Much of a newsish nature has transpired, so here is an update: 1. This will no longer tie into "Judecca"; I did too good of a job writing a nice tight plot for that to squeeze in a subplot thingie as a sequel to this. Instead, my NaNo will be a continuation/counterfactual hypothesis...involving Rephina and the Atlantis Machine...but I don't want to give much away. 2. My homepage has changed. Please, everyone visit and look at my shiny new LiveJournal and my pretty picture gallery. And if you've read "Judecca," take my poll. 3. I'm probably getting the Esca game! So I'll get to experience Rephina firsthand...scans and screenshots to come. 4. Someone came and took the rights to Escaflowne away from me, so I don't own it any more. JK. I never have.
That's it for the Fetchie News Tonight. On with the show...which revolves around letters, it seems...
Chapter Five: Her Savior
Dear Lord Dilandau,
I never thought I would say this, but thank you for requiring your Dragonslayers—all your Dragonslayers—to live in a separate compound. While I miss Ryuon, certain...harsh words...which passed between us made it painfully obvious that we no longer understand each other. I'm glad, then, that we were granted a respite from each other's company before our relationship was irretrievably broken. Once more, sir, I am in your debt.
Hopefully the long hours spent in your company will convince Ryuon of your true character. I am ashamed to admit he harbored certain suspicions about your intentions toward me and would not be assuaged. By now, I trust you have sorted him out. How is training going, by the way? Well, I should hope.
Speaking of training—I don't mean to complain, but it has now been several weeks since I submitted my enlistment papers and have received no reply from the army. This can hardly be normal; but they would not turn me down without even bothering to inform me, would they? If I did not fear that it would hurt my chances of acceptance even more, I would march down to that recruitment office and demand an explanation! Yet I will be patient; you did, after all, rob them of at least one desk clerk. Surely once the new people are accustomed to the post my form will be processed.
No, that rings false even on the page, and you are the one person I cannot lie to, my Lord Dilandau. Let the truth be out, then: they refuse to even look at my form, and I shall shortly be owing rent to Uncle Paxton as per our new agreement but cannot seek employment elsewhere while my military status remains unknown. I've landed myself in a hopeless mess; in eagerness to cut my ties (an act which I still cannot regret) I neglected to take care of the order in which they were sliced.
But I am certain you tire of my petty troubles. If Ryuon gives you any further trouble I shall sort him out. Send my love to him and Kagero...and, if I may be so bold, to you as well.
Ending her diary entry for the day, Rephina sucked thoughtfully on the tip of her pen and debated striking the last line. True, the real Lord Dilandau would never read these correspondences; but could she admit her feelings to even the imaginary one receiving her "letters"?
The word "love" was replaced with "regards." "Coward," she scolded herself with a cynical smile, but her mood soon evaporated and dampened. What she'd written to Dilandau was, as she'd professed, pure truth. The army hadn't responded, and she was running out of time.
"Girl, open up! I know you're in there."
Ye gods, already? No. She wouldn't let him in. If Paxton Jetura wanted to unjustly demand that she pay her rent early, he would have to break down the door first. And then pay for repairs afterwards. Sitting up a little straighter, Rephina primly clasped her hands and rested them on her knees. Should he blunder in, she was determined to remain the epitome of composure. No more flying off the handle. No more scaring army desk clerks. And no more lovesick chasing after untetherable men. Ryuon's reaction had taught her her lesson. From now on, Dilandau was going to have to come after her...not that she'd be playing very hard to get.
"Girl, don't make me talk through the...oh, hell." A fumbling noise, a scratching noise, and a sloppily folded piece of paper was shoved under her front door. "Read that. And pack extra undershirts; the valley gets cold at night." Clomping footsteps heralded his departure; she waited until they were nary a patter before serenely rising and retrieving the note. Unfolding it with the well-bred grace of royalty and rather enjoying her little charade, she calmly perused the note's contents.
Then she swore so harshly even airship sailors would have cringed.
"The NERVE of the man!" Rephina fumed, crumpling the note and dashing it to the floor, then, reconsidering, picking it up and smoothing it out to reread it. No, it was the same. The same spiteful words, scrawled messily in her uncle's tight grasping script:
Get off your pedestal in a week's time, as I need another hand for my Fanelian trading trip & can't get a replacement in time. We'll discuss your reemployment in the store after the trip—but any move to sway my opinion about taking you back on & I'll make sure no regiment ever even considers your application. I'm asking you as family, girl, and don't give a damn how you feel about that. The point of family is that they aren't chosen, but you're loyal anyway. Otherwise I wouldn't have put up with this behavior.
Have your things packed and ready to load on the caravan by this time next week. He hadn't bothered to sign it.
She couldn't go. She couldn't comply to a note like that. Her pride, dragon that it was, wouldn't allow it. Stalking over to the gas light illuminating a corner the day's hazy sunlight couldn't penetrate, Rephina fed the hateful note to the flame, then—still buoyed by rage—flung open her window and let the breeze blow back her hair. Fumes washing past her, she leaned out; the sounds of the metropolis rumbled and clanked below while the Mystic Moon hung in the smog-streaked green sky above. The oily fingerprints of Progress smudged everything, even the air, but she breathed deeply despite the smell. Where had her poise vanished to? Why couldn't she stay in control? This city—the fruit of centuries of labor under the emperor's watchful eye—was supposed to be Paradise. So how come she wasn't happy?
The note had burned to scraps and ashes, collected in the tray under the flickering blue light. She commended them to the breeze and watched the charred confetti spiral down to the pavement, then turned her glance back up to the sky. That same harsh sun beat down with more kindness upon Asturia, it seemed, than it did the empire. But hadn't it been in Asturia that all her troubles began?
"Childish, girl," she reprimanded herself. "Don't blame Fassa. Jeture knows he's got enough sins. You did this to yourself, and you'll solve it yourself."
Oh, who was she kidding? Paxton Jetura only took advice without a fee from one person on all of Gaea. Resigning herself to the noose wrapping itself around her neck, she sat wearily down at her writing desk and began penning yet another letter, this time to her cousin.
O0o0o0o0o0o0o
"Listen up, people." Dilandau paced the training arena like a prowling leopard, his Dragonslayers on their knees in perfectly symmetrical rows. Too symmetrical: one member of the fifteen-man company was absent. "I won't say this again. You aren't giving me enough so far. As a team, you work decently enough—but war is not a team sport. It's every man for himself, and while you'll always be under my orders it's your responsibility to see you don't get killed or anything else that might disgrace my name. We're going out in the guymelefs again today—but no one is allowed to open a comm link to anyone but me. I want everyone to figure out, by themselves, how to execute the maneuvers I command. Do I make myself clear?"
"But sir--" Gatti ventured despite the warning look Kagero shot his way "--what if we can't work the guymelef and we crash?"
Their commander snarled but did not lash out, probably because the offending soldier was already on the ground. "See to it that doesn't happen! If it does, you're on your own! Now. To the real purpose of this meeting." Fourteen heads snapped up in interested anticipation, then lowered hastily at a glare from their Lord. When Dilandau's back was turned, Kagero dared to push his glasses up his sweaty nose. If this was about what he thought it was...gods, what would he do?
"Kagero."
Oh Jeture, to use a Ryuon expression. "Sir?"
"Where's Ryuon?"
Kagero mumbled his reply and got a death glare in return. "Speak up!"
"Fanelia, sir. He was needed in Fanelia."
"That backwater runt of a country?...Fine. You're excused from training. You're running an errand for me—and testing a prototype of something Strategos thought up. It's already been installed in your unit. Now get ready; I need you to fetch something."
Standing, Kagero bowed. "Yes, sir. Um, where am I...?"
Dilandau grinned: the leopard baring his fangs. "Fanelia."
o0o0o0o0o0
Rephina took the clothes out of Ryuon's suitcase almost as fast as he put them in. "This wasn't what I had in mind when I asked for 'help'," she informed him angrily for the thousandth time. "A letter would have sufficed."
"I'd rather be in Fanelia at my father's mercy than out there under..." He let the name hang unspoken in the air, unwilling to start that argument again.
"So you're looking to get kicked off? What about the spy job? Ryu, you can't do this to me!" She gave up on keeping the clothes folded and started hurling them to the floor as she lifted them out. "You can't do this to yourself!"
"Why not? You get to stay home, dignity intact, military options still open and not at Father's beck and call, and I get to do some family bonding and learn a bit about the mercantile life. Then we both get to rejoin the nice, sane Zaibach footsoldiers. It's a perfectly safe tradeoff, if you ask me."
"I wanted you to convince him not to take me, not to sacrifice your career!" They'd run out of clothes, so she helped him pick shirts off the ground but wouldn't let him put them back in the bag. "I was so proud of you! Don't give all that up for me!"
Ryuon shot her an amused look. "Don't be stupid, Reph," he chided darkly, but refused to elaborate on the statement.
Sighing, Rephina tossed a shirt into the suitcase. "Fine. I'll leave you to—to pack, then. Sorry I wrinkled everything." Fists clenched in her skirts, she walked out of his room with as much poise as she could muster, back to her charade of composure. Back to imaginary letters and ideal warriors—the kind who, she was certain, would honor her feelings instead of misguidedly walking all over them.
Please believe me, my Lord, that it was never my intent for Ryuon to desert you. I understand his infraction must be treated with harshness—it is not only your unit but also the army he has temporarily deserted—but I implore you not to discharge him entirely...if he loses his position because of me, even if he doesn't care, I will never forgive myself! I suppose, though, I'm only getting what I deserve for involving him in this instead of handling it myself. Next time, things will be different.
I promise.
O0o0o0o0o0
OMG. I just realized something. I've been worried all along about Rephina being a little Sue-ish...and now I'm starting to think Ryuon is. Opinions?
When swallowing one's pride, can one choke? The answer and more when a third party gets involved in Rephina and Ryuon's Family Issues...and a rousing game of Fanelia-Fanelia-Who-Stays-In-Fanelia gets played. All in the next chapter of "White Nymph!"
