Author's Note: This fanfic is not supposed to sound like anything written by Sarah-neko. The only relation between this one and hers is that I read "Love With Its Back Turned" and decided to write my own fanfic. Okay, now for the disclaimer: I do not own Escaflowne or anything related to it. Yeah, okay, whatever.
Lance was not sure what made him nervous about the new town. First, there was the school, looming imposingly over the city like a fortress. Second… Well, it must be the school. It seemed ominous, as if as soon as he set foot in its halls he would never be seen again. Alive, anyway. He gave himself a mental shake; there goes your imagination again, he told himself. Yet, the feeling of impending doom would not leave him in peace.
Absent-mindedly tracing the long scar on his right cheek, Lance glanced up at his father. At six-two, Dylan Albatou was the tallest person he knew. On this dreary day, he had a demeanor similar to the mausoleum ahead. His pale hair seemed limp and greasy and there were dark shadows under his eyes, proof of the anxiety of the move.
His father, never very friendly on the best of days, had warned Lance not to screw up today or he would not like the results. Already bitter from the divorce and the arrest, Dylan would go over the top if provoked. Whenever that happened, it was best to stay out of arm's reach. Lance's father had the long, supple fingers of a musician, un-callused by years of metalwork. It was amazing how much damage the palms of those thin hands could do to a face. Lance had learned to take it without complaint, the best way to deal with Dylan's bizarre spasms of rage.
Stroking his face, he remembered how he had gotten his scar. In a knife fight years ago, Dylan's opponent, an arrogant ruffian from another gang, had sliced a line on the right side of his face from temple to chin. Strangely, Lance's face had borne the same mark from birth.
"Lance!" He brought himself back to the present with a start and realized his father was shaking him.
"Dad, stop it!"
"Reveries of destruction are fine normally, but I need you to be here right now. We're going in her to meet an old…acquaintance…of mine. He may be able to help us. You're fifteen and you still have to go to school."
"School is for losers, Dad. You never went to school."
"Were I'm from it's different. Anyway I think you'll enjoy the experience, seeing as you got kicked out of the last one for trying to stab a classmate."
"He made me mad," Lance said sullenly.
"You did the right thing, boy, but your principal was a blind fool. Now blind permanently," he added as an afterthought. "This school will be better for you."
Dylan put his arm around his son's shoulders in a semblance of fatherly concern, but his hand gripped Lance like a vice, belying his calm expression. Staring at the school in front of them, his lips twisted in a faint smile. How like 'Faulkner' to turn a simple building into a fortress…
Lance couldn't tell whether the huge building was made from metal or stone until her was walking through the long corridors. A boy in a blue uniform led them to an office, but Dylan looked like he had been there before. His eyes were unfocused and his lips were parted slightly, as if in a trance. When the boy bowed to them at the door of a large room, Lance's father did not seem surprised but merely waved a hand and the boy hurried off.
A chair was placed at the far end of the room, near a brightly burning fire that did not relieve the gloomy atmosphere.
"Kneel!" hissed Dylan, and Lance was forced to a crouch by the stinging blow to the back of his head. His father did not kneel but stared defiantly at the back of the chair.
"Your son kneels to me, Dylan, yet you do nothing. Have you lost your respect?" A low voice issued from the chair, a voice that both reassured and terrified him.
"It has been many years, lord, I am no longer in your service."
"Yet your son still cowers like a dog at your feet. Good sense would suggest humbleness before the one of whom you ask a favor…but that was never one of your strong points."
His father remained silent, anger burning in his odd red eyes.
"You hate it when people keep you waiting, don't you, Dylan. You have no soldiers now. Does that make you hunger for battle?"
Something was going on that Lance did not understand. Who was this man, and what soldiers?
"My son wishes to join your school."
"Does he, now…Your son, Dylan, or Serena's?"
"That's none of your business! Serena is dead."
"So he is Serena's child. I had been wondering which way you would swing."
"This is pointless. Is he in or not?" Dylan was gazing at the fire and mumbling to himself, a bad sign.
"Can he fight?"
"He was expelled for a brawl involving knives that almost killed the other boy. Of course he can fight, what kind of question is that?" He had never seen his father so angry, but he could not move away. Dylan carried a dagger in case of an "emergency," as he called it.
"Yes, of course. After all, he is your son. Very well, I will consider it. Boy, come here."
Lance jumped and got up slowly, expecting his father's boot against his neck at any moment. Allowed to get up, he walked around the chair and glimpsed the speaker for the first time. A man with grayish blue hair, about ten years older than his father, he wore a voluminous black cloak. He had strange purple tattoos on his face; a teardrop below his right eye and a hint of color at the outside corners of his eyes. The enigmatic expression on his face made Lance wary.
"He has the hair but not the eyes," the man murmured.
"Um, I'm wearing contacts, sir."
"An Albatou with glasses?"
"I don't need glasses, I just wear them. My mother didn't like my eyes, so-"
"Dylan, who is this boy's mother?"
"I remarried when he was young. The 'mother' he refers to is my second spouse, whom I have just divorced."
"Second spouse…interesting choice of words, Dylan." He turned back to Lance. "Serena's child, and yet every inch the father. I assume your eyes are red, boy?"
He hesitated, unsure of what to reply. How would his father react? "Yes, sir."
"Ah…" The man sighed, a sound like air escaping from a coffin. "Very well, we will put him on a trial period here before accepting him. Has he seen the machines before?"
Dylan started. He had not anticipated this. Damn. "My wife was around too much."
"Boy, come with me. I would like the honor of showing you something that will change your life."
As they walked through the corridors, Lance began to feel better about going to this school. As far as he could tell, most of the boys seemed to be his own age, fifteen. Swords were also in abundance, carried by many of the students. Strangely, this did not cause the violence Lance would have though; perhaps it was the presence of this man, who was even taller that Dylan when he stood up.
The group neared a door guarded by two blue-uniformed boys. Upon seeing the man in the black cloak, they moved away from the door and dropped to their knees.
"Boys, this is Lord Dylan and his son Lance. They are to be admitted at anytime."
"Yes, my lord," said the two in unison, eyes to the floor.
Dylan's gaze was fastened on the door, a feral grin on his face. He had waited fifteen years for this day. To pilot one again…to fly…
Author's Note: That was short. It seemed longer before... All of them will probably be about the same length, sorry. Okay, I realize that Lance is a dumb name for the son of Dilandau-sama; I tried to find another one but I was too used to Lance so I just left it. I appologize to Folken and Dilandau-sama for giving them such hideous names, and to the Dragonslayers also when they show up. So, what do you think of it so far? Please review! I'll write the second chapter soon, I promise. I'm horribly stuck on it and I have the third and fourth chapters written already, but it'll be up soon...