I'm forwarding a formatted email. Thanks Ed bunches!! I hope this works^^; I'm really sorry for flooding the list like this. >.<
If it doesn't, to hell with it.^^; It's at http://www.crosswinds.net/~dilandau/kuskus/dil2.txt .
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Date: Tue, 18 Jul 2000 16:40:37 -0600
To: DirandauAlbatou@aol.com
From: Edward Becerra <eabecerr@henge.com>
Subject: Re: [FFML] [Spam] HELP
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At 06:21 PM 7/18/00 EDT, you wrote:
Freakin' a.. Here's the file^^; Lemme know what's wrong with it. I've
tried: Saving it as txt in Wordpad, cutting and pasting into Notepad. This
is nuts. Thanks ahead of time.
- Kus Kus
Attachment Converted: "c:\eudora\attach\dil2.txt"
All right. I'm converting this to straight ASCII text and
I'm pasting it directly into my MAIL program. You should get it
as simple text and be able to use it from there.
Hope it helps.
Ed
* * * * * * * *
[ Chapter 15 ]
He sat on the bed in the room they'd given him, with its walls of metal a
nd floors of stone, and contemplated his rebirth. After all, what else
could be called? Rescued from the brink of death, granted a new body, a
new focus, and a new allegiance; he was now what he once was in name only,
and not in spirit.
At least, that's what he'd been telling himself.
It was more difficult than he thought. Not the studies that they'd thrust
upon him. He'd devoured these magics -- no, these "sciences" hungrily,
surpassing others in the school around his age with ridiculous ease,
earning for himself a name to be whispered jealously on the lips of both
his colleagues and his superiors. A potential problem, but not nearly as
pressing as the one currently before him.
The loss of home.
A responsibility unfulfilled.
Mother. Brother.
They were thousands of miles away, mourning the death that he'd never
experienced. Sometimes he'd pick up a quill, set it to parchment, the
words of apology and regret beginning to form. Then he'd see the silver
glint in the candlelight, a forever reminder of what was not to be, and
the words would blur, then dissolve, leaving him to stare at a paper
with nothing more than the first upswept beginnings of a letter (perhaps
a name, perhaps a greeting). His hands would tremble, and he'd sweep the
unfinished thing to the floor, later picked up by one of this place's
many unseen workers. It had been a while, though, since he'd tried, and
both the Emperor and his teachers were busy thrusting theory after theory
at him, testing his mettle, demanding that he draw up some sort of
schematic for this or that and the gods be damned if someone else had
asked for something else first.
Schematic...
He stood, walked to the desk, and picked up the beginnings of one of the
Emperor's requests (which, of course, took precedence over any of the
others). A Guymelef, this time, with capabilities unforseen by any Gaean
country. There was one thing that was always lacking, he speculated, in
the models back home. It was so difficult to see through the protective
grates that were allocated in order to protect the pilot, and therefore
left him blindsided to attacks from either the far right or the far left.
What if there were a way to get around using human sight? Perhaps
something else to even enhance it...?
His mind twisted and molded his new learnings into physical possibilities
onto the rich parchment. As of yet, he knew not enough of what they
called "physics" and "chemistry" to put any of his theories to work, but
the basics and his own intuition were enough to start speculating. It was
a thankful, if impermanent, distraction from the haunts of his past.
Then there was a small creak, the sound of his door opening carefully.
The intruder scrambled for his bed and shuffled underneath. For a moment
he attributed it to rats; they had been quite common where the rooms were
furnished with stone and wood, but then he realized that with this
place's need for sterilization, and the tightly fused metal walls, there
were no rodents.
He stood with a great commotion, pounding the mattress with one hand,
hoping to startle the unwelcome visitor. "Who's there?" he demanded.
No answer.
Rather than take the chance of being surprised, he grabbed the side of
his meager bed with one hand, slamming the furniture vertically against
the wall, and grabbed for the intruder with his other. He'd been prepared
to yell and fight, but what met his eyes shocked him to silence.
It was a girl. She couldn't have been more than five or six; she still
bore some of her baby fat. The face was sweet, a touch of rose on each
of the cheeks, framed by silvery blonde locks had been shorn so that the
bottom of the curls graced the shoulders of her simple blue gown. She
lifted a finger up to her lips.
He shook his head. "No one will hear us. What are you doing here?"
"I'm playing hide and go seek."
He blinked in confusion. Who could possibly be doing such a thing in
here? The other residents were either students too young to be thinking
of children, or instructors too single-minded to think beyond their work.
"With who, little one?"
"From my invisible friend." She spoke candidly, using that berating voice
children use when adults ask questions that had such obvious answers. "He
can be kind of mean when he wins, so I'm not going to let him this time."
Her feet dangled in the air and she began to casually swing them back and
forth.
He smiled. The child had no fear at all, even though she had an incredibly
close view of his unique disfigurement. "And what is his name?"
She smiled happily at the thought of he who must have been the most
wonderful person in the world. The little mouth opened and drew in a
large breath of air to appropriately make such an important announcement.
"Dilandau..."
Van regretted the momentary release of precious oxygen the moment it left
his mouth. The fingers around his neck were surprisingly nimble, finding
painpoints on his neck that he couldn't believe existed. Through the
blood roaring in his ears he heard muffled screams and several bellows
for the royal guardsmen. Only three sounds were distinct through the din;
Allen's desperate pleas, Millerna's shrill commands, and his attacker's
triumphant laugh. His pull on Dilandau's wrists yielded no results,
serving only to drain what little strength remained. Blackness closed in.
Salvation was, thus, nearly too late, and whoever yielded the blow was
curiously unidentifiable. All that could be seen was the flash of a tall
figure wrapped in dark blue. A sweet gust of air then swept into his
unsuspecting lungs, and a coughing fit ensued. Gentle hands caught him
and laid him slowly onto the ground. His eyes became filled with pain
induced tears, and thus his second benefactor also became a mystery.
Allen roared over the din - "VAN! CELENA!" - while continuing to shove
his way through the fleeing masses. He'd already barked orders to the
arriving palace guards to keep the guests calm and demand that they
remain where they were. Unfortunately, the gentry had decided that either
they had the right to know right now who had let such a diseased
individual into their presence or that they had the right to be let loose
from the premises with all possible haste. As a result, Allen found
himself being pulled left and right by emissaries who had reached the
conclusion that the Hero of the Knights had all the answers. Frustrated,
both Allen and Millerna began sending them bit by bit back to their guest
chambers under armed escort.
"Boss!" Gaddes waved frantically, wedged unfortunately between a few
bulky Cesarian knights (who were trying to help calm down their fellows
as best they could). "Celena, she's--"
"Gods, no!" Allen cried, tearing through the dignitaries with a renewed
vigor towards where he'd last seen his foolish friend. He feared what
Gaddes' panicked expression implied, and if Van had a hand in its doing
he planned on tearing the King apart. He dove between several fleeing men
and women to find the back of a slick armored Zaibach uniform. The
soldier had a struggling figure in his grasp, one hand clamped around a
pale wrist and the other in what Allen assumed was a binding chokehold. A
glimpse of silver hair, and the soldier's victim was quickly identified.
Allen tackled him with more ferocity than he'd originally intended,
sending all three of them sprawling onto the floor. The soldier let out a
small oomph in surprise, and the high pitched tone immediately branded
"he" as a "she." The other sound, a male's grunting curse, stole the last
fleeting hope that his sister's situation was not as terrible as he
thought. The fight in him fled, replaced by a growing feeling of guilt
and misery, and all he was able to do was keep a futile hug on the
Zaibach woman.
She was therefore the first to recover. She elbowed him hard in the
chest, pushing herself away from him at the same time, and lept to her
feet. Almost immediately after was Dilandau, who let out an outraged roar
and slammed into her hard enough to send them both back to the ground.
"Bitch, bitch, bitch!" the crazed boy shrieked, punctuating his words by
driving his fist towards the woman's unprotected face. She deflected a
few, but not all, and his perch on her stomach hindered her ability to
defend herself. Then he stiffened, his eyes rolling back into his head,
and he slumped forward, resting his head on her shoulder's plate armor.
Behind him stood a Sorcerer, a spent hypodermic needle in one hand, a
relieved look on his tired face.
"Are you all right, Zhi?" He bent down to lift the boy's unconscious body
from hers when a swordpoint met his neck.
"Stand where you are," commanded the Asturian guardsman. They had formed
a ring around the group, hands on their swords. Angry, Zhi violently
shoved the boy's dead weight off of her, causing a chorus of withdrawn
steel, and Allen caught him before he could hit the floor. She stood, and
cast the soldiers a baleful glare.
"Celena," Allen whispered, though the sharp, arrogant features on the
face before him was not truly the much-loved beauty of his sister. He
drew Dilandau to his breast, choking at the lump in his throat and the
pain in his heart.
Van rubbed the developing bruises on his neck. He took a step towards
Allen, hoping to apologize, but found himself unable to form the right
words. A guilt-ridden sigh left his lungs, and he took the brief moment
of sanity to examine the Zaibach couple.
The Sorcerer was rather non-descript, only a few inches taller than
himself, and though the features were young, his hair was shot through
with gray and white. The lines that had started to form around his mouth
were more suited for frowns than smiles. Had he told anyone that he'd
just greeted his thirty-fifth year it was doubtful that they would have
believed him. He stood calmly, a mixture of resolution and pity in his
eyes, his form hidden underneath the high collar, floor-length black
cloak.
The soldier, though, was outlandish. She stood at a comparable eye level
with Allen, which meant that Van had to crane his neck slightly to see
all of her. Upswept almond eyes, black and narrowed over high, pale
cheekbones, and luxurious, though haphazardly shorn to chin-length, black
hair marked her as a Freidian woman, though it was rare to see one
outside the home, not to mention her country. Her body was slim, but by
her actions earlier probably highly toned, and was encased in the tight,
leathery uniform that was characteristic of only Zaibach's elite Guymelef
squad, the Dragonslayers. Dark blue covered her from head to toe, peeking
out from underneath only slightly lighter thigh high booths, arm
coverings, and heavy shoulder armor (each of which sported a single,
hand's-height spike). Gold trim lined the collar, the jacket split down
her midsection, and the buckles that were wrapped in from her back to
meet her chest. A skirt, open wide in both the back and the front,
covered her from waist to knees, and an empty sword hilt hung from one
side. He'd seen the uniform before and, like her companion's wear, the
memories it brought were far from sweet. Fleetingly he wondered what
psychotic led the young squad now. Or, perhaps, was she here to claim
their treasured captain...?
"My Lord Van," Millerna called, gently making a pathway through her
guardsmen, "are you hurt?"
"No."
"And you, sir?" she asked of the Madoushi.
"A little startled, but otherwise fine."
"Your name?"
The calm young man adjusted his glasses. "Strategos Dineer, my lady."
Millerna blinked, realizing that she faced the highest ranked official
of the Zaibach empire. She offered him a small bow. "My Lord."
"What did you do to her?"
The harsh question came from Allen, who stared angrily at the Sorcerer
while still cradling Celena's -- Dilandau's -- unresponsive form. Dineer
looked at him, expressionless. "A strong sedative. It will calm down
his -- excuse me," he rectified, noting how the Knight's eyebrows
furrowed, "her body and make it more welcome to change back to its
original form. I have a bottle in my luggage, enough to last -- "
"You're not feeding her anymore of your... potions!" Allen snarled.
The Dragonslayer sneered. "Let her suffer, then."
"Zhi," the Sorcerer murmured. She rolled her eyes. He looked at the
princess. "We will need a room, guards posted at the doors. A comfortable
bed is a must, as well as a set of chairs, a small meal, plenty of
candles. I'm certain that these three," he swept a hand towards Van,
Allen, and Zhi, "would also feel more comfortable with their weaponry."
Millerna frowned, slightly irritated at the man's presumptious demands.
"My Lord Strategos--"
"Allow me to be more forward, my dear." Dineer straightened up, suddenly
imposing, almost frighteningly authoritative. "Yes, I am the Strategos
of Zaibach, second to only the Emperor himself. Though the Emperor is
new to his position, I'm certain that my mistreatment will not go over
well diplomatically. Furthermore," he gestured at Dilandau, "the
notorious nature of this boy's role in the War of Destiny is known far
and wide. Alone, he is thought to be responsible for the burning of an
entire country, as well as rather numerous accounts of depravity. This
recent incident was witnessed by representatives of every known country
in Gaea, most of whom have very long memories. I trust, then, that you
realize my desire for haste in this matter and my lack of propriety.
"That," he continued, looking meaningfully at the young Fanelian King,
"and there are many answers about the man who once held my position that
it is time you hear."
[ Chapter 16 ]
How invigorating, to be free.
// ...still STINGS...
And, wouldn't you know, someone had to deliver a to him a welcoming
present! If he'd only had more time to enjoy it before they took it
away.
Nevertheless, it was thrilling to enjoy the few moments that he'd had
with his fingertips against his neck, pressing the tiny nerves here and
there, the thick veins and the corrugated windpipe yielding beneath his
palms. He wanted to push and push and push until the flesh and bone
exploded and his hands met together in a splattery, gore-enhanced clap.
// ...Prick. Prick. Prick prick prickprickprickPRICK --
// -- STOP! Oh, gods, stop...
Then there was the Dragonslayer. The female Dragonslayer. Disgusting,
staining the memory of his loyal followers this way. What were those
idiot Generals thinking? Maybe he could make over that pretty, pale face
with his fists. An ugly woman could be mistaken for a man. Maybe later he
could carve off those awful protruding mammaries with the sharpened edge
of a Crima claw.
// Oh... Oh no... Help me help mehelpme AllenJajukaFolkenhelpmeOHPLEASE--
...Prick.
Silence.
The girl came into his room every two to three days. How she managed to
sneak away from whoever and wherever was beyond him. To be honest, he
never considered the possibilities.
They noticed that he was a bit more vigorous in his studies, and someone
swore they caught him whistling in the hallways. It was just too bad that
the private rooms were tightly locked and soundproofed (so that no one
could interrupt the other's studies); more than one of the other boys
would have liked to find out what sort of whore he'd managed to sneak
into the facility. A few ribbed each other about the possible notion that
it was one of THEM who was entertaining the stuck-up bastard. In the
meantime, while most of the students his age were still muddling about
Molecular Biology and Atlantean Mythology, he'd been set up with a
private laboratory with unlimited access to both the chemical and organic
supply storage. He'd also been deprived of the usual red tape; the only
people he answered to were Strategos Kyr or the Emperor himself, though
it soon became much more preferable to answer to the ancient, metallic
monstrosity that was the Emperor than the sneering, pasty-faced wraith
that was the Strategos.
Peaceful enough, the first three years.
It was not a lonely existence, though the other young men shunned him and
the instructors loathed him. He was allowed to roam outside freely
(though there were sections of the facility itself that were barred), and
therefore discovered more about the elusive Zaibach empire than he
suspected any foreignor had. He explored a country that was rich in
knowledge and technology, and, strangely enough, without a set class
system. Both men and women were outspoken regarding the state of the
country and its people, and it was delightful to hear their public
speeches or (once he'd gained a better grasp of their writing system)
read through their weekly publications. It was fascinating to see
assembly lines at work, cranking out everything from shoes to Guymelefs
in vast, but controlled, amounts. The land itself was rather poor,
lacking in the proper nutrients to supplement much in the way of
botanics, but through trade the people continued to flourish. The single
outpost (located within walking distance of the main entrance) was rich
in foreign foods and materials which were traded for either bulk
manufactured items, such as crates of leather armor, or exquisite
metallic craftmanship that were only capable using Zaibach's advanced
tools.
Though the intellectual crowd branded him clearly as an outcast, the
soldiers were at least outwardly friendly. They were more used to seeing
those maimed or crippled by combat, and therefore were more fascinated
than disgusted by his unique situation. They welcomed his presence in the
barracks, where he visited at least once every seven days, and often took
drinks with them, though he never became senselessly inebriated. They
welcomed him as a sparring partner, though he'd been reluctant to do so
at first. It was delightful to once again hone his swordsmanship, and he
used what he now had to every advantage. The soldiers often clapped him
on the back shaking their heads, remarking what a waste it was that he
was becoming a Madoushi and not a General.
He even discovered a few "pets" on one of his outings. Though the twin
beastgirls Naria and Eriya were distrustful of both him and his frequent
companion at first, kindness and time brought out their sweet side, and
they often fell asleep curled near his head or his chest, purring happily.
The first few months of apathy and regret seemed like a dream. Fanelia
seemed as far away as the Mystic Moon. And it was all because of Celena.
Aside from a haunted look behind her deep blue eyes, the child had a
seemingly limitless well of cheer that she could draw on that made the
gloomy interior of his simple quarters bright and livable. He now had a
set of two rooms to "play" in; one to sleep in, the other to study (his
bed, now far more comfortable, had become a trampoline). She loved to
watch him work, and her favourite pasttime was to doodle, using rejected
diagrams to scratch drawings of people, flowers, and animals. Her second
favourite pasttime was to pull Naria or Eriya's tails while they were
taking one of their frequent naps... and run. This ended up in a rough
wrestling match that often ended with Naria and Eriya sitting on top of
Celena's back or front with some part of her (be it hair or dress) gently
caught between sets of sharp kitten teeth. Even when she was bruised or
cut, it never failed to set her off into peals of giggles.
As for her imaginary friend, he brought himself to fore only when she was
alone. Celena talked to the invisible figure in whispers, giggling at
unheard jokes, gasping at inappropriate silent comments. She also blamed
many of the little mishaps on him. The spilled ink was Dilandau's fault.
Dilandau had ripped the blank parchment. Dilandau had toppled the books.
It was sometimes frustrating, but she was so apologetic that he couldn't
help forgive her. Luckily, though, the "other" friend disappeared nearly
completely when Naria and Eriya arrived. Perhaps it was just the lack of
similarly aged children that had created the little fiend.
The three girls were in the midst of rumble, tearing through the study
room, knocking over books and papers and causing a small ruckus (which
he'd learnt to ignore), when someone began to urgently knock on the heavy
wooden door.
The four froze, Celena and Eriya in the midst of a wrestling hug with
Naria nibbling on Celena's ankles, him at his desk, quill in mid-sweep.
The three girls scrambled for the small space underneath his bed while he
stood, adjusting his cloak, to answer the door.
A beastman, canine, stood in the doorway, looking fervently left and
right, as if expecting an attack.
"Where is she?" he whispered, obviously aware of the presence of the
other students.
He pretended ignorance. "I believe you are mistaken. There is no one else
here. If you would excuse me..." He began to close the door. The dogman
thrust out his paw, forcing himself inside before hastily shutting the
door.
"No, I am not.You are Folken, yes?"
He nodded hesitantly. "You have me at a disadvantage."
"I am Jajuka." The beastman bowed. "Celena's keeper."
"Jajuka!" Celena's tiny figure wriggled out from underneath the bed.
Eriya and Naria's furry forms remained hidden, although a barely audible
hiss floated up after the little girl. She snatched up one of her many
sketches before throwing her arms around the dogman's waist.
"Come now, Celena," he said, gently stroking her hair, "we need to go
back now."
"Go back?" Folken echoed. "To where?"
"I'd heard you were an intelligent man, Master Folken," scoffed Jajuka.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"It means, Master Folken, that perhaps it's time you opened your eyes."
"To what?" he cried.
Jajuka sighed and removed the little girl's arms from about his waist,
taking the proffered drawing at the same time. She immediately streaked
for the bed, trying to coax the anxious twins out from underneath the
mattresses so they could meet her "other bestest friend." The beastman
took a glance at the paper, then folded it neatly. "Celena tells me about
you all the time. You are kind, she says. You are her friend. I have
asked her, 'And what does he say when you tell him where you are from?'
She says, 'I do not tell him. He would be angry.'"
The young man's eyes opened wide. "Damnit," he whispered, "will you
provide me the answer?"
"She says you are busy all the time," the beastman said, ignoring the
question, "and I have heard your name quite often from the Sorcerers and
the soldiers. You are more physically active than most, I have heard.
Many students prefer only their studies. Here."
Folken realized the man was babbling, avoiding the answer to his
question. He looked down, only seeing his own rejected scribblings. "I
have seen her drawings before."
"Celena!" Jajuka called, "It is time to go." He turned back towards the
confused boy. "Yes, you have. I have heard from the Sorcerers that you
will be appointed and transferred quite soon. When you do, more of the
Madoushi's secrets will become open. More of the complex's rooms will be
unlocked. You will find Celena then."
Celena came obediently, disappointed that the cat-twins were quite
adamant regarding their refusal to meet wih the canine. She wrapped her
smaller hand into Jajuka's furry paw and they turned to leave. The little
girl raised a hand and smiled brightly, cheerfully bidding fairwell.
"Wait!" he cried. He had to know! How could he have been so blissfully
ignorant all this time? What could he have been thinking?
The beastman had opened the door, and was now mindful of curious
bystanders. "I thank you for finding her, Master," he said, bowing
respectfully. "I apologize that she caused you so much inconvenience."
He almost shouted at him. How could he have just barged in here like this
and disrupted everything? How could he leave so many burning questions
unanswered? Instead, he made an approving grunt, just enough to be polite
without giving the others the impression that there'd been anything more
than business between the stupid creature and himself, and slammed the
door. Once their footsteps had faded away, he sighed and opened the
parchment...
...And beheld a child's clumsy drawing of a Madoushi strung by his neck
from a scraggly, leafless tree (the trunk merely the downstroke of a
hard-pressed quill), whose innards, a conglomerate of ameoba-like organs
and a trail of scraggly double lines, had been spilled onto the
2-dimensional earth. Away from the gruesome remains stood a widely
grinning stick boy with shoulder-length hair wielding two darkly stained
hands. An arrow pointed from his head to a set of ill-written Zaibach
words.
"Dilandau iz hapy now!"
"You're a woman."
"And?"
"The Dragonslayers were boys."
"And?"
"What do you mean, 'And?' What are you doing in that uniform?"
"Does it really matter?"
"Yes!"
"Strange concerns coming from the man that slaughtered the first of the
Dragonslayer regiments."
"How do you know about that?!"
"I wonder, half-breed beast, did you enjoy hearing them scream?"
Van's fingers clenched over his sword hilt. "You fucking bi--"
"Van!" Eries snapped.
"Good grief," Gaddes said, exasperated.
"Zhi," said Dineer, peering at her through his spectacles over a
half-filled glass of vino.
The chaos at the reception had been, eventually, militaristically
dispersed, with all the guests sent back to their rooms under a full
Asturian guard. No one was to leave without an escort, no one was to go
home without identifying an emergency. In essence, the princesses had
managed to "take hostage" nearly all of Gaea's prominent diginitaries.
Many were outraged but were willing to put it aside in exchange for
knowing the fate of the infamous Dragonslayer Commander Dilandau Albatou.
The boy in question was now sleeping quite peacefully in a down-filled
bed, his formerly malicious appearance only marred by the clean-cut scar
that blemished his right cheek. Allen had hoped that whatever medicine
the Strategos had given would have reverted him back to his original
form. Instead, he'd remained asleep, and the sight of what had been his
sister's body in such a dead-like state made Allen want to scream.
Gaddes, along with the Princess Eries (as the reigning royalty Princess
Millerna, though curious and concerned, was forced to deal with the
throng of angered guests), had been allowed into the spacious tower
suite, and, per Dineer's request, so had an armed Van and Zhi. Allen
politely refused his weaponry, fearful at the chance to use it. Other
than the wide bed, the stone and wooden room held a dresser and a thick
rug, and several modest tapestries. A few padded chairs and a light meal
of bread, cheese, and vino had been brought up as well. Two slender
windows let in the moonlight, and offered a splendid view of downtown
Palas. A long line of guards had been posted on the stairwell to the
upper room.
Dineer took a long pull at his glass, sighing appreciatively afterwards.
"Delicious!"
"My Lord Strategos," said the Princess, "perhaps it's time you tell us
why you have brought us up here?"
"Ah yes," he replied, setting down his drink, "you must forgive me. Our
country has been a bit lacking in good vintage these days."
"We'd be happy to send you home with several of our best bottles."
"Excellent! Much appreciated, my dear, thank you."
"Are you going to tell us what my brother has to do with him or not?" Van
snarled.
Dineer clasped his hand together, two human hands, Van noted, and paced a
bit near the window. His long, black cloak trailed after him, whispering
on the cold stone floor. "Yes, well, this will not be easy. You must give
me a few moments. I think, perhaps, you may all want to have a seat."
"Why?" Van was leaning against the wall, arms folded. Zhi was standing
near the princess, hand comfortably resting on the hilt of her sword.
Gaddes was fidgeting, hands in his pockets. Allen was the only one not
standing, sitting protectively with Dilandau near the head of the bed.
"Not many have heard what I am about to tell you. Some of it... will not
be pleasant. It will be a long telling, too. And ahead of time, Sir
Allen, I request your forgiveness."
"Forgiveness?" asked the knight.
The older man sighed. "You will see. King Van, please."
After seeing the scathing look Eries hurled his way, Van plopped into a
nearby chair. Eries let herself into another one, settling her skirts
immediately. Gaddes slid onto the floor. Zhi remained standing.
"Well then," Dineer said, pushing his spectacles back to their
appropriate place, "I met Folken Lacour de Fanel about three years after
he'd arrived..."
"Master Folken?"
No response. Only the gurgling of boiling chemicals answered the young
man's query.
"Master Folken?" he asked again, pushing his way carefully into the
laboratory. Another young man sat at the desk in front of him, carefully
writing something left-handed while using a gloved right hand to peer at
a beaker.
"Master Folken, I apologize for interrupting you, but I was told to
introduce myself immediately. I am Dineer, your new assistant."
The sky haired man turned slightly, frowning. "Really now? Only you?"
Dineer blinked. What a low voice for such a young person! "Yes, well..."
"Nobody else volunteered."
Dineer grimaced.
Folken peered at the young man, cloakless, wearing the standard Madoushi
uniform, whose handsome face was only creased by the stretch of his
smile. His spectacles had been pushed onto his head, holding back the top
of an unruly mop of hair that was braided and hung over one shoulder.
"I see," Folken said at last.
"I-I had heard of your genius, Master Folken!" he stammered. "It really
does not matter to me what the others say, though there are a few that
think as I do. To think that you perfected the Crima Claw on the Alseides
model all on your own! Not to mention discovering the premisces of
redirecting Fate particles, creating the telescope system for both
Guymelef and tank usage--"
The other man's frown deepened, and he began to turn back around. "I
don't need an assistant."
"I'm really sorry you think so sir, but Strategos Kyr gave me this." He
held out a scroll, neatly sealed.
Folken unravelled it and peered at Kyr's flourishing and sickeningly
precise handwriting. When he was done, he rerolled the scroll and handed
it back. "We are to begin working with the Senior Sorcerers on the Fate
Experimentation project, beginning tomorrow morning. Specifically, it
says, we are to begin the manipulation of Fate particles on organic
beings."
"Wonderful!" Dineer cried, taking an eager hold of Folken's right hand.
"It will be wonderful to work... to work..."
The cold metal in his grasp twitched slightly. Pointed fingertips scraped
lightly against the back of his hand. Dineer slowly gazed upwards, taking
in the twisting wires and cords, gaping at the bolts, screws, and molded
plates that were fused together to create a hideous, metallic mockery of
a skinless human arm.
That glove had been his hand!
"Yes," Folken replied coldly, a small smile on his lips, "I suppose it
will."