Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don?t even own the slightest, smallest piece of Gundam Wing. Many kudos to Ayn Rand?s The Fountainhead ? from whose pages I?ve adapted many scenes to fit the GW-verse ? and even more kudos to those of you who?ve read it and will recognize exactly who Sylvia Noventa and Andr? Seward represent.
A/N- Footnotes are once again utilized for your reading benefit. Unlike in previous chapters where they weren?t necessary to enjoy the story, I would highly recommend reading them for this chapter. I hope you enjoy them.
In chapter one, Dorothy tells Peter Weridge that she considers Sylvia Noventa to be ?a perfect sinner.?
********************
Birth and Binding III:
A Perfect Sinner
by Terra
********************
Society was the rare woman?s publication which crossed gender aisles and had an enviable number of male subscribers. Andr? Seward liked to attribute its widespread appeal to his being editor-in-chief. As far as he knew, he was the only male editor-in-chief in the woman?s magazine world. He was approaching his fiftieth year, was a bachelor, had made millions, and was known to have an eye for talent. It was his decision to hire wealthy heiress Dorothy Catalonia. He thought she might be bored.
It was also Andr? Seward who conceived the idea of a campaign against living conditions in housing projects. He was inspired immediately after a fire in Brussels? most lauded projects burned an entire city block to the ground before firefighters could contain it, killing hundreds. International scrutiny compelled the headquarters of the Earth Sphere Unified Nation to renew their war against poverty. This was material Andr? Seward relished. It had human appeal and social implications. Most importantly, it lent itself to splashing endless pages with photographs of appropriately contrite politicians and touched up ones of sympathetic socialites and celebrities, who lavished money at the hastily created Humane Housing Fund1.
It embarrassed the landowners who owned a stretch of blocks that ran parallel to the projects across a wide boulevard and many empty lots, but were as luxuriously maintained as the slums were steadfastly ignored. These landowners ? who were secretly glad that the projects could no longer fester like a wound upon their city ? had refused to sell these blocks to an obscure real-estate company; at the end of the campaign they surrendered and sold. No one could prove that the real-estate company was owned by a company owned by Society?s mother company. Andr? Seward assigned Dorothy Catalonia to investigate the condition of homes in the slums and to gather human material. She had been in Brussels during the Poor Man?s Fire, as several news agencies were apt to nickname it, and had requested it. Andr? Seward granted it, because she was one of his favorite employees, because he was baffled by her and because he knew that she could quit her job whenever she pleased.
Dorothy Catalonia went to live for two weeks in the hall bedroom of a sister housing project on the East side. The room had a skylight, but no windows; there were five flights of stairs to climb, a permanently malfunctioning elevator and sometimes no running water. She cooked her own meals in the kitchen of a numerous family on the floor below; she visited neighbors, she sat on the landings of fire escapes in the evenings and went to the movies with the girls of the neighborhood. She wore secondhand jeans and sweatshirts. She scrubbed the floor of her room, she sliced onions, she washed dishes. She had never done these things before; she did them expertly. She did not mind this new background; she was indifferent to the slums as she had been indifferent to the galas.
At the end of two weeks, she returned to her penthouse apartment on the roof of the Conrad Brussels Hotel2 overlooking Avenue Louise and her articles on life in the housing projects appeared in Society. They were a merciless, brilliant account. In the many dinner parties, drawing room cocktail gatherings and other social functions, Dorothy heard baffled questions: ?My dear, you didn?t actually write those things?? ?Dorothy, you didn?t really live in that place?? ?Oh, yes,? she answered. ?The houses in your husband?s jurisdiction, Lady Van de Velde,? she said, her manicured fingernail tapping lazily against a diamond bracelet too broad and heavy for her thin wrist, ?have a sewer that gets clogged every other day and runs over, all through the courtyard. It inconveniences a great number of your husband?s constituency, but of course, you needn?t concern yourself; they won?t vote.?
She was invited to speak at a meeting of social workers. It was an important convention, with a militant, radical mood, led by some of the most prominent women in the field. Andr? Seward was pleased and gave her his blessing. ?Go to it, darling,? he said, ?charm them. We want progressive women to read us.? She stood in the reception hall and looked at the faces lecherously eager with the sense of their own virtue. She spoke evenly, without inflection. She said, among many other things: ?The families on the first floor cannot usually pay their rent, and the children cannot go to school, because they must work. The couple on the second floor has just purchased a refurbished vidphone for fifteen credits. On the third floor are the fathers of families who have not done a whole day?s work in their life, and do not intend to. The fourth floor is a makeshift orphanage supported by the local parish. They have a new addition today ?? When she finished there was a thundering applause. She raised her hand and said: ?You don?t have to applaud. I don?t expect it.? She asked politely: ?Are there any questions?? There were no questions.
When she returned to her penthouse, she found Andr? Seward waiting for her. He clashed decadently with her drawing room. His bulky figure swelled further when overshadowing the thin metallic spires of her Neo-French decor. His heavy face bore the benevolent, paternal smile that had always been his passkey and his trademark. He rose, beamed and held Dorothy?s hand, and said, ?Thought I?d drop in on my way home. I?ve something to tell you. How did it go, darling??
?As I expected it.?
She shrugged out of his hands? embrace carelessly and walked to the window and stood looking out over the city. She asked without turning: ?What did you want to tell me??
Andr? Seward watched her pleasurably. He had long since given up any attempts beyond holding her hand when not necessary or patting her shoulder. He told her, jovial: ?I?ve fabulous news for you, dear. I?m restructuring the departments and I want you to be editor of Women?s Welfare. You know,? he continued, gesturing meanderingly at her turned back. ?Schools, housekeeping, care of children and all the rest of it ? all to be under one head. And I see no better woman for the job than my little girl.?
Dorothy turned and looked at him, grey-blue eyes angled to pierce his own duller green, and said: ?Thank you, Andr?. But I don?t want it.?
?What do you mean, you don?t want it??
?I mean that I don?t want it.?
?For heaven?s sake, do you realize what an advance that would be??
?Toward what??
?Your career. You?ll be editor of an entire department. You?d only answer to me.?
?I never said I was planning a career.?
?But you don?t want to be running a back-page column forever!?
?Not forever. Until I get bored with it.?
?But, Dorothy, we need you. The women will be for you solid after tonight. We need their readership.?
?I don?t think so.?
?Why, I?ve ordered two columns for the meeting and your speech.?
Dorothy reached for the vidphone and handed the headset to him. She smiled humorlessly. ?You?d better tell them to kill it.?
?Why??
She reached into the pocket of her tailored pant suit and removed her handheld, scrolled to the appropriate screen and handed it to him. ?Here?s the speech I made tonight.?
Andr? glanced through it. He said nothing, but clasped his forehead once, ignoring her offered headset, and seized his cell phone, dialing the editorials department, and briskly barked orders to run as brief an account of the meeting as possible, and not to mention the speaker by name.
?All right,? Dorothy asked when he gave her a painstakingly bewildered look. ?Am I fired??
He shook his head glumly. ?Do you want to be??
?Not necessarily.?
?Listen, Dorothy ? I know you never answer any of my questions, but just this once ? why are you always sabotaging yourself? You?ve done it before. You go along so beautifully, you do brilliant work and just when you?re about to advance, you spoil it by pulling something like this. Why??
?Perhaps that is precisely why.?
?Will you tell me ? as a friend, because I like you ? what you?re really after??
Dorothy laughed, lightly and infectiously. ?I should think that?s obvious. I?m after nothing at all.?
Andr? knew his expression betrayed his helplessness to respond to this statement. She walked past him, her words flowing behind her in a liquid tone of humor: ?What is there to look so mournful about? I like you, too, Andr?. I even like to talk to you, which is better. Now sit still and relax and I?ll get you a drink. You need a drink, Andr?.?
As she handed him a glass of cava3 with one hand, her other offered him the entire bottle. She sat down on the edge of a table, her hands clenched the sides in balance, while she leaned back, suspended in the air, her feet off the ground. She said, slowly: ?You know, Andr?, it would be terrible if I had a job I really wanted.?
?Of all the ridiculous ?! Whatever do you mean??
?Just that. That it would be terrible to have a job I enjoyed and did not want to lose.?
?Why??
?Because I would have to depend on you.? Dorothy smiled gaily. ?It?s not just you alone. If I found a job, a project, an idea or a person I wanted, I?d have to depend on the whole world. Everything is connected to everything else. You want a thing and it?s precious to you, but you can?t know who?s standing ready to tear it out of your hands. It may be someone close or far away, but someone is ready, and you?re afraid of them all. And you cringe and you crawl and you beg and you accept them, just so they?ll let you keep it. And look at whom you come to accept.?
?If you?re criticizing mankind in general ??
?You know, it?s such a peculiar thing ? our idea of mankind in general. We all have this vague, glowing picture when we say that, something solemn, big and important. But actually all we know of it is the people we meet in our lifetime. Do you know any you?d feel big and solemn about?? She swayed, perched on the edge of the desk, as if she wanted to fall, but did not want gravity to be responsible. ?During the Eve War, did you ever meet anyone who made you proud to be part of mankind? If anything, we?d rather drag our heroes down to our level than acknowledge their greatness. Because we?re all despicable like that.?
?But hell! That?s not the way to look at it.? Andr? exclaimed, gesticulating wildly as if the violence of his actions would lend credence to his statement. ?There?s some good in the worst of us. There?s always a redeeming feature.?
?So much the worse. Is it an inspiring sight to see a man commit a heroic gesture, and then learn that he spends his time sleeping with every slut he meets??
?What do you want? Perfection??
?Or nothing. So, you see, I take the nothing.?
?That doesn?t make sense.?
?I take the only desire one can really permit oneself. Freedom, Andr?, freedom.?
?You call that freedom??
?To ask nothing. To expect nothing. To depend on nothing.?
?What if you found something you wanted??
?I won?t find it. I won?t choose to see it. It would be part of that lovely world of yours. I?d have to share it with all the rest of you ? and I wouldn?t. You know, I never open again any great book I?ve read and loved. It hurts me to think of all the other eyes that have read it and of what they were. Things like that can?t be shared. Not with people like that.?
?Dorothy, it?s abnormal to feel so strongly about ?? he stopped abruptly. He wasn?t sure what he meant to say, but knew only that he understood her to mean she hated all of mankind, but that that couldn?t be true, because she was beautiful and privileged and had everything those attributes conveyed on its owner. He did not want to admit that he was intimidated by this girl-woman who had barely lived for half as long as he had.
?That?s the only way I can feel. Or not at all.?
?Dorothy, my dear,? he said, with earnest, sincere concern. ?I wish I?d been your father. What kind of tragedy did you have in your childhood??
?Oh, Andr?,? Dorothy released her grip on the desk and her heeled feet collided soundlessly against the ground. She tilted her hand to clasp his right cheek. She said: ?It?s nice talking to you about such things. Do you know that primitive people made statues of their gods in man?s likeness??
?What?s that in relation to??
?To nothing at all, darling. Forgive me.? She added: ?You know, I loved statues of naked men as a child. Don?t protest. I said statues. I had one in particular. It was supposed to be Helios. I bought it from a museum in Europe. I had a terrible time getting it ? it wasn?t on sale, of course. I think I was in love with it, Andr?. I brought it home with me.?
?Where is it? I?d like to see something you like, for a change.? He could no longer bear the touch of her cool palm and was glad for the excuse to dart his head around the drawing room as if she might?ve hidden it in some obscure corner.
?It?s broken.?
?Broken? A museum piece? How did that happen??
?I broke it.?
?How??
?On the day my father died, I threw it down an air shaft. It shattered on the concrete floor below.?
Here, Andr? looked startled. Then, he smiled widely, having been vindicated by the news of her father?s death, and said, soothingly: ?Death in the family does tend to traumatize us.?
Dorothy jerked her head, as if to shake off the subject. She had not been aware of her confession. She continued, ignoring him: ?I broke it so that no one else would ever see it.?
?Dorothy! Not that again.?
?I?m sorry, darling. I didn?t want to shock you,? she said, the blue in her eyes bathing him in grey indifference in the lamplight. ?Run on home, Andr?. It?s getting late. I?m tired. See you tomorrow.?
Peter Weridge would not admit that he had tried to see Dorothy again, persistently and without results. He had obtained her vidphone number from his father long ago, and he had called her often. She had answered, and laughed gaily, and told him that, of course, she would see him since she knew she wouldn?t be able to escape it. She asked him to try her again by the first of next month. When he had, she?d asked: ?Will you take me to the theater tonight, Peter? I don?t care what play, any one of them will do.?
Looking at her beauty on his vidphone screen, at the shape of her mouth, the movements of her lips framing words and the way she flexed her fingers, a gesture smooth and exact, like an expensive instrument being unfolded, he knew that he disliked her violently. He told her, ?I?d say that I?m delighted, but I know better.?
?Why should you know better??
?Because you have no desire to go to a theater or to see me tonight.?
?None whatever. I?m beginning to like you, Peter. Call for me at half past seven.?
He was meeting Dorothy frequently now. He had just returned from an evening spent with her at a jazz club. He abhorred the raspy notes of a saxophone, but he wanted to impress her and so he had studied the subject and swore he was born listening to jazz. Dorothy had smiled beautifully at him, the look in her eyes telling him that she knew he hadn?t the slightest genuine interest in it. Yet, she always accepted his invitations. He wondered if her attitude stemmed from the fact that she could ignore him more completely by seeing him often than by refusing to see him. But each time he met her, he planned eagerly for the next meeting, because he knew his presence was unwanted and he clung to the belief that if he persisted, he could affect her somehow, hurt that beautiful face and see the acknowledgement in her features that it had been he who had done it.
Peter Weridge was not conscious of these thoughts.
Dorothy had returned to work for a few days when Sylvia Noventa walked into her office. ?Hello, Dorothy,? she said. ?Just read your articles on the plight of the housing project poor. I thought I?d stop by on my way to Andr??s office.?
?Hello, Sylvia.?
?That?s all? You?re not curious about why I?m here??
?I felt confident that you?d tell me anyway,? Dorothy said, amiably. ?Why waste my breath??
Sylvia Noventa looked at her, her eyes as kindly, her smile as charming as her image on the vidscreen suggested. Her appearance was unremarkable, and that was the secret of her success. She had the great talent of reminding any person who glanced at her of his sister, cousin or favorite aunt. She had sea green eyes that were as mercurial as the light reflected in them. Her dirty blonde hair was soft, but not lush; wavy, but not curly; and shapeless, but not unkempt. Sylvia Noventa was that curious blend of French and Italian that allowed her to resemble almost anyone; she could easily fool any bystander into thinking she was Dorothy?s sister.
?I?m glad,? she continued, as if she had not heard the response. ?You know, I?ve always had the feeling that you?ll walk out on us Society readers some morning without any reason.?
?The feeling, Sylvia? Or the hope??
?You know, you?re wrong there,? she said, smiling serenely.
?No. I don?t fit, Sylvia. Do I??
?I could, of course, ask: into what? But suppose I just say that people who don?t fit have their uses also, as well as those who do? Would you like that better? Of course, the simplest thing to say is that I?ve always been a great admirer of yours and always will be.?
?That?s not a compliment.?
?All right, then. If you?d prefer: somehow, I don?t think we?ll ever be enemies,? Sylvia said, pleased. ?See the extent to which I?m accommodating? But only for you, Dorothy.?
?No, I don?t think we?ll ever be enemies, Sylvia. You?re the most comforting person I know.?
?Naturally,? Sylvia laughed carelessly. Leaning casually against the doorway, she swept her eyes across the small, but neat office. Her gaze rested on the latest issue of Society lying unopened and unread on Dorothy?s desk. She said, ?I also enjoyed your piece on Winner Tower. As independent as an insult, isn?t it??
?You know, the man who designed this should have committed suicide. A man who can conceive a thing as beautiful as this should never allow it to be erected. He should not want to exist. But he will let it be built, so that men will spit on his stairways and women will leave heel marks on his floors. He shouldn?t have offered it for people like you to look at. For people like you to talk about.? Dorothy?s face was tranquil and her blank tone did not betray the vitriol of her words. ?He?s corrupted his own work by the first word you?ll utter about it. He?s made himself worse than you are. You?ll be committing only a mean little indecency, but he?s committed a sacrilege. A man who knows what he must have known to produce this should not have been able to remain alive. And the man who understood all this ? yet still made it possible for this structure to exist in the first place, to be defiled by people like you, is the worst of sinners.?
?Surely, you know that Winner Tower was designed by Heero Yuy.? Sylvia?s expression belied the slightest irritation.
?I have had no wish to know.?
?Who is the real fool here?? Sylvia challenged, unperturbed. ?You?re trying even now to save them. But you know, Dorothy, it?s not well done. Not well at all.?
?Why??
?Don?t you see what can be read between the lines? Of course, not many will notice that. He will. I do.?
?It?s not written for him or for you.?
?But for the others??
?For the others.?
?Then it?s a rotten trick on him and me.?
?You see? I thought it was well done.? Dorothy laughed gaily. ?Now, why don?t you tell me why you?re still here.?
Sylvia?s tone was amused: ?I have every reason to believe that Darlian4 will soon announce her candidacy for president. With her vacancy filled by Nicolae, I intend to recommend myself for the vice foreign minister position5.?
?Is that so?? Dorothy said, politely. ?I?m afraid I wouldn?t be of much use to you.?
?On the contrary, I have need of your skills as the author of One Small Voice. Your words reach the ears of far more of the electorate than even you yourself realize6. You see, I have a challenger to the throne, so to speak. In the last bureaucratic elections, politicians from Earth swept the Foreign Affairs office. The Colonies are understandably uneasy about this and urgently wish to install their own puppets.?
Dorothy appraised the steady set of her companion?s shoulders and the delighted lilt of her voice. She said, slowly: ?You know I would?ve helped you anyway; there was no need for you to come personally.?
?The challenger will likely be Naseem bint Zayeed Winner7,? the syllables caressed the room softly. ?Considering your history ? with her brother, I felt you would be delighted.?
?I have no history with Mr. Winner.?
?Oh, come now, why bother denying it? You write such venomous words about him.?
Dorothy sat looking at her, one arm flung over the back of her chair, a clunky circlet of light reflecting off her wrist. She seemed to be smiling. She said: ?I have never met Mr. Winner.?
For a singular, broken instant, Sylvia looked vulnerable at this admission. Then the moment collapsed on itself and she resumed speaking as if she had not paused, ?My mistake. Shall I tell you about him then?? She added, hastily: ?For your column, of course.?
Dorothy cast her a thoughtful glance and, in a tone that betrayed no reluctance, said: ?Yes, of course.?
?Well, you see, one can make one?s point best by contrast, by comparison. As you did in your pretty little column yesterday. To appreciate Winner as he should be appreciated, let?s follow up a comparison. You know Lord Weridge, of course. I?ve spoken recently to Peter and he?s quite in love with you, but naturally, you know that already. Well, I?ll continue: they were both born in the same year ? one a test tube baby, the other a natural born child ? to great wealth. Winner was the only celebrated son, the only heir while Peter languished in the background, ignored as the youngest son. Winner is a household name all throughout the Earth Sphere while Peter is known only to the worst gossiping housewives. But these housewives understand Peter, can understand that he was engineered for mediocrity. They worship him for it, because no one likes heroes. We all secretly wish to be heroes ourselves and failing that, choose to hurt them, knock them off their pedestals.? Sylvia continued, pleasantly:
?Now, I don?t believe that Winner thinks very much of Peter, or even knows that he exists. But they?re both influential in their own way. They travel in the same circles. But follow me a little further, Dorothy. You and I both know that Winner is a hero. We both know what?ll happen if the public learns it, too. No man likes to be beaten. But to be beaten by the man who has always stood as the particular example of mediocrity in his eyes, to start by the side of this mediocrity and to watch it worshipped, while he struggles and gets nothing but acid in his face, to see the mediocrity snatch from him, one after another, the achievements he risked his life for, to see the mediocrity adored, to be sacrificed, to be ignored, not by a god, but by a Peter Weridge ??
?Sylvia!? Dorothy screamed. ?Get out of here!?
She had leapt to her feet. She stood ramrod straight for a moment, then she collapsed forward onto her plexiglass desk, her clenched fingers marring its surface with vicious handprints. At the door, Sylvia turned and her too observant eyes captured Dorothy?s tense posture and the effort made to contain the violence within. She said, softly: ?Dorothy, you?re obvious, much too obvious.?
That evening, when Dorothy came home, she received a call from Relena Darlian. ?Dorothy, we need to talk. I?m on Rue des Bouchers. I?ll be expecting you at Chez L?on8,? she said. ?And don?t make your usual excuses. I know you?re free tonight.? Then, without another word, the Foreign Minister of Interstellar Affairs disconnected the call. As Dorothy stared at the words ?Connection Lost? flickering across the screen of her vidphone, she abruptly, inexplicably felt crushed by an influx of memories: Sylvia laughing in her office, Peter slyly slipping his arm over her shoulders, Andr? looking hurt as she closed the door in his face. She had never felt more alone. Mechanically, she dialed her driver?s number and instructed him to meet her at the penthouse; she reached slowly for her purse, clutching her keys until they grinded compulsively against each other before she forced her hand to loosen its grip.
She walked into Chez L?on less than an hour later. Relena sat alone at a corner table, stalwartly not facing the doorway. Two muscular young men, dressed conspicuously in matching black suits, sat at a nearby table and held their charge well in sight. They glanced around uncomfortably, surrounded by bright laughter and dozens of families with children in what was categorically a security nightmare. Dorothy smiled conspiratorially at them before slipping into the chair opposite her host. ?It?s been a long time, Relena.?
Relena Darlian was dressed casually in a blouse and pleated skirt, bottomed out with soft leather boots. To the casual observer, the cerulean eyed, honey blonde was a graduate student or a young mother. To Dorothy, she appeared jarringly out of place in the overly domestic scene. Relena crossed her fingers and assumed a more relaxed posture; her body language indicated that she often held herself like this, suspended between awkward tension and forced relaxation. She asked, diplomatically, immediately: ?Dorothy, we?re friends, aren?t we??
?As friendly as we?re ever likely to be.? Dorothy smiled fleetingly, as she sipped the glass of wine her friend had thoughtfully ordered before her arrival.
?Then, tell me why you?re trying so hard to destroy Heero?s reputation.? Then, her hands clutched the other tightly and her expression was frustrated as she impatiently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. ?And Quatre?s as well. I?ve ignored your caustic remarks for years, but this is really just too much. You haven?t even gone to see the construction site or talked to the architect.?
Dorothy?s gaze softened. For Relena to so visibly eschew her public persona in the presence of another was the true indication of their friendship. ?I wrote what I believed. Come now, what are you really worried about? No one who?s anyone will give a damn what I write in a woman?s magazine.?
?You?re wrong about that.? Relena exhaled slightly. ?You?ve probably heard the rumors about my bid for the presidency. Well, it?s all true and I want Quatre to be my running mate. I don?t want any negative publicity from anyone ? especially now.?
?Congratulations. I wish you the best.?
?That?s not good enough. I want you to do me a favor, Dorothy. The annual Architecture Exposition is being held on L1 this weekend. Since you?re doing a series on architecture, I want you to attend and I especially want you to speak with Heero. You?re mistaken and we both know it.? Relena said, shaking her head, her dark blonde hair swaying haphazardly from the movement. ?What I can?t understand is why you carry on this farce.?
?I just find it amusing to encourage fools. They always win anyway.? Dorothy shrugged carelessly. ?I?ve just stopped fighting the inevitable.?
?Promise me this, Dorothy. I wish I could tell you why it?s so urgent now, and you know that I respect your opinion, but something awful has happened very recently and it?s extremely important now for Quatre to keep a low profile.?
?This from a presidential hopeful?? Dorothy said, appraisingly, her expression guarded but mildly bemused. ?You of all people should know the power of publicity.?
?Trust me,? she said, intensely. ?You?ll want to speak with Heero.?
?All right. I suppose I can free my schedule for the next few days. As a favor for you, Relena. I really have no desire to see him.?
Her shoulders grew perceptibly less tense. Relena?s eyes glistened in the flickering candlelight as they met Dorothy?s paler gaze. Her fingers unlocked their strained grip suddenly to reach for the menu. She smiled easily and said: ?I?m famished. The mussels here are to die for.?
1The Humane Housing Fund was established days after the ESUN headquarters in Brussels was embarrassed by a fire that revealed the poverty in the city?s slums. This was a hastily contrived bureaucratic project attached carelessly to the Department of Urban Development, who had long overlooked the abhorrent conditions in the housing projects.
2Near the city center of Brussels, Belgium, stands the Conrad Brussels Hotel, situated on the famed Avenue Louise, adjacent to the plethora of designer shopping boutiques. Politicians and celebrities frequently stay at this hotel while in Brussels.
3Cava is the name of a type of white or pink sparkling wine, produced primarily in the Pened?s region in Catalonia ? the Catalan Countries ? in Spain. Dorothy?s ancestral home was in this region and many tracts of land, mainly in vineyards, still belong to the Catalonia estate, which she inherited upon her father?s passing. Her Catalonia inheritance originated centuries ago from a cava monopoly.
4In AC 201, Vice Foreign Minister Relena Darlian was promoted to the Foreign Minister?s office. The current President Vincent Van Damme has almost served two full terms since his election in AC 196 ? each term lasting five years. The present year is AC 205. Pursuant to the ESUN Charter, no commander-in-chief may serve more than two terms in office. If Relena runs for the presidency, Ioan Nicolae, the current vice foreign minister, will fill her vacancy, opening up the VFM position for someone else. This is the position Sylvia covets.
5Upon inheriting the Noventa family seat in the Parliament?s House of Lords in AC 198, Sylvia gained popularity and momentum for her pacifist political stance. Due to her resemblance to Relena Darlian, many have hailed her as a disciple of Queen Relena. The Parliament is a bicameral system comprised of the House of Lords (self-appointed aristocrats and nobles along with wealthy businessmen and other influential people who essentially ?buy? their seat) and the Senate (elected officials). Sylvia has emerged as a leader in the House of Lords.
6This line is an echo from the events of Endless Waltz when Mariemaia informed Relena that she has more influence than she herself realizes. One Small Voice is read weekly by millions of women (and to a lesser extent, men) across the Earth Sphere. However, in a solar system of almost 7.1 billion people (according to the latest census conducted in AC 200), that number is not overwhelmingly significant.
7Naseem ?daughter of Zayeed? Winner is currently the delegate from L4 in the ESUN Senate. She is five years older than Quatre; she is 30 years old.
8Located on Brussel?s most famous restaurant street ? Rue des Bouchers ? Chez L?on is the city?s most famous purveyor of marine delicacies. Open since 1893, this big, basic restaurant is extremely affordable and has spawned many clones in Brussels throughout the years.
A/N- In the next installment, Quatre and Dorothy finally reunite face-to-face, with a cameo from Heero Yuy. The next chapter will be entitled: Rendezvous.
Valhalla will update next Tuesday, February 20th.
Valhalla: Birth and Binding [3/7, 4xD]
Moderator: Lauren
-
Blondesimone
- New Recruit
- Posts: 7
- Joined: Sun May 22, 2005 12:46 am
