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When Quatre's watch goes off, he wakes up immediately, the late evening light drifting in through the window. He'd fallen asleep on top of the covers, though he expects the workers here wash them regularly. It was as much for comfort as anything else.
He changes into the clothes the bar gave him--the same black linen pants and practical shoes as it gave him after the Cullen party, but a soft blue-grey sweater instead of a long sleeve shirt. He carefully stores his already folded business clothes in the bag, and takes it down with him to the Bar (locking the door behind him).
He drops the bag and key off at the bar, and peels the tangerine he'd picked up while sitting with Trowa and Cass, and he waits for the former.
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He and Cass broke off the sparring some time ago. She gave him a beaming grin and a thumbs-up, and bounced off -- probably to get another milkshake, knowing Cass, although she's nowhere to be seen in the bar. Trowa stuck around outside for a while, until it seemed time to come in.
Hey, Quatre.
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Trowa's clothes have some grasstains, and along his neck (in this light) there's some of the odd matte color that comes from sweat that's dried.
"She didn't beat you too badly, I hope?"
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"She goes easy on me."
It's an oblique joke, of sorts. It's also perfect truth.
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Again, both humor and truth.
They have a show tonight, for one thing.
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To both.
"Tangerines," he adds, as a point of linguistic interest. Quatre's English is perfectly fluent, but it's not his first language, and sometimes more obscure vocabulary slips accordingly. To Bar, "Please."
Four tangerines slide obligingly into being, along with a brushed-steel thermos.
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Trowa scoops up the thermos, and leads the way.
It's a pretty nice day.
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The tune's not readily recognizable as anything by Vivaldi, but there you have it.
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A few yards out from the door, he glances at Quatre. Where to?
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They seemed pretty quiet while he was out here with Cass. But someone could have spent all that time inside the barn, or just now headed there without passing through the bar. There's no reason to assume.
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He follows Trowa up the ladder, one mug tucked under his arm, and sets the mugs down on a haybale.
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There are several bales stacked together in a row here, the front rank of a stockpile that spreads to either side and rises high behind Trowa's back. Plenty of room for two.
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The look of concern garners another, slightly embarassed look. "Sorry," he says, quietly.
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Trowa accepts the mug. And, deliberately -- after a brief invisible weighing of options, and with his own slight uncertainty better hidden -- lets his fingertips brush briefly against Quatre's wrist as he takes it.
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"I'm glad," he says, when he's pulled away (not completely, but enough to talk easily), "to see you."
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"Yeah," he says.
It means, as often, me too.
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He picks out one of his tangerines, and begins to unpeel it. "I liked Cassandra."
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He agrees, obviously, but: oh?
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"She clearly trusts you."
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It's also worth noting, though, that the number of people Trowa refers to as 'friend' is vanishingly small. Even if this is telling Quatre nothing he doesn't already know.
"A lot of people have a hard time understanding her."
Which baffles Trowa slightly -- it's not as if it's hard, so long as there aren't too many abstract concepts involved -- but he's known for a long time that most people are astoundingly unobservant. So.
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Mm, tangerine.
"When you went to her world, was it to help with the--ah, parapolicing?"
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Trowa nods slightly, depositing his tangerine's peel in a more or less tidy coil on the haybale in front of them.
"She didn't need the help." Benefited from, but didn't need. "But it was informative."
Also: fun. Trowa doesn't quite bother to articulate that to himself. (Because Trowa sucks at having fun and noticing it.)
But, you know, bar brawls and rooftop acrobatics. (Bat-grapples are awesome.)
"It's non-lethal enforcement," he adds, although he doesn't expect that to come as much surprise. Quatre's met Cass, and Quatre is perceptive. And Trowa volunteered for the mission when he wasn't absolutely needed, which says things on its own. "Disable and confine for the official authorities. Gotham's got a very high level of criminal activity, from what I saw."
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