It's always weird writing a chapter for this story, since it's so insanely different from everything else I write... But I got reviews! Which makes me happy, since this story is so much fun to write (even if it is weird).
Disclaimer: I don't own Baten Kaitos: Eternal Wings and the Lost Ocean, etc.
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Chapter II: Winter Wonderland
The Ice Sculptor often came to the pub, the Dancing Ice Monkey, for a drink.
Or two.
Or three.
The number was irrelevant anyways. After a hard days work, he needed his little comfort, even if he loved chopping up bits of ice into various shapes more than anything else in the whole wide world. He was sitting at the bar, a half-full glass clutched in his hand. He looked down into the glass, swirled the amber contents, thinking about a particular project he had been working on recently. The Ice Sculptor looked up again, distracted by a heavy sigh to his left. He looked over, and two seats down was what looked like an Imperial soldier with long red hair that hid most of his face. The soldier did not look happy.
Ice Sculptor to the rescue, thought the, you guessed it, Ice Sculptor. He got up, taking his glass with him, walked right up to the soldier and sat down next to him. "You okay?" asked the Ice Sculptor.
"I don't want to be sober right now…" moaned the soldier, putting his face in his hands.
"Mmm…" said the Ice Sculptor, trying to diagnose the problem, "What's wrong friend? Someone die?"
"Nope…" said the soldier looking back up, but not at the Ice Sculptor. "They're all alive."
"Having a bad run of luck?"
"I don't think luck really has anything to do with it."
"Were you robbed?"
"No,"
"Were you mugged?"
"That's the same thing as being robbed."
"If you want to be technical about it… Get into a really bad shouting match or argument?"
"No shouting matches or arguments."
"Someone deathly ill?"
"Nope…"
"Are you deathly ill?"
"Do I look sick to you?"
"A wee bit, yeah… Love problems?"
"That would be it yes…" said the soldier, trying to attract the attention of the bartender with a wave of an arm.
"You know what," started the Ice Sculptor with enthusiasm, "I've got something better than drunkenness for you!"
"What?" asked the soldier, looking at the Sculptor with tired ruby eyes.
The Ice Sculptor stood up and firmly took the soldier by the arm, "C'mon," he said, tugging at the soldier's sleeve, "Follow me." The Ice Sculptor led the submissive soldier out of the Dancing Ice Monkey, and down to the Cursa port. There were piles of fresh snow all over the port, piled high like stacks of white books, glittering faintly in the setting sun. "See the snow?" said the Ice Sculptor, pointing at a large pile nearby, motionless as a large, white, sleeping animal.
"Yes," said the soldier, the look on his face telling the Ice Sculptor that he was wondering what the point of this was and how it was going to solve his current problems. "What about it?"
"This," said the Ice Sculptor. He grabbed the soldier by the back of his head, and thrust the soldier, head first, into the pile of snow. The soldier struggled, his yelp of surprise muffled by the snow. The Ice Sculptor let him go and took a step back, clearly pleased at himself as he watched the soldier writhe in the cold snow for a few seconds.
The soldier (eventually) stood up, taking his head out of the snow pile. The soldier shook his head, small bits of snow clinging to his long crimson hair, "What was that for?" he said, turning to face the grinning Ice Sculptor while spitting half-melted globs of snow out of his mouth.
"Didn't that feel refreshing?" asked the Ice Sculptor grinning at the soldier, "Cool, reviving, and refreshing?"
"No," said the soldier sourly, "More like someone punched me in the face."
"Ah… well…" said the Ice Sculptor, fidgeting with the purple scarf around his neck, "That's life, isn't it? You think you're going to get something nice, and instead all you get is a kick in the butt and left in a ditch to rot."
The soldier frowned, "You're optimistic," he commented flatly.
"I promised you something better than drunkenness, remember?" said the Ice Sculptor, "So, what's better than being drunk? Reality! Sobriety! It's to die for!"
"Next you're going to ask me what's the sound of one hand clapping," said the soldier. He sat down on the port, looking sad. "Or if a tree falls in a forest and there's no one around to hear, does it make a sound?"
"You okay, friend?" asked the Ice Sculptor, wondering if he had gone a bit far.
"Not really," said the soldier, "Like I said before, it's love problems."
The Ice Sculptor sighed, and sat down next to the depressed imperial. "Who is it then?" asked the Ice Sculptor, "Who is this special woman of yours who seems to be so far out of your reach?"
The soldier looked over at the Ice Sculptor, as if considering the whether or not he should say anything. He looked away again and muttered something inaudible to the Ice Sculptor.
"Pardon?" said the Ice Sculptor politely, cupping a mittened hand around an ear, "I didn't catch that."
"It's Savyna," mumbled the soldier, looking down at his gilded boots, "I love Savyna."
This caught the Ice Sculptor completely off-guard. The Ice Sculptor blinked a couple of times while he absorbed this statement. "Savyna?" he said incredulously, "The Savyna? You mean Lady Death? You've got romantic feelings for the infamous Lady Death?"
"Yes, I know it's hopeless," said the soldier, sounding depressed.
The Ice Sculptor stiffened, looking offended by the comment. "Hopeless?" he said, indignantly, "Hopeless? Bah! It's only hopeless if you choose to make it that way!" The Ice Sculptor stood up, his hands on his hips. The soldier looked up at him, a look on his face suggesting that he had though that the Ice Sculptor just might be a little bit off. "I can see the disbelief in your eyes!" said the Ice Sculptor, in what he hoped was a heroic tone, "But trust me, and I'll get you and your Lady Death together before my queen marries! Promise." The Ice Sculptor sat down again and held out a mittened hand to shake. "I'm the Ice Sculptor, if you don't recognize me from when her Majesty asked me to sculpt the weapons for some knights statues," he said smiling, "And I believe you're Lyude? One of my queen's friends?"
"Um… yes," said Lyude, not taking the hand offered, "But um… Why do you want to help, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Because I like meddling!" said the Ice Sculptor grinning mischievously, "Besides, you need help, no? And any help is better than none."
"True," admitted Lyude, realizing that in his desperate state any help would be welcome, "But… don't you have a name?"
"I'm the Ice Sculptor! I've already told you that!"
"I mean a name like 'Tim' or, 'Bob', something like that?"
"Oh," said the Ice Sculptor, realizing what the Imperial was asking him, "No I don't have a real name," he admitted sheepishly, "I think the gods thought me unfit for one, so I'm just the Ice Sculptor."
Lyude took the hand the Ice Sculptor offered him and shook it, "Well then," he said, "It's good to meet you."
"Now my friend," said the Ice Sculptor, letting go of Lyude's hand, trying to do the heroic tone again, "Now we get you and your lady friend together! Whatever it takes!"
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There it is. I've worked the Ice Sculptor into this mess. Now for the chaos to really begin, he he...
Once again, I'll ask my dear readers to review.