Leviathan's Daughter
GoldenEagle
Author's Note: Since I haven't seen the entire series yet, I will exclude the two cat girls from any part of my story. Atleast, those are my thoughts so far on the matter. By the way, I met a real pyromaniac the other night. I have to say, it was great! His very personality was mesmorizing. I could go into more detail, talk of some weird, demented boy, but, that's a whole story in itself. I think this is a sign that I'm becoming too close with my Dilandau charector.
Chapter Eleven
A sweet, wakening breeze blew over an awakening wilderness. The mountains rose above millions of treetops, reaching for the rising sun. And above this vision of Nature and her children floated a dark fortress, hiding among the depleting shadows of night. It had been six long years since Gaea had first felt the touch of the one from the Mystic Moon and five since that person had been seen outside the Zaibach's main training facility. She was all but forgotten, pushed into the recesses of anyone's mind who had met her. She was a ghost. Nothing but a vision of some forgotten dream. Life had gone on without her. Zaibach had grown.
Dilandau had grown, too. The body of the child he once was had been traded for an older boy. That wild insanity had enveloped his being, his eyes always holding a bit of that instability within him. It was so on this day, his legs bringing him back and forth across the metal deck of his ship. He sneered. Or, to put it better, Folken's ship. The teen still resented the older boy for rising above him. 'He should have left long ago,' Dilandau thought as he still paced. 'Besides, I was to be the Chosen! I was supposed to be the best in the empire! Instead, they gave the position to a boy from a soon-to-be enemy country. The boy isn't even fully human, him and that stupid arm!' Dilandau punched the metal wall, which only made him more enraged as the pain bolted up his arm, causing him to hold it to his chest lightly. Yet, even as he did so, a strange cackle cracked his lips. There was no reason for its being there except for the insanity that had spurred it.
He was restless, having nothing to do and all the other soldiers out in the halls, but his demented laughter was interupted as the door to this main deck swooshed open. Two tall, heavily armored men stepped into the room, large, curved swords at their sides. Due to his loss of the little momentary sanity he had, Dilandau sneered at the armed guards in strange garb. "Who the Hell are you?!" He stepped forward and rushed at them, ready to show them what Dilandau was quite well known for. Two sharp blades were instantly at his throat, and he reacted much as a frightened child much, his lips quivering, his mind wanting to call out pathetically for help. The soldiers' faces were stern, even angry. And then two small, callused hands curved around one of the guards' shoulders, voicelessly ordering them to step back. As he finally recognized the mastering figure which had stepped forward, the tears that had welled up in Dilandau's eyes in terror now became tears of joy and now remembered loneliness, spurred by his unstable personality. He choked on his words as the person drew closer to him. Finally he let them out with a smile that was so uncharacteristic for the boy and embraced the visitor.
"Sister!"
*************
"But, sir! Dilandau demanded that no one interrupt him!" One of the soldiers shouted out, desperately, afraid for his own life. He knew well enough what Dilandau might do to him if he was not completely obedient, even if this was regarding the one person on the ship with an higher order than him.
Folken merely glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes as he passed, a slightly annoyed look on his face. He turned his attention forward again, punching in the code to access Dilandau's room as he tried to take full control of the anger directed at the boy for not seeing to business. In Folken's eyes, Dilandau was still the child he had been left with five years ago to hover over and take care of. The boy was still as much of a nuisance as he had been then. But Folken had learned patience and indifference. He held no true feelings against the teenager, only a silent acceptance of the boy who was going to stay on this ship, whether he liked it or not. And even then, he held a slight, untouched on emotion of loyalty to the boy. Like an out of state nephew...
"But, sir-" Another guard stuttered as the door started to slide open. "He's with a girl." The soldier's voice came too late. He grimaced before he took in the scene even as the door closed behind his Lord, his ideas of what Dilandau was possibly doing with the woman amazingly distorted...
**************
Folken's heart fluttered and seemed to stop with a sudden jerk as he saw the girl sitting on the bed before him. The masquerade of coldness that had hidden his face perfectly for the last few years shattered instantly, his jaw dropping, his eyes going wide. He gasped and a violent shutter ran threw him even as he cursed himself for acting like the fifteen year old he had once been. Yet still he quivered, his lips shaking on their own accord. His physical condition became even worse as her eyes floated up and met his. Folken's legs almost gave out beneath him, and he suddenly realized he hadn't been breathing.
"Persephone." He thanked whatever gods that may be watching over him for atleast granting him this one bit of strength, his voice his only strong, constant position.
She was quiet for a second, her mouth drooped at the edges, an almost completely innocent and pained look in her eyes. "Folken, I-" She stopped, looking down at the teenager's head, resting in her lap. "I didn't think you would have stayed." Her voice was barely heard over Folken's own heartbeats.
As Folken gathered his emotions and forced them off his face, even stopping his trembling, he looked her over. A small frown creased his face as he looked at her troubling, physical changes. She had grown a lot in the past five years. Her body was taller, her attributes even more flattering than before. Dilandau's head was resting in her lap, her legs pulled beneath her, and her hands playing with his hair. A strange contented and peaceful smile was on his sleeping face. Yet, what Folken's own mind had called an angel was now terrifyingly opposite.
Her form was fitted with tight, black leather. The top came up like turtleneck, a half circle cut on her chest, revealing her cleavage. Folken almost blushed like a schoolboy as his eyes hovered too long on the obstacle. He regained his wits and continued his careful scrutiny. He noticed that she had obtained more scars. Some were obviously caused by blades, but some were other burns. And as he took in her face more carefully, he froze. There were the slightest signs of wrinkling around her eyes and mouth. Stress marks, he knew, which had made her older than she really was. Her once long and full, curly red hair was cut right at her ears, making it look messy and somewhat pathetic. Though she kept her eyes from his, he could still detect the gleam of something much like an embedded hatred in them. Not for him, but for something else entirely. It was this that stabbed at him the most.
"So, Persephone." He said, letting out a cough. "How long will you be visiting my ship?"
She looked up and, beyond that rage and hurt that was in her eyes, causing the hatred he had taken in so heavily, was a shimmer of hope and... His mind stumbled over the thought. Possibly, love? No, no. He was reading too much into her gaze. He hit himself mentally for his daydreaming before being interupted from his internal battle by her cold, ragged, and deeper voice. A voice he realized, with a sudden start, that had grown from the girl's of before to a woman's. "I'll be staying here for a while. Lord Dornkirk has sent me here to help with the upcoming battles."
Chapter Twelve
Persephone had left Dilandau asleep in his room and Folken to get the official arrangements of her stay straight from Lord Dornkirk's transmission. She felt lost when she had been left alone in the room that had once been hers. Everything seemed the same, besides a few updated technology installments. Persephone hadn't bothered in bringing her own things, knowing that Lord Dornkirk would provide all he believed she would need. She sighed. Weariness was already drifting into her demeanor and she often had to remind herself to bring her shoulders up from their slump. She finally resolved to make herself more comfortable, pulling off the one-piece suit she wore, leaving her in her underwear, the cool atmosphere pleasing her. She was content in this hidden freedom, flopping down on her velvet bed.
She looked up at the ceiling, finally having a chance to process everything that had happened today. Dilandau was even more careless than she remembered, but she felt a certain joy at the boy's reaction to her. So he hadn't forgotten. Her fears were relieved. He still held that connection to her inside of him. She could still relish in his heart beat, his breathing, his warmth... This made her happy. But at the first thought of Folken, all her contentment ceased.
Terrible waves of emotion formed over her. He had stayed... He had stayed... Goddamn him! The enraged words in her mind did not help spur on her anger as she had hoped. Instead it had left her unstable and on the verge of tears. It was her fault that he had stayed, her fault that he had even been introduced to the Zaibach empire. Now that she knew what was at the root of her once so easily accepted new kingdom, she hated and feared everything to do with it. Though she hated Zaibach, she loved Dilandau dearly. And she lov- Her thoughts halted before her wandering mind could completely register those feelings, guarding her from that strange emotion. No, the correct way to put it was that she did not hate Folken. He did not deserve the fate that would become all Zaibach's servants. A fate which had already become her own.
She also sneered at what image he had taken, no doubtedly to show his humility to the empire. He had grown tall, his hair shifting from a light gray to a deceptive blue hue. His smoky eyes had not changed, really, but they did appear to shift between the original color to a darker shade. He was a handsome man now, not a cute teen. And yet he held the obvious influence of Zaibach. The tattoos on his face, the blue tear and coloring at the edges of his eyes... She knew it was a sign of his shame from coming from another kingdom. The cape and attire he wore, along with the two dangling gold hoops in his ears gave him the appearance of a court jester. Persephone closed her eyes in pain and hate. He should deserve a crown, with a million loyal subjects. Not this mockery. Not this disgrace. She bit her lip, her emotions rendering her unstable. God, why did it hurt so much? Why did she have to care? She had long ago promised... Not to draw close to anyone. The ways of her heart were deceptive. It hadn't hurt this bad in the beginning, but now that there was no way out of her feelings, it burnt down on her soul like magma.
Her heavy thoughts were rudely interupted by a knocking at her door. She sat up quickly and glanced over at the closed entrance. "Come in."
Folken stepped into the dimly lit room. The lighting was a strange comfort to his restless mind, a reminder of the way Persephone preferred her environment. Folken looked at his hands momentarily as he contemplated over how to talk to her. "Lord Persephone," He said finally. "I-"
His voice choked as he saw her, standing there with little on. He averted his gaze immediately, embarrassment and guilt hitting him with unusual force. He felt heat rise into his face and hoped he wasn't blushing.
Persephone realized her appearance as he saw it too late. Despite her own growing embarrassment, a slight smile tugged at her lips as she saw him blush as he stared at the floor and shuffled his feet. She reached for a robe and pulled it over her before she spoke.
"I apologize, Lord Folken." The way she said Lord told him that she found it ridiculous between them and that he should avoid calling her by that title. He glanced up and let out a sigh of relief as he saw her covered in a robe. He groaned inwardly as he saw the ghost of an amused smile on her lips, obvious proof that she had noticed the reddening of his cheeks. "Again, I wish to convey my regrets at this uncomfortable situation." Suddenly the smile was gone, a look of unbelievable shame on her face, along with grief, as she avoided his gaze. "I have not had a lot of... privacy... among Zaibach."
Folken was too afraid to read between the lines in her words. All he felt was a sudden rage and pain at the thought of what she might mean. He repressed a shutter at the thought of her being physically abused, of her being handled. He clenched his jaw and pushed away the overwhelming thoughts.
When Persephone looked back up, she noticed a look of guilt and concern on his face. She was terrified of going into fuller detail of what her words had meant, so she spoke quickly, trying to change the subject. "So, Folken, what have you come here to speak with me about?"
He looked into her eyes from where he stood, that doubt of whether or not he should push for anymore talk about the earlier subject still hovering over him. She felt odd with his gaze so intense on her, even though he stood across the room. Finally he spoke, calmly. "You should get dressed. You have a meeting to discuss our upcoming victory over Mirama's capital." With that he turned and left her alone, grateful and disappointed that he was no longer around her.
Author's Note: I'm not sure if I will go into the whole "abuse" isue. If you think I should, give out a shout. I've purpousfully fucked up Perseph to explain why she is who she is, and I'm wondering if the abuse issue would be too much. Anyways, please give me your opinions!
GoldenEagle
Author's Note: Since I haven't seen the entire series yet, I will exclude the two cat girls from any part of my story. Atleast, those are my thoughts so far on the matter. By the way, I met a real pyromaniac the other night. I have to say, it was great! His very personality was mesmorizing. I could go into more detail, talk of some weird, demented boy, but, that's a whole story in itself. I think this is a sign that I'm becoming too close with my Dilandau charector.
Chapter Eleven
A sweet, wakening breeze blew over an awakening wilderness. The mountains rose above millions of treetops, reaching for the rising sun. And above this vision of Nature and her children floated a dark fortress, hiding among the depleting shadows of night. It had been six long years since Gaea had first felt the touch of the one from the Mystic Moon and five since that person had been seen outside the Zaibach's main training facility. She was all but forgotten, pushed into the recesses of anyone's mind who had met her. She was a ghost. Nothing but a vision of some forgotten dream. Life had gone on without her. Zaibach had grown.
Dilandau had grown, too. The body of the child he once was had been traded for an older boy. That wild insanity had enveloped his being, his eyes always holding a bit of that instability within him. It was so on this day, his legs bringing him back and forth across the metal deck of his ship. He sneered. Or, to put it better, Folken's ship. The teen still resented the older boy for rising above him. 'He should have left long ago,' Dilandau thought as he still paced. 'Besides, I was to be the Chosen! I was supposed to be the best in the empire! Instead, they gave the position to a boy from a soon-to-be enemy country. The boy isn't even fully human, him and that stupid arm!' Dilandau punched the metal wall, which only made him more enraged as the pain bolted up his arm, causing him to hold it to his chest lightly. Yet, even as he did so, a strange cackle cracked his lips. There was no reason for its being there except for the insanity that had spurred it.
He was restless, having nothing to do and all the other soldiers out in the halls, but his demented laughter was interupted as the door to this main deck swooshed open. Two tall, heavily armored men stepped into the room, large, curved swords at their sides. Due to his loss of the little momentary sanity he had, Dilandau sneered at the armed guards in strange garb. "Who the Hell are you?!" He stepped forward and rushed at them, ready to show them what Dilandau was quite well known for. Two sharp blades were instantly at his throat, and he reacted much as a frightened child much, his lips quivering, his mind wanting to call out pathetically for help. The soldiers' faces were stern, even angry. And then two small, callused hands curved around one of the guards' shoulders, voicelessly ordering them to step back. As he finally recognized the mastering figure which had stepped forward, the tears that had welled up in Dilandau's eyes in terror now became tears of joy and now remembered loneliness, spurred by his unstable personality. He choked on his words as the person drew closer to him. Finally he let them out with a smile that was so uncharacteristic for the boy and embraced the visitor.
"Sister!"
*************
"But, sir! Dilandau demanded that no one interrupt him!" One of the soldiers shouted out, desperately, afraid for his own life. He knew well enough what Dilandau might do to him if he was not completely obedient, even if this was regarding the one person on the ship with an higher order than him.
Folken merely glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes as he passed, a slightly annoyed look on his face. He turned his attention forward again, punching in the code to access Dilandau's room as he tried to take full control of the anger directed at the boy for not seeing to business. In Folken's eyes, Dilandau was still the child he had been left with five years ago to hover over and take care of. The boy was still as much of a nuisance as he had been then. But Folken had learned patience and indifference. He held no true feelings against the teenager, only a silent acceptance of the boy who was going to stay on this ship, whether he liked it or not. And even then, he held a slight, untouched on emotion of loyalty to the boy. Like an out of state nephew...
"But, sir-" Another guard stuttered as the door started to slide open. "He's with a girl." The soldier's voice came too late. He grimaced before he took in the scene even as the door closed behind his Lord, his ideas of what Dilandau was possibly doing with the woman amazingly distorted...
**************
Folken's heart fluttered and seemed to stop with a sudden jerk as he saw the girl sitting on the bed before him. The masquerade of coldness that had hidden his face perfectly for the last few years shattered instantly, his jaw dropping, his eyes going wide. He gasped and a violent shutter ran threw him even as he cursed himself for acting like the fifteen year old he had once been. Yet still he quivered, his lips shaking on their own accord. His physical condition became even worse as her eyes floated up and met his. Folken's legs almost gave out beneath him, and he suddenly realized he hadn't been breathing.
"Persephone." He thanked whatever gods that may be watching over him for atleast granting him this one bit of strength, his voice his only strong, constant position.
She was quiet for a second, her mouth drooped at the edges, an almost completely innocent and pained look in her eyes. "Folken, I-" She stopped, looking down at the teenager's head, resting in her lap. "I didn't think you would have stayed." Her voice was barely heard over Folken's own heartbeats.
As Folken gathered his emotions and forced them off his face, even stopping his trembling, he looked her over. A small frown creased his face as he looked at her troubling, physical changes. She had grown a lot in the past five years. Her body was taller, her attributes even more flattering than before. Dilandau's head was resting in her lap, her legs pulled beneath her, and her hands playing with his hair. A strange contented and peaceful smile was on his sleeping face. Yet, what Folken's own mind had called an angel was now terrifyingly opposite.
Her form was fitted with tight, black leather. The top came up like turtleneck, a half circle cut on her chest, revealing her cleavage. Folken almost blushed like a schoolboy as his eyes hovered too long on the obstacle. He regained his wits and continued his careful scrutiny. He noticed that she had obtained more scars. Some were obviously caused by blades, but some were other burns. And as he took in her face more carefully, he froze. There were the slightest signs of wrinkling around her eyes and mouth. Stress marks, he knew, which had made her older than she really was. Her once long and full, curly red hair was cut right at her ears, making it look messy and somewhat pathetic. Though she kept her eyes from his, he could still detect the gleam of something much like an embedded hatred in them. Not for him, but for something else entirely. It was this that stabbed at him the most.
"So, Persephone." He said, letting out a cough. "How long will you be visiting my ship?"
She looked up and, beyond that rage and hurt that was in her eyes, causing the hatred he had taken in so heavily, was a shimmer of hope and... His mind stumbled over the thought. Possibly, love? No, no. He was reading too much into her gaze. He hit himself mentally for his daydreaming before being interupted from his internal battle by her cold, ragged, and deeper voice. A voice he realized, with a sudden start, that had grown from the girl's of before to a woman's. "I'll be staying here for a while. Lord Dornkirk has sent me here to help with the upcoming battles."
Chapter Twelve
Persephone had left Dilandau asleep in his room and Folken to get the official arrangements of her stay straight from Lord Dornkirk's transmission. She felt lost when she had been left alone in the room that had once been hers. Everything seemed the same, besides a few updated technology installments. Persephone hadn't bothered in bringing her own things, knowing that Lord Dornkirk would provide all he believed she would need. She sighed. Weariness was already drifting into her demeanor and she often had to remind herself to bring her shoulders up from their slump. She finally resolved to make herself more comfortable, pulling off the one-piece suit she wore, leaving her in her underwear, the cool atmosphere pleasing her. She was content in this hidden freedom, flopping down on her velvet bed.
She looked up at the ceiling, finally having a chance to process everything that had happened today. Dilandau was even more careless than she remembered, but she felt a certain joy at the boy's reaction to her. So he hadn't forgotten. Her fears were relieved. He still held that connection to her inside of him. She could still relish in his heart beat, his breathing, his warmth... This made her happy. But at the first thought of Folken, all her contentment ceased.
Terrible waves of emotion formed over her. He had stayed... He had stayed... Goddamn him! The enraged words in her mind did not help spur on her anger as she had hoped. Instead it had left her unstable and on the verge of tears. It was her fault that he had stayed, her fault that he had even been introduced to the Zaibach empire. Now that she knew what was at the root of her once so easily accepted new kingdom, she hated and feared everything to do with it. Though she hated Zaibach, she loved Dilandau dearly. And she lov- Her thoughts halted before her wandering mind could completely register those feelings, guarding her from that strange emotion. No, the correct way to put it was that she did not hate Folken. He did not deserve the fate that would become all Zaibach's servants. A fate which had already become her own.
She also sneered at what image he had taken, no doubtedly to show his humility to the empire. He had grown tall, his hair shifting from a light gray to a deceptive blue hue. His smoky eyes had not changed, really, but they did appear to shift between the original color to a darker shade. He was a handsome man now, not a cute teen. And yet he held the obvious influence of Zaibach. The tattoos on his face, the blue tear and coloring at the edges of his eyes... She knew it was a sign of his shame from coming from another kingdom. The cape and attire he wore, along with the two dangling gold hoops in his ears gave him the appearance of a court jester. Persephone closed her eyes in pain and hate. He should deserve a crown, with a million loyal subjects. Not this mockery. Not this disgrace. She bit her lip, her emotions rendering her unstable. God, why did it hurt so much? Why did she have to care? She had long ago promised... Not to draw close to anyone. The ways of her heart were deceptive. It hadn't hurt this bad in the beginning, but now that there was no way out of her feelings, it burnt down on her soul like magma.
Her heavy thoughts were rudely interupted by a knocking at her door. She sat up quickly and glanced over at the closed entrance. "Come in."
Folken stepped into the dimly lit room. The lighting was a strange comfort to his restless mind, a reminder of the way Persephone preferred her environment. Folken looked at his hands momentarily as he contemplated over how to talk to her. "Lord Persephone," He said finally. "I-"
His voice choked as he saw her, standing there with little on. He averted his gaze immediately, embarrassment and guilt hitting him with unusual force. He felt heat rise into his face and hoped he wasn't blushing.
Persephone realized her appearance as he saw it too late. Despite her own growing embarrassment, a slight smile tugged at her lips as she saw him blush as he stared at the floor and shuffled his feet. She reached for a robe and pulled it over her before she spoke.
"I apologize, Lord Folken." The way she said Lord told him that she found it ridiculous between them and that he should avoid calling her by that title. He glanced up and let out a sigh of relief as he saw her covered in a robe. He groaned inwardly as he saw the ghost of an amused smile on her lips, obvious proof that she had noticed the reddening of his cheeks. "Again, I wish to convey my regrets at this uncomfortable situation." Suddenly the smile was gone, a look of unbelievable shame on her face, along with grief, as she avoided his gaze. "I have not had a lot of... privacy... among Zaibach."
Folken was too afraid to read between the lines in her words. All he felt was a sudden rage and pain at the thought of what she might mean. He repressed a shutter at the thought of her being physically abused, of her being handled. He clenched his jaw and pushed away the overwhelming thoughts.
When Persephone looked back up, she noticed a look of guilt and concern on his face. She was terrified of going into fuller detail of what her words had meant, so she spoke quickly, trying to change the subject. "So, Folken, what have you come here to speak with me about?"
He looked into her eyes from where he stood, that doubt of whether or not he should push for anymore talk about the earlier subject still hovering over him. She felt odd with his gaze so intense on her, even though he stood across the room. Finally he spoke, calmly. "You should get dressed. You have a meeting to discuss our upcoming victory over Mirama's capital." With that he turned and left her alone, grateful and disappointed that he was no longer around her.
Author's Note: I'm not sure if I will go into the whole "abuse" isue. If you think I should, give out a shout. I've purpousfully fucked up Perseph to explain why she is who she is, and I'm wondering if the abuse issue would be too much. Anyways, please give me your opinions!