Ginji, Asch, and an Albiore
One – The "Hiring"
Rewritten December 1st, 2008


"Ginji, go screw in that light bulb," a silver-haired man muttered furiously as he trekked through the barren plateaus that made up the Meggiora Highlands. In one hand he was holding a battered red toolbox. The other hand was scrubbing at his hair in agitation as he continued on his journey. "Ginji, go fetch me that wrench. Ginji, run down to research and see if they've figured out where those blueprints were. Ginji, go get the Albiore from the middle of nowhere."

The pilot had made the long journey from Sheridan to the resting-place of the Albiore III in a little under three hours. His face was coated with dirt and sweat, and exasperation was written clearly over his features. Leave it to Aston to take the airship on a test flight, crash it, and expect Ginji to do all of the repairs. It wasn't as though the pilot was trying to cram in some time with his sister before she left again, oh no, Ginji just had a wealth of free time that Aston could take advantage of.

Ginji let the toolbox fall to the ground with an undignified clatter as he surveyed the damage done to the Albiore. It wasn't as extensive as Aston had made it out to be, but Ginji was positive that he wouldn't be able to make the dinner plans he'd had with Noelle. The engine on the right wing was hanging at an odd angle, only suspended by a few wires, and sending off a spray of sparks every few seconds. The rest of the ship had a few minor dents and holes, and they could take a backseat until he'd dealt with the engine.

Taking off his jacket, Ginji dropped it on the ground near his toolbox. He then took a second to make sure that there were no monsters in range of him (he sported a large gash over his right eye where one beast had scratched him on his way there) before getting down to work.

Three hours in, Ginji had repaired some damage done to the steering wheel, made sure that the flightstone was still fully functional, and was now working on getting the engine on the right wing working. There were parts scattered around the wing, and the engine itself was now resting on the rocky ground below. Ginji was lying atop the wing on his stomach, half of his torso over the gap where the engine had been, his hands busy with tying a few wires together. The sparks that had been present earlier were now absent, and he took this as a good sign.

Ginji was so engrossed in his work that he didn't immediately notice he was being watched. Attempting to weld a broken pipe together, Ginji missed the sound of boots clacking over the hard ground over the blowtorch's hum. His back was turned away from the world, so he didn't see the man approaching. It wasn't until he dropped to the ground in order to grab one of the sections of metal plating strewn there that he realized he had company.

The man who was standing before him had dark red hair and a face that looked vaguely familiar, though Ginji couldn't quite place where he'd seen it before. A sword hung at the man's side, and Ginji felt a nervous prickle sweep up his spine. Cautiously, he grabbed a wrench from his tool belt, feeling slightly better when the cool metal was in his hands.

"Who are you?" He asked, standing tall in front of the Albiore, despite the shakes that were wracking his body. The man surveyed him with cold eyes.

"Are you Ginji?" The stranger inquired, not even bothering to make eye contact. He began to circle the Albiore, a deep scowl imprinted on his face. Ginji followed a few paces behind him, heart fluttering nervously in his chest.

"I am Ginji," he replied cautiously after they'd made a full circle around the airship.

The man nodded mutely, taking a few strides up to the Albiore. He kicked a few screws on the ground, arms crossed over his chest. "Can this piece of junk even fly?" He grunted.

"The Albiore is not a piece of junk!" Ginji cried indignantly. The man glared at him, and he took a step back. "I mean, it's not in the best of shape right now, but that doesn't mean it can't fly."

The man looked the airship up and down thoughtfully before shrugging his shoulders and sighing. "I need your services," he admitted grudgingly. "A man back in Sheridan said that you could fly me where I needed to go."

"I can't help you right now," Ginji said, placing his wrench back into his tool belt and resting his hands on his hips. "I could probably give you a lift in a few days; you could stay at the inn at Sheridan for the time being, they've got wonderful soup… there…"

The man was glaring at him again, and Ginji swallowed the lump in his throat. The man seemed as though he would never be satisfied with anything, and Ginji vaguely wondered why Noelle always got the good customers.

"I don't think you understand," the redhead growled. "I need your service now, there's no ifs ands or buts about it."

Ginji's eyes darted to the sword at the man's waist and took a deep breath. There was no way he was getting out of this one easily. "Could you give me four hours? I'll get the Albiore up to snuff for a flight."

The man said nothing, remaining firmly rooted in place next to the Albiore. Ginji took this as a yes, and wasted no time in getting back to work. Soon the clank of a hammer against metal filled the air as he resumed work on the wing. When he was reaching for the pliers in his toolbox a few hours later, precariously balanced on the wing with one hand supporting the engine he was reattaching, Ginji found his eyes catching on the swordsman. The man was leaning against the tree, his eyes closed, and suddenly it dawned on Ginji that he'd never learned his client's name.

"So what should I call you?" Ginji asked nonchalantly as he resumed his work on the engine.

"Asch," was the brisk reply. "Asch the Bloody."


By the time Ginji finished his work on the outside of the Albiore, the sun had already set. The interior was the next point of interest, and he carried his things inside, lantern held by his teeth as his hands were full (his coat, toolbox, and spare parts took up a lot of room). Asch followed behind him, an undistinguishable expression written on his face.

Thankfully, inside the Albiore had taken much less damage than the exterior and Ginji sighed in relief. He dropped off his things in one of the rooms onboard and was about to hop in behind the steering wheel and fly himself back to Sheridan when he caught sight of Asch. Moving his lantern so he could see the God General's face, he scrambled to formulate an excuse that would get him back to his hometown. Somehow he knew that 'my sister's home for the first time in two months' wouldn't go over well with his new employer.

"Repairs are done," Ginji announced, clearing his throat. "Though if you want them to be lasting, we should stop by – "

"Sheridan is the last place I want to go to," Asch said venomously. Ginji was about to object, but he caught himself before the words slipped through his lips. He had to follow the client's orders, after all.

"Where do you want to go, then?" Ginji asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"The Radiation Gate," Asch stated, tapping his foot against the floor. Ginji winced; he had no idea if the repairs on the engine would last that long. He voiced his concerns to Asch, who didn't seem to take the news well.

"If we could stop in Baticul on the way, I can assess how the Albiore is doing and determine if it needs more repairs," Ginji mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, if that's no trouble to you."

"So be it," Asch growled after a few seconds pause, sitting down stiffly in one of the seats. "Lets get a move on."

"Um, sir…"

"Asch."

"Asch, you might want to put a seatbelt on." Ginji waited for a minute, but the God General seemed intent on ignoring his request. Shrugging his shoulders, Ginji started up the airship.

The take off went well, and he wove a few tight circles (earning the satisfying click of a seatbelt being fastened) before pulling into a loop-de-loop and speeding off to Baticul.

Ginji looked over his shoulder at Asch, expecting some biting comment from the swordsman, but it seemed that the God General was too sick to comment. Smiling contently to himself, the pilot sank back against the cushion of his seat. Perhaps this job wouldn't be so bad after all.