
staggered. Came to a stop. Looked down at himself, and only then
noticed the wash of blood spreading darkly through his purple
robes. With a stupefied expression, he collapsed to the floor as
his dancing partner let out a piercing scream.

     I waited until the scream became contagious, spreading like
a plague through the crowd as the masqueraders caught sight of
the king lying in a growing pool of scarlet on the marble floor.
I used the spare moments to quickly delete the security
recordings. Then I reached into my jacket pocket and hit the
detonator.

     The building rocked with the explosion, and the ballroom
plunged into darkness, and utter chaos.

     I ran like hell, the sound of terrified screams echoing
after me.

     Duo was already at the rendezvous point when I got there.
His silent presence might have taken me by surprise, but in the
dim light of the crescent moon, I could see his pale bone mask
hovering like a wraith in the black of night.

     "Duo?" My voice was shaking, and I didn't know why. 

     He reached up and pulled off the mask. His face seemed
starkly young and all too human in contrast, but his dark eyes
were old. Old, and very, very tired.

     "Mission accomplished," I said.

     He nodded once. "Yeah," he said. His voice was hoarse, and
for a fleeting moment, I wondered if he had been screaming.
     
     But then he grinned that lopsided grin that never quite
reached the spark in his eyes. "'And Darkness and Decay and the
Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.'"


~*~


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