A/N: Well, here's Chapter 6. The 'ghost' gives Filia an idea to help with her problem, and here is the result. I should probably mention that mistakes and cheesy lines will probably be abundant as I've written this at 1 am and it probably needs some severe proofreading. Anyway, please review! ^_^

Chapter 6 – The Promise

            What on earth was he doing? 

            He certainly had no clue, himself, and was musing this fact as he reclined on the rooftop during the late evening of that day, watching the sun disappear behind the clouds and then drift even further behind the span of the seemingly endless sea.  He'd always been one to admire nature, even though he was not exactly the type, at least in his opinion.  This didn't stop him from enjoying the laziness of a summer afternoon or the warmth of a fire during a cold winter's night.  Yes, he could enjoy those small, simple pleasures even if he didn't possess what most would consider a real body. 

            He wasn't exactly a ghost, either, though he'd done an excellent job in persuading others as such.  Of course, there were those who weren't as easily persuaded to leave him be, which was a bother, and in some respects it was turning out worse than he'd ever imagined.  Not only had he not managed to get rid of the other inhabitants of his house, but he'd just practically invited her to stay by promising to help her find a way to stay.  What was he thinking?

            He had no idea.

            He had to admit that he was surprised to see her again.  He'd never expected her to one day show up, much less move into the house that he'd made for himself to spend the rest of his days…or years…in.  She'd changed almost drastically, and in ways that he found alarming, and some that he discovered weren't all that surprising, although most of which were still annoying. That long golden mane was no longer around her shoulders but on top of her head, a simple difference that he somehow found that he didn't like.  Since when was he picky about appearances?  He shrugged to himself at that thought.

            And she was decidedly more stuffy and proper than ever…most likely thanks to the equally stuffy and suffocating British upper-class culture.  Her grandfather was definite proof of that.  He hadn't imagined that the man could be more of a tightwad control freak than he was back then…but evidently he was wrong.

            One thing that really surprised him was that Filia hadn't recognized him.  He'd thought that surely she had some memories of back then…maybe even a hint of familiarity…but nothing.  She simply regarded him as the 'ghost' instead of the 'garbage'.  He wasn't sure if he was relieved or somehow annoyed that she didn't know him.  Because she didn't have preconceived notions on how she was supposed to look at him, he had begun to believe that in some small way she accepted him.  Imagine that.  All he had to do was pretend to be dead in order to earn her approval.  Why hadn't he thought of that before?

            But at the same time it annoyed him that she really didn't know who he was or what their strange enigma of a relationship had been at one time.  He could still annoy her and bring her grief, things which he hadn't grown out of, but at the same time it didn't hold the same appeal that it once had.  He was, dare he even think it, bored with it.  Bored with her, no...never. But it just wasn't the same.

            That just wasn't right.

            He had at first thought that she'd be trouble, that she would eventually remember him and suddenly go ballistic.  Things that he didn't need; he'd been there for over two hundred years, probably longer, and was in no mind to move simply because Filia drove him out.  But it didn't take long to realize that she was reduced to a mortal's status now, and had none of her powers.  How ironic all of this was…and rather amusing.  It had not taken much for him to allow her to stay.  But it was still curious as to why she'd chosen the house.  So he'd had to ask her as such.  Indeed, her answer had satisfied him…so she hadn't been drawn to the house because of his presence.  She'd been drawn to the house because of a cleverly crafted advertisement.

            That was all he'd needed to know.  As long as she wasn't there to make life miserable for him, and he somehow doubted that if she'd remembered him, she would have begged him to live there.  She still maintained her dignity in that respect.

             And the more he'd thought about it, the more he'd realized how fun it would be to watch over his favorite bundle of nerves, one he'd missed for several long years.  Aside from the constant source of negative energy, she was ever so much fun to torment.  Even if it was growing old…there just wasn't any newness to it like there used to be.  She was still fun to drive insane, but now he had something else to consider…something that he'd finally realized was his ultimate goal in letting Filia stay there now.

            The grandfather.  If there had been anyone he'd enjoyed tormenting more than Filia, it was that old buzzard.  Oh yes.  The grandfather…or Supreme Elder, as they were one and the same…would literally boil over at the thought of Filia living in even the same vicinity as his worst enemy.  Therefore, what better reason did Filia have for staying there?  Not that she knew this, of course…but she didn't have to. 

            It was sweet, sweet revenge.  Perfect.

            All it would take would be a little persuading on his part.  Filia the golden dragon was still in there somewhere, and it would take some coaxing for her to come out, but he had every confidence in himself.  Oh sure, it was risky, but his plan was not only to keep his promise but have Filia, in truth, do it for herself.  She only needed to remember a few things…such as her immaculate skill in pottery.  Somehow, for some unknown reason, pottery and antiques were something that would never die no matter how many years passed.  People were always flocking to home-made items and goods.  Surely Filia still had that knack.  She also had made weapons back then…such as swords, hammers, mallets, not to mention that damnable mace.  He shuddered, and briefly wondered if she still had it…not that he would want her to dig it out. 

            He sighed.  This would probably turn out fairly bad, but he was willing to give it a try.  For old time's sake, perhaps?

            ***

            "Most certainly not!"

            "And why not?" he argued lazily as he leaned back against the wall, his eyes flashing with amusement.  "Haven't you ever wanted to delve into some sort of hobby other than, say, sewing?"

            "I wouldn't exactly call sewing a hobby," she replied.  "It's a necessity.  Someone has to mend mine and Val's clothes, and I don't imagine that Jacob or George would be able to attempt it without hurting themselves."

            "Well…you have a point there," he said.  "Anyway, what about pottery?  Forget weaponry for now, although I still say you'd make more money that way.  Isn't there a small shop in town that sells pottery and other things that like?  I'm sure you could sell them there."

            "I haven't the slightest idea how to make pottery, and I have no desire in getting my hands in that mucky stuff."

            "Really, and you think that digging around in the dirt is cleaner?"

            "The results are very beautiful, though, wouldn't you agree?  My garden is my pride and joy."

            He grimaced.  "That's all fine and good, but don't you think that people need something to eat out of?  Just think, if Val broke one of your dishes you could just make another one, you wouldn't have to buy more.  Who needs all that expensive china when you can make your own?"

            He could see he was beginning to wear her down, as she began to rub her chin and contemplate what he was suggesting.  He didn't really see why she was protesting against it…after all, he had promised to come up with something.  What did she want him to do, pull money out of thin air?

            "Well…how do I know I'm any good at it?" she asked.  "I don't know anything about that stuff."

            "You won't know unless you try.  Haven't you ever found pottery interesting at all?"

            She thought a moment, and then a small smile pulled at her lips.  "Yes, I suppose I have.  But of course we never had any exposure to the actual craft…my grandfather always ordered our dishes and fine china from foreign countries.  I suppose I'm just not used to this…you know, needing money and all.  I took for granted all the money I had.  How do you know this will help pay the rent?"

            "Oh it will.  You always…I mean, I've always heard that one could make a lot of money selling pottery and weaponry."

            She looked skeptical.  "Oh really?"

            "Of course.  Would I lie to you?"

            She rolled her eyes.  "I'm sure you have before."

            He could only offer her the sweetest smile he had to offer.  That didn't help either.  But she wasn't about to spend the rest of her life arguing with a ghost.  "Fine.  I'll take your word for it, since you did offer to help me stay here.  I'm counting on you."

            "Don't worry.  I'm sure you're a natural."

            ***

            Natural disaster was a more correct term for it, actually.  That next day, Filia had George and Jacob run into town to collect the supplies.  They returned that evening, and set up the table in the small empty room downstairs that she'd been considering using for storage.  It was cold and drafty in there, but it was also perfect for her to get away and concentrate because it was at the far end of the house, away from Val's room and the kitchen.  They moved her supplies in there; paintbrushes, paint, clay, the large basin of water, and towels. 

            The next morning, Filia gave George and Jacob a few extra dollars to take Val to town and keep him occupied the rest of the day.  She then changed into an old shirt and a pair of men's pants (the other reason she'd wanted no one else there...it was very embarrassing).  With a stern look set upon her face, she surveyed the small, dusty room, and told herself that it was now or never.

            Two hours later, there was wet, muddy clay everywhere.  All over the table, all over the floor, and all over herself.  It was on her clothes, and she mentally kicked herself many times for not even thinking to wear an apron.  It was in her hair, on her face, underneath her fingernails, and she was hot and sweaty, her face flushed with frustration.  All that she had managed to make thus far was a nice, lumpy blob in the middle of the table.

            With a cry of fury, she slammed her hand down on the table, managing to spray some more wet clay onto her face.  She felt tears well up in her eyes and cursed that blasted ghost.

            "Having some problems are we?"

            She did not even look up. His voice did nothing but grate on her nerves at that point.  "What do you want?  What are you doing to me?  Is this some sort of ploy to make me leave…get my hopes up and lead me along, making a fool out of me?"

            "My dear, you wound me so," he mock-whined.  "Such distrust.  No…I am not making you leave.  You know how to make pottery…you just aren't trying hard enough."

            "I don't know how to make this mud turn into something else!" she yelled, and in her anger she flung a piece at him, which he easily dodged. It splattered on the wall behind him and slid to the floor.  "I don't know where you get that I have the knowledge for this!  You don't even know me!"

            He frowned, and gave her a chilling look.  "Perhaps you're right.  No…you are right.  I merely thought it would be a good idea for you.  You see…I once knew a woman who gave up everything that she had believed was right for so long, and was left with nothing.  She took up pottery, too…having no experience in it.  She loved working with her hands, and she had the most artistic taste.  She ran her own business, you know.  I don't believe that she was successful just because she had instant talent.  She did it because she had the resolve to do it.  I thought perhaps you were the same."

            And with that, he disappeared.

            Filia felt the threatening tears finally fall over, and she buried her face in her hands.  Why did he have to be so cruel?  She took up his silly idea didn't she?  Who in their right mind would buy that sad mess on the table?  He was a fool if he thought that she was good at this. He didn't know anything. 

She sniffed. All her life she'd been made to believe she wasn't worth anything because she was a woman and because she had never been like the rest of her family.  Poor little Filia, her head always in the clouds, always coming up with the strangest ideas.  Well, this was the strangest one yet and she wasn't even the one who came up with it!

            She bit her lip.  But she'd always been that way…even though she'd eventually learned to hide it as much as she could.  She'd always been different.  Never like the others.  She'd never understood why, but she knew it was why her grandfather had always seemed to watch her the closest…and despise her the most.  For one, she'd always challenged his ideals with her own.  He had wanted her to be a deeply religious person like himself, a devout Catholic.  And while she had enjoyed church to a certain extent, and most certainly prayed and believed in a Higher Power, there were many things that her grandfather did and said that went against what the church taught.  Things that eventually drove her away from the church if only to be away from her grandfather's watchful eyes.  It had not pleased him at all to see her drift away.  Once, in a fit of rage, he had all but accused her of fornication and various other sins…none of which had been true.  It was then that she'd realized just how off he really was.  He looked for bad things in everything.  She was tired of it…and she began to try to look for the good in everything.  Again, something that went against everything he had always taught her. 

            She rubbed her eyes, her thoughts coming back to the present.  So what did making pottery have to do with her grandfather?  It didn't make any sense to her…but perhaps it did, in a way, the more she thought about it.  She'd never done anything for herself.  She'd always had things done for her; her family had been extremely wealthy, after all.  Everything had always come easy for her, and yet nothing she ever had was really hers. She would forever live under her grandfather's shadow...just like her parents. And wasn't this what she wanted?  To not have to be completely in debt to her grandfather?  If she could do this…if she could prove that she could do it on her own, and that she had talents that he didn't possess, wouldn't that show him that he couldn't control her anymore? 

            The thought of that was more thrilling than ever.

            With new resolve, she pulled out a new block of clay and began working.

            ***

            He sat in the shadows of that dark, dusty room all day, watching her as she worked long and hard, skipping lunch and even dinner, barely even noticing when George, Jacob, and Val returned.  Her hair had come loose from her bun and hung around her face, which was flushed and sweaty, her brows furrowed in concentration.  He was becoming very proud of her; it had taken several tries, but now a small jar was taking form and looking quite good. 

            He had meant to be hard on her, and did not regret it.  She would, he hoped, thank him later for pushing her.  Besides, she needed to feel as though she was making it on her own.  She resented her grandfather enough to force herself to do what she could to keep from crawling back to him, begging for money.  He knew her well enough to know that she would never do that.  And perhaps he could have come up with something else to help her, but in his opinion, this was just the thing that she needed to feel that sense of independence.  If he recalled correctly, it was just the thing that had helped the old Filia in her quest for independence.  Opening that store had been her ticket to freedom from a society that had, in her eyes, sunk almost as low as the 'enemy'.

            But that was in the past, and to a very large extent, he was glad she did not remember it.

            Finally the jar was complete, and she sat back, feeling completely drained and tired, but full of pride.  It was still a bit sloppy, but not bad compared to her first try.  And tomorrow was another day; she had considerably more confidence in herself at that point.  Sighing, she swiped a stray hair out of her eyes, and out of the corner of her eye, noticed that she was not alone.  She frowned.

            "Have you been watching me the entire time?" she asked.

            He was silent a moment before answering, "Most of the time.  I daresay this one looks a sight better than the first.  See, didn't I tell you?"

            "Whatever," she said, rolling her eyes.  "I certainly didn't do it for you.  I did it because I'll die before going back to my grandfather.  And he doesn't have any artistic talent at all."

            "I'm sure he never did."

            She giggled.  "If this works, I'm going to write him a letter.  I would pay to see the look on his face when he reads it!"

            "It will work.  My ideas always work."

            "Hmph," Filia scoffed, and then began eyeing the dried clay on her fingers.  "Goodness…it's going to take me forever to get this cleaned off.  I need a bath."  She stood to her feet, yawning and groaning when her back muscles complained from being in one position for so long.  There was an awkward silence as she suddenly felt as though she should say something to him…he had, in a big way, helped her at least gain some measure of confidence back.

            "I…I want to say…I do appreciate your help," she said quietly, suddenly finding the floor to be quite interesting. 

            "Think nothing of it," he said, looking away as well.  "I have my reasons."

            She bit her lip.  "Either way…thank you."

            His eyes met hers then, conveying much more than she could or cared to understand in those mysterious amber orbs.  "You're welcome," he whispered.

            The atmosphere was becoming much too uncomfortable for her at that point…uncomfortable in that she could think of nothing more than those eyes.  She had to get away from them as fast as possible, and so she quickly left the room, running as fast as she could to her room.  Slamming the door behind her, she brought a hand to her heart in a vain attempt to slow it down. 

            What on earth was wrong with her?  Maybe it was the effects of the long day, and the fact that she was feeling exhausted, and perhaps a bit giddy because of her accomplishment that was causing her to react in such a way.  She honestly didn't know…but her conscience was beginning to tell her something else was the cause of it.  Something she didn't want to think about.  But all she could think about was that pair of eyes that seemed to follow her everywhere.  She even saw them in her dreams, in the shadows, where they always were.  Never in the light…where she was.  And that's the way it had to be.  Light just didn't mix with darkness.  Ever.  Right?

            She sighed, and picked up her robe where it lay on the back of her chair.  She didn't need to think of this right now.  It was probably from the stress of the day…she just needed a relaxing bath, and some sleep.  She could worry about things tomorrow.

***

Oooooh looks like things are heating up! Stay tuned for the next chapter soon!