THE PRESENT, 1000 AD,
Several months after the group's defeat of Lavos
Lucca sighed and pushed her hovering chair away from the various scientific instruments on the table. Another night spent laboring over her workstation, wasted. Another eight- whoops, no, twelve- hours wasted with nothing to show but more conclusive evidence that her latest project was a flop. Raising the glasses of her helmet from her eyes, she roughly dug her palms against her eyes and stretched. She took a deep breath and looking out into the pre-sunrise at the wooded distance and the single road that led past the estate where she lived.
Sighing again, she thought wistfully back to the adventures of the last few months, traveling through time to save a future they would never see... "Oh Crono, why did it have to end so quickly?" she said aloud, unconsciously. Settling back into her chair, she resolutely thought to herself that, just one more hour of work, and she would get to sleep. Just one, one small, little...
Taban heard his daughter's voice from the bottom of the stairs and he reflected too on the past few months. Their work on the Telepod-cum-Time Machine had been one of the only inventions that had gone over well. It was also the first one not to blow up, a small part of him chided. He smiled the smile of a content man, perfectly satisfied in every way. A beautiful wife, an incredible machinist for a daughter, and the chance to spend more time with them both... How delighted he was to know Lucca had been able to grow so much as a young woman, as well as have the time to save the future of humanity. He cursed himself silently for not being the father he could have (should have!) been. Simply leaving her to her books, he was "too busy" whenever something important happened in her life.
The crash from Lucca's room drew Taban out of his reverie. Climbing the stairs to Lucca's room, he silently wondered what the matter was, but more than likely... yes, opening the door, he was right. Lucca had fallen asleep at her desk, snoring soundly into her equipment. Beaming like the father he always was inside, he hefted Lucca up in his powerful arms from her anti-grav chair and set her down into her bed gently, like he would have many years ago... He padded softly out of the room, his eyes brimming with the overflows of the sea of emotions churning within him. The first of the day's light caught in Lucca's glasses, dumped inside her upturned helmet by her bed, and reflected the house in the distance, upside down; Crono's.
* * * *
"Crono? Crono? Crono, you need to wake up! Crono?"
Crono muttered a rather blatant expletive and rolled over, hiding his eyes from the morning sun peeking through where the curtains failed to cover. Which, of course, was right over his eyes. Naturally.
"Crono, if you don't get up, you won't exactly make a good first impression! Crono?"
He turned again, bring his pillow up and over his head, trying to blot out both the piercing sunlight of the new sun and the piercing voice of his mother emanating from the downstairs kitchen. Somehow, in the fog of dreams, he had the flash of insight that both are far too strong to contend with.
"Crono, I'm serious now! If you aren't upright soon, I'm coming up there with ice water!"
Crono responded back this time, barely conscious enough to force the words out of his mouth. Rolling out of bed, he wiped his sleep-crusted eyes with the back of his hand, and groped for the shirt and pants he set out the night before. He gradually gained more consciousness as he shrugged into the pristine blue shirt, reminding him of the rich, deep blue seas back in time, sixty-five million years before civilization. Hopping into the pants of the same hue, he grabbed the scabbarded-sword on his desk and strapped it to his back. It was Melchior's last gift, made from the prism- like shell of an ancient beast, and the Sun Stone, which held in it the incredible energy of sunlight. Needless to say, the thing was more than a little shiny. Crono ruffled the silken ears of the Poyozo doll on his desk and headed downstairs to eat his breakfast.
Crono's mother clucked disapprovingly as Crono walked down the stairs. "Honestly, you'd think you didn't know how to dress yourself. That shirt is just simply... oh, here let me help." Moving in an aproned blur, she shifted the fabric back here, pulled it forward there, even stitched once or twice to fix the material a little more firmly on her son's wiry frame. "My, how much you've grown, recently. You've become such a nice young man, what with your adventures." Moving now to his hair, she smoothed out a rather rampant lock with a comb Crono could have sworn been non- existent moments ago. "...But some mornings you have me quite convinced I've woken the dead." Crono checked a smile on that last remark; he hadn't yet had the courage to tell his mother that episode. "There. Now, make your way to the castle and be good. Don't look at me like that, I know you're all grown up, but we mothers worry about things like this. Especially if you're going to be in the castle. Now, you'd better run, or you're going to be late."
His stomach reminded him, some time later, that in his mother's flurry of last second tailoring, he had forgotten to have breakfast. As he got to the gates of Guardia castle, he was having second thought about reporting directly to the commander of the troops. Plotting a quick excursion to the mess halls, Crono saluted to the guards in proper military fashion and proceeded to slink down the corridor towards the smells of cooking bacon and eggs.
* * * *
The figure in the shadows of the alcove smiled. Sometimes this young man could be so predictable it was painful. Silently as a cat, the shadows melted and molded to hide the pursuer from the pursued. This one target would be enjoyable in the catch as well as the hunt...
* * * *
Crono darted out from behind one pillar to dash behind another in his attempt to reach the kitchen unimpeded. With quick hands, he grabbed a mis- laid helmet from where it rested on an officer's desk and jammed it down over his eyes in an attempt to look inconspicuous. He walked with a calm, self-assured air, thinking himself to be well camouflaged. In truth, he was as hidden as a clown at a funeral. No matter how deft his mother happened to be with a comb, his hair would tend to spike out in all directions, and even now spread out and around the rim of the helmet like one of Lucca's Napalm spells. He had the look of a person who is well known about the kingdom, but was trying to be hidden for any number of reasons, and was failing miserably. Soldiers, after passing with the perfunctory respect two members of the same order have for each other, would nod to each other in agreement that that was, no doubt about it, the famous Crono.
The Castle of Guardia was old, to say the very least. It's halls were well maintained by it's loyal subjects for well over 200 years, and although the had been chipped and cracked and caulked again, the castle was as symbolic of the nation's pride and unity as the royal family was. On the walls were hung tapestries and beyond those were shields, all bearing the crests of the families who built the mighty citadel; family heritage that could be traced from the initiates in the barracks to the knights of old. Days when knights protected and honored tradition, when chivalry and respect were the laws of the land. Now, it wasn't the gorgeously tooled armor of gentlemanly knights that he saw traversing these halls, but the endless, undulating blue of the Guardia soldiers, chatting in clusters or walking aimlessly on their way to write a report or something, he thought. This just put him into another deeper gray mood then before, and so centered was he on his thoughts that the shadowy figure crept easily and imperceptibly towards him as he entered the noisy mess hall...
Sitting down at an empty seat, he gruffly, but politely, called a waitress over to his table. The waitress, recognizing Crono, smiled and winked knowingly. She hurriedly whisked behind the mess-hall petition and brought him a heaping plateful of the breakfast being served, and scampered off to help another seated officer.
* * * *
Cornered in the small mess hall, and surrounded by what had to be half a regiment, it was going to be difficult to pursue him without calling attention. Slowly, taking full advantage of blind spots and turned backs, closer, closer, closer the figure crept until...
"CRONO!" Marle shouted, snatching the filched helmet off his head as if she was unwrapping a particularly expected birthday present. "Damn, how are you?"
Crono choked slightly and managed to appease Marle with an answer before swallowing the side of bacon in his mouth. Regaining his composure, he attempted to keep light chatter with her until he had finished his breakfast.
Putting hetr finger to her lips for a second, she pieced it together. "Let me guess... You're here to enlist?" Crono nodded, with added enthusiasm. Marle's bright voice, sounding chipper even over seventy men devoted to her safety, never failed to make him act love-sick and slightly dopey. "I see you've already got your uniform on. Wow, what made you decide to join up?"
A flurry of comments rose to his lips to answer, but most were silenced. He told her of his discreet training with Frog- Glenn, he thought- and reminded her of what he had said, before leaving them at Queen Leene's castle. He also told her of the blade he still wore on his back, even unsheathing a half-inch of it to let it catch the flickering torchlight in the chamber, glittering in it's intrinsic power.
"Well, if you're going to see the commander, you're going to be pretty late. I'll come with you to give you an excuse. Come on." Making a chivalrous gesture even Glenn would have envied, Crono allowed his princess lead him. Their destination was the desk of her personal armsman and commander of the King's troops, Darious.
* * * *
"Huhwhat?" Lucca snapped upright in her bed, bleary-eyed but excited. "Oh, yes, yesyesyesyesyes-" she started muttering, her words running into one another as she grabbed her glasses and affixed her helmet. "Where is it, where is it?" She started searching frantically through her papers for something, becoming increasingly doubtful of its existence. "Damn! Just another stupid dream."
"Lucca? Are you awake?" Taban said, the wood of the door muffling his rich baritone voice. "We have some lunch saved for you. We didn't know how long you were going to be asleep."
Eyes squinted closed and teeth gritted, Lucca called back. "Yeah, Dad, I'll be down there in a sec, lemme just write something down." Dashing hopes and morning tears with the back of her hand, she scribbled the last thing she heard in her dream on a scrap of paper on her cluttered desk.
-DEOXYRIBOSOMAL STRUCTURE OF LAVOS-
* * * *
The armsman Darious had spent many years in the service of his Lord Guardia the XXXIII, much more than the twenty years required of military men. He had heard of the famous Crono and his adventures and, quite frankly, didn't believe them. Time travel, teleportation, playing games with history, saving the future of humanity? Honestly, what was one supposed to say to that? And now he wants to join the ranks of His Majesty's Royal Troops? Well, he's late to begin with. Probably still mucking about with his rag-tag "adventurers" from the tree-house, he found himself thinking. I'll run him through the most exhausting, most rigorous programs the troops had to offer, and drive those adventuring days out of his head. What he needs is some good, hard-
"Darious?" Marle said, snapping the older man to an extravagant salute. "My deepest apologies."
"Your Highness, there's no need to apologize," Darious said, almost automatically. Shamefully, as an afterthought, he added, "Whatever for?"
"I delayed this young lad on his way to your recruiting post. I have the pleasure of introducing you to my most trusted and skilled swordsman, Crono." Marle had to admit she quite enjoyed throwing her armsman completely off-balance by introducing him personally to Crono. Even as well trained as he was, Darious' eyes widened almost imperceptibly, showing her she was still on top of her game.
Darious nearly choked but cleared his throat before the princess. Going through the motions and procedures of inducting a new recruit, he couldn't help thinking how... how... unkempt the "great swordsman" looked. He looked no older than 16, but there was something, some glint in the boy's eyes that reassured him he was much, much older than the number of years he'd seen.
As Darious studied Crono, Crono did the same, appraising the man with eyes that had seen the world's birth, apogee, and death. The man was the image one called to mind when you thought of a royal armsman; almost fifty, graying at the temples, but a powerful physique, one his uniform tried to hide, but ended up accentuating. There was also a driving force about the man, an energy that forced you to feel something for this man. Envy? Respect? Something deeper?
"So, Mr. Crono, if you'll fill out this sheet, as we ask all of our recruits to, I shall arrange your screening." Darious smiled pleasantly at the young man, despite the thoughts running through his head. Moving to stand next to the princess, he muttered "Enjoying the game yet, my lady?" into her ear.
Marle was convincingly blank in her response. "Game, Darious? What game?"
Remembering his place, he snapped to attention, and muttered a hasty "Mi'lady" before hustling the young man off to the armory, where he would be issued a real weapon, not the cardboard and tin foil on his back.
Marle sighed theatrically at her rather disapproving bodyguard. She knew Crono would be ok. It's not like this is something new for him. He's faced worse. Like --
Several months after the group's defeat of Lavos
Lucca sighed and pushed her hovering chair away from the various scientific instruments on the table. Another night spent laboring over her workstation, wasted. Another eight- whoops, no, twelve- hours wasted with nothing to show but more conclusive evidence that her latest project was a flop. Raising the glasses of her helmet from her eyes, she roughly dug her palms against her eyes and stretched. She took a deep breath and looking out into the pre-sunrise at the wooded distance and the single road that led past the estate where she lived.
Sighing again, she thought wistfully back to the adventures of the last few months, traveling through time to save a future they would never see... "Oh Crono, why did it have to end so quickly?" she said aloud, unconsciously. Settling back into her chair, she resolutely thought to herself that, just one more hour of work, and she would get to sleep. Just one, one small, little...
Taban heard his daughter's voice from the bottom of the stairs and he reflected too on the past few months. Their work on the Telepod-cum-Time Machine had been one of the only inventions that had gone over well. It was also the first one not to blow up, a small part of him chided. He smiled the smile of a content man, perfectly satisfied in every way. A beautiful wife, an incredible machinist for a daughter, and the chance to spend more time with them both... How delighted he was to know Lucca had been able to grow so much as a young woman, as well as have the time to save the future of humanity. He cursed himself silently for not being the father he could have (should have!) been. Simply leaving her to her books, he was "too busy" whenever something important happened in her life.
The crash from Lucca's room drew Taban out of his reverie. Climbing the stairs to Lucca's room, he silently wondered what the matter was, but more than likely... yes, opening the door, he was right. Lucca had fallen asleep at her desk, snoring soundly into her equipment. Beaming like the father he always was inside, he hefted Lucca up in his powerful arms from her anti-grav chair and set her down into her bed gently, like he would have many years ago... He padded softly out of the room, his eyes brimming with the overflows of the sea of emotions churning within him. The first of the day's light caught in Lucca's glasses, dumped inside her upturned helmet by her bed, and reflected the house in the distance, upside down; Crono's.
* * * *
"Crono? Crono? Crono, you need to wake up! Crono?"
Crono muttered a rather blatant expletive and rolled over, hiding his eyes from the morning sun peeking through where the curtains failed to cover. Which, of course, was right over his eyes. Naturally.
"Crono, if you don't get up, you won't exactly make a good first impression! Crono?"
He turned again, bring his pillow up and over his head, trying to blot out both the piercing sunlight of the new sun and the piercing voice of his mother emanating from the downstairs kitchen. Somehow, in the fog of dreams, he had the flash of insight that both are far too strong to contend with.
"Crono, I'm serious now! If you aren't upright soon, I'm coming up there with ice water!"
Crono responded back this time, barely conscious enough to force the words out of his mouth. Rolling out of bed, he wiped his sleep-crusted eyes with the back of his hand, and groped for the shirt and pants he set out the night before. He gradually gained more consciousness as he shrugged into the pristine blue shirt, reminding him of the rich, deep blue seas back in time, sixty-five million years before civilization. Hopping into the pants of the same hue, he grabbed the scabbarded-sword on his desk and strapped it to his back. It was Melchior's last gift, made from the prism- like shell of an ancient beast, and the Sun Stone, which held in it the incredible energy of sunlight. Needless to say, the thing was more than a little shiny. Crono ruffled the silken ears of the Poyozo doll on his desk and headed downstairs to eat his breakfast.
Crono's mother clucked disapprovingly as Crono walked down the stairs. "Honestly, you'd think you didn't know how to dress yourself. That shirt is just simply... oh, here let me help." Moving in an aproned blur, she shifted the fabric back here, pulled it forward there, even stitched once or twice to fix the material a little more firmly on her son's wiry frame. "My, how much you've grown, recently. You've become such a nice young man, what with your adventures." Moving now to his hair, she smoothed out a rather rampant lock with a comb Crono could have sworn been non- existent moments ago. "...But some mornings you have me quite convinced I've woken the dead." Crono checked a smile on that last remark; he hadn't yet had the courage to tell his mother that episode. "There. Now, make your way to the castle and be good. Don't look at me like that, I know you're all grown up, but we mothers worry about things like this. Especially if you're going to be in the castle. Now, you'd better run, or you're going to be late."
His stomach reminded him, some time later, that in his mother's flurry of last second tailoring, he had forgotten to have breakfast. As he got to the gates of Guardia castle, he was having second thought about reporting directly to the commander of the troops. Plotting a quick excursion to the mess halls, Crono saluted to the guards in proper military fashion and proceeded to slink down the corridor towards the smells of cooking bacon and eggs.
* * * *
The figure in the shadows of the alcove smiled. Sometimes this young man could be so predictable it was painful. Silently as a cat, the shadows melted and molded to hide the pursuer from the pursued. This one target would be enjoyable in the catch as well as the hunt...
* * * *
Crono darted out from behind one pillar to dash behind another in his attempt to reach the kitchen unimpeded. With quick hands, he grabbed a mis- laid helmet from where it rested on an officer's desk and jammed it down over his eyes in an attempt to look inconspicuous. He walked with a calm, self-assured air, thinking himself to be well camouflaged. In truth, he was as hidden as a clown at a funeral. No matter how deft his mother happened to be with a comb, his hair would tend to spike out in all directions, and even now spread out and around the rim of the helmet like one of Lucca's Napalm spells. He had the look of a person who is well known about the kingdom, but was trying to be hidden for any number of reasons, and was failing miserably. Soldiers, after passing with the perfunctory respect two members of the same order have for each other, would nod to each other in agreement that that was, no doubt about it, the famous Crono.
The Castle of Guardia was old, to say the very least. It's halls were well maintained by it's loyal subjects for well over 200 years, and although the had been chipped and cracked and caulked again, the castle was as symbolic of the nation's pride and unity as the royal family was. On the walls were hung tapestries and beyond those were shields, all bearing the crests of the families who built the mighty citadel; family heritage that could be traced from the initiates in the barracks to the knights of old. Days when knights protected and honored tradition, when chivalry and respect were the laws of the land. Now, it wasn't the gorgeously tooled armor of gentlemanly knights that he saw traversing these halls, but the endless, undulating blue of the Guardia soldiers, chatting in clusters or walking aimlessly on their way to write a report or something, he thought. This just put him into another deeper gray mood then before, and so centered was he on his thoughts that the shadowy figure crept easily and imperceptibly towards him as he entered the noisy mess hall...
Sitting down at an empty seat, he gruffly, but politely, called a waitress over to his table. The waitress, recognizing Crono, smiled and winked knowingly. She hurriedly whisked behind the mess-hall petition and brought him a heaping plateful of the breakfast being served, and scampered off to help another seated officer.
* * * *
Cornered in the small mess hall, and surrounded by what had to be half a regiment, it was going to be difficult to pursue him without calling attention. Slowly, taking full advantage of blind spots and turned backs, closer, closer, closer the figure crept until...
"CRONO!" Marle shouted, snatching the filched helmet off his head as if she was unwrapping a particularly expected birthday present. "Damn, how are you?"
Crono choked slightly and managed to appease Marle with an answer before swallowing the side of bacon in his mouth. Regaining his composure, he attempted to keep light chatter with her until he had finished his breakfast.
Putting hetr finger to her lips for a second, she pieced it together. "Let me guess... You're here to enlist?" Crono nodded, with added enthusiasm. Marle's bright voice, sounding chipper even over seventy men devoted to her safety, never failed to make him act love-sick and slightly dopey. "I see you've already got your uniform on. Wow, what made you decide to join up?"
A flurry of comments rose to his lips to answer, but most were silenced. He told her of his discreet training with Frog- Glenn, he thought- and reminded her of what he had said, before leaving them at Queen Leene's castle. He also told her of the blade he still wore on his back, even unsheathing a half-inch of it to let it catch the flickering torchlight in the chamber, glittering in it's intrinsic power.
"Well, if you're going to see the commander, you're going to be pretty late. I'll come with you to give you an excuse. Come on." Making a chivalrous gesture even Glenn would have envied, Crono allowed his princess lead him. Their destination was the desk of her personal armsman and commander of the King's troops, Darious.
* * * *
"Huhwhat?" Lucca snapped upright in her bed, bleary-eyed but excited. "Oh, yes, yesyesyesyesyes-" she started muttering, her words running into one another as she grabbed her glasses and affixed her helmet. "Where is it, where is it?" She started searching frantically through her papers for something, becoming increasingly doubtful of its existence. "Damn! Just another stupid dream."
"Lucca? Are you awake?" Taban said, the wood of the door muffling his rich baritone voice. "We have some lunch saved for you. We didn't know how long you were going to be asleep."
Eyes squinted closed and teeth gritted, Lucca called back. "Yeah, Dad, I'll be down there in a sec, lemme just write something down." Dashing hopes and morning tears with the back of her hand, she scribbled the last thing she heard in her dream on a scrap of paper on her cluttered desk.
-DEOXYRIBOSOMAL STRUCTURE OF LAVOS-
* * * *
The armsman Darious had spent many years in the service of his Lord Guardia the XXXIII, much more than the twenty years required of military men. He had heard of the famous Crono and his adventures and, quite frankly, didn't believe them. Time travel, teleportation, playing games with history, saving the future of humanity? Honestly, what was one supposed to say to that? And now he wants to join the ranks of His Majesty's Royal Troops? Well, he's late to begin with. Probably still mucking about with his rag-tag "adventurers" from the tree-house, he found himself thinking. I'll run him through the most exhausting, most rigorous programs the troops had to offer, and drive those adventuring days out of his head. What he needs is some good, hard-
"Darious?" Marle said, snapping the older man to an extravagant salute. "My deepest apologies."
"Your Highness, there's no need to apologize," Darious said, almost automatically. Shamefully, as an afterthought, he added, "Whatever for?"
"I delayed this young lad on his way to your recruiting post. I have the pleasure of introducing you to my most trusted and skilled swordsman, Crono." Marle had to admit she quite enjoyed throwing her armsman completely off-balance by introducing him personally to Crono. Even as well trained as he was, Darious' eyes widened almost imperceptibly, showing her she was still on top of her game.
Darious nearly choked but cleared his throat before the princess. Going through the motions and procedures of inducting a new recruit, he couldn't help thinking how... how... unkempt the "great swordsman" looked. He looked no older than 16, but there was something, some glint in the boy's eyes that reassured him he was much, much older than the number of years he'd seen.
As Darious studied Crono, Crono did the same, appraising the man with eyes that had seen the world's birth, apogee, and death. The man was the image one called to mind when you thought of a royal armsman; almost fifty, graying at the temples, but a powerful physique, one his uniform tried to hide, but ended up accentuating. There was also a driving force about the man, an energy that forced you to feel something for this man. Envy? Respect? Something deeper?
"So, Mr. Crono, if you'll fill out this sheet, as we ask all of our recruits to, I shall arrange your screening." Darious smiled pleasantly at the young man, despite the thoughts running through his head. Moving to stand next to the princess, he muttered "Enjoying the game yet, my lady?" into her ear.
Marle was convincingly blank in her response. "Game, Darious? What game?"
Remembering his place, he snapped to attention, and muttered a hasty "Mi'lady" before hustling the young man off to the armory, where he would be issued a real weapon, not the cardboard and tin foil on his back.
Marle sighed theatrically at her rather disapproving bodyguard. She knew Crono would be ok. It's not like this is something new for him. He's faced worse. Like --