Last One Standing
Hi everyone. This would be a first story in a long time I've posted that is has no co writer. Um weird feelings. Anyways a little bit about this before you start this is an Alternate Universe in which Folken is alive at the end of the war. This Story will also go backwards, this chapter is present time, the following chapters until I note otherwise will be the past. Just so you don't get confused
Summary: An ending action always has to have started somewhere. But can anyone really pin point the moment the rock begins to roll so out of control? Folken is faced with this question as he waits the morning after the end of the Destiny Wars. He reflects through past events in his life as he tries to answer that question. An Alternate Universe.
Disclaimer: I in no way or form own Vision of Escaflowne, its owned by Bandi or whoever else it says on those papers. SO ya you can't sue me. However I do own all original plot lines and original characters
xXxXx – scene change
xVxVx – same scene different point of view
Prologue
New Beginnings
Outside those light blue curtains there was a world celebrating even into the hours of the rising sun its victory. A victory over all that was wrong and evil, over a tyrant of a ruler that would have only come through the ashes of a destroyed world like a corrupt phoenix. Outside the open doors which lead out onto a glamorous balcony there were people singing songs to their heroes telling their newly past battles as if nothing more horrible could happen. Away from the dark silence, into the light there was joy, happiness but inside those curtains, within those doors hidden by the shadows from the new light of day were two poor souls wondering; wondering their fate that would only come with that rising sun. As the sea breeze gentle blew the blue curtains, allowing the morning sun light to dance into the room, waltzing over the broken glass that covered the hard floor. There was enough light that came through the closed curtains though for one of the two tired souls to look about their surroundings. Sneaking in here during the night had not done well for the room's interior. The broken-into glass display case sat near a lonely oak desk. A long couch over stuffed for its own good faced to single chairs that matched it. None of the seats faced the lone desk; it was as if the poor thing was dis-cluded from the circle around the elegant rug.
He leaned his head back against the over stuffed couch that he had spend the night against. At some point he knew he had been sitting on it, but was the point? The floor felt a lot better, not so over stuffed with lies of comfort. Light blue hair fell over his face as he looked down at his clothing. The black pants and white undershirt unfamiliar, the jacket to this attire was somewhere in this room, probably on the couch. The shirt was unbuttoned down a bit, and the one sleeve rolled up a ways. He only had one sleeve to worry about anyways. Shirts were hard to tailor to cover a metal claw. Maroon eyes looked down at the silver thing to his right that was clasped around a half empty bottle. Whatever it was, he couldn't remember and carried the less. After a while all this stuff tasted the same to him. Empty bottles, as his eyes moved away from his metal arm, littered the elegant rug like ants on a picnic blanket. Had they really had that much? It didn't feel like it.
"How did we end up here?" A voice, tired but awake asked. Maroon eyes left the scattered bottles to the figure that lay stretched out jut a little bit away from the two chairs. The slender but defiant figure seemed to be alien on such an elegant rug. It was beautiful, even in the shadows he could make out the tasteful design the time spent by its crafters to make it. And yet atop it lay a creature who was not worthy of its elegance. Dark velvet hair lay uncontrolled around her. The white tank top and pants clearly soiled of dirt and sweat. Scars graced her tan arms, her face, scars on her outside that only matched his insides. Two pathetic souls who were not worthy of such the grace of an elegant room had ignored its cry for them to leave, only to destroy it, degrading it with their soiled souls. One hand lay on her stomach holding a glass bottle with very little liquid with in, the other along her side. Her knuckles were covered in dried blood, but pieces of glass could still be seen on her empty hand. Gold eyes turned slightly from staring at the ceiling to meet his maroon ones.
"Here?" He asked her back before letting his head fall back tiredly against the couch to look up at the grey colored ceiling. With more light he knew it would be white. Images of the night before played in the back of his foggy mind as he tried to remember what had happen to bring them to degrade such a nice room. "You had said something…. Something about Asturia wine not being enough, needing something stronger to get drunk off your feet." He laughed slightly at the memory of them sneaking out of the grand party that had been thrown in the palace's banquet halls, her annoyed fidgeting about being there as they listened to those 'fools' go on and on about a victory that they didn't even help claim. Her fast yearning to leave had left her to drag him out with her in search of something better to forget it all. They had come upon this unsuspecting room that held a locked liquor case. Glass wasn't a good thing to use for one of those; he would have to remember that after the image of her slamming her fists into it to get her hands on the bottles within. They must have spent the rest of the night getting drunk.
"That's not what I meant, Folken…" She growled at him while sitting up slowly, taking the last bit of the liquor within the bottle in one gulp. Studying the bottle for a moment before throwing it to the side she looked at him. It seemed as if he had the last bit of alcohol left and his companion was far from done. The dark hair woman growled again as she started to crawl alone with floor towards him. The sleeveless shirt she wore, hung loose on her body as she moved towards him on all fours like beast preying on its meal. His eyes left the ceiling to look at her as she came to him. He studied the slick movement of her body as she came at him. The way the small unbound beasts of hers swayed seductively. It was really too big for her to wear. The way the long dark velvet hair caressed her face as it fell back over her shoulders to fall in front. By the gods how he missed this. It had been so long ago, now it just seemed a part of some fantasy, a dream of a dream. After what seemed forever to him she plopped back down next to him, leaning against the couch. Her small, calloused hand took the bottle from his claw to take some of the bitter liquid into her mouth. From here he could see better the defined scars on her exposed collarbone, arms, and the small ones on her face. Scars of a warrior, who had not seen the end of his days. Scars that were shown to the world as trophies with prided of past success, and the horrid shames of failure. Her many scars to his single one. His single tear imprinted on his face as a reminder of his sins to the burning dragon that lay hidden beneath that shirt on her back of her unnatural succession. Two poor souls soiled with this world's greed. What a particular pair they were. "How did we end up like this?"
"Like this?" How did they end up here? Wasn't there some point in their lives that would have said this was impossible? All it was; was a dream. He would wake up any moment and still be there. There in those dark towers of the madoushi in that cruel world or in the capital building being the only advisor to a madman. Better he would wake up to see those red eyes of the young boy turned general staring at him across the table. Those eyes burning eagerly for knowledge, for power only Folken could give him. But, if he dared to wake from this dream, then she would be gone. Gone to a place half a world away raging war where no generation for ages had know the true meaning of peace. She would just slip again away from him in the darkness of his dreams as she had in the past. But this was not a dream; there was nothing that could even possibly make it a dream anymore. She was here now, solid to the touch, her army hanging high above in the sky over the celebrating world waiting their orders; orders that could come from a no longer existing monarchy. They were truly here, alone in this room surrounded by empty bottles pondering the how's and why's to questions they already knew the answer to. Sighing, Folken moved to stand up. It was morning, and they could no longer wait for their fate to come to them. The others would begin to look for them, they're absents would not be over looked for long. "We are likes this, my dear Jaazar, because we are two poor fools who could not think of anything better to do with our pathetic existence." He stood tall for a moment, brushing his blue hair out of his face. It was getting to long now; he really did need to get it cut. His first steps were strong, determined as he made his way for the close door on the other side of the single chairs. However, the dizzy spell and the lack of sleep caught up to him quickly halfway across the elegant carpet. It wasn't long before he found himself back down on the floor unable to stand. Folken found himself staring up at the ceiling again as he laid out on the floor. A sniffled laugh behind him was the only sound in the room.
Pathetic.
A callused hand touched the side of his face as she crawled over to him again. Maroon eyes met laughing gold ones as she loomed over him, slender fingers tracing the small tear on his face. What did the world of tomorrow hold for traitors like them? She sighed after a moment and looked away from him to something else.
"I wonder… When did this rock start to roll so out of control, when was the point where there was not turning back on the decisions which lead us here?"
STOP!
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