Here is a chapter of decent length, I suppose...these have been getting rather short of late and I'm not sure why. Maybe I don't have much to say...

If you all will permit me to make a quick shameless plug before the story starts up again, I beseech you to consider joining an RP I'm trying to start on LiveJournal. It would be a humorous retelling of Esca from Zaibach's POV...I just like the name "Folken Fanel's Flying Circus" too much for it to go to waste. Please, please, please let me know if you're interested. No characters have been officially claimed as yet!

I don't own Escaflowne. (well, I own the DVDs, but that's not quite the same). I also don't own YouTube, where episodes 1-11 are currently available in sub. WHOEVER PUT THAT UP, I LOVE YOU! (you can't fast-forward within a scene on my dvd player...lots of homework got done waiting for the DS to show up so I could research this story. Now I just have to wait for it to load.)

Wow, that's really sad. Onto the show...

Chapter Six: Master's Orders

The next morning, Rephina bid her uncle and cousin a not-so-fond farewell, watched the merchant caravan until its propellers were a mere speck on the horizon, then went back to her flat and crashed onto the bed. She remained there for a full three hours, escaping temporarily from the guilt and shame biting her, but life had to go on. If these hours, these days, were bought at the price of Ryuon's future, she had to make them worthwhile.

Trying to assuage herself, she opened up Paxton's shop in the hopes she could generate at least a paltry profit for him in his absence. Really, she didn't know which was stranger—Ryuon's insistence that he go in her place or Paxton's acceptance of the switch. Ryuon lacked both training and experience; the hated note had implied both would be needed for this trip. Really, what was so stressful about Fanelia? True, the relative absence of an aristocracy proper like those found in countries like Asturia put a strain on business, but there were plenty of knights in the king (or regent's or whoever) employ with some semblance of disposable income. The country wasn't rolling in gold, to be sure, but it could hardly be called "destitute." A pity it was so small, though. You could tour the civilized part of Fanelia in a day—less if you walked first. Rephina knew. She'd done it in eight hours.

But there were also the villages of beast-men to tour...they liked the novelty of the exotic items, even if not many had money to spare...

Jeture, was she going to ponder Fanelian logistics all day?

"You're pathetic," she informed herself aloud.

"That hurt. Here I was imagining myself a hero," said Kagero, stepping into the shop and pulling the door shut behind him. "Hi, Reph. No need to gape or scold. My presence here is perfectly legal—sanctioned, even. Where's Ryuon?"

"He just left," she informed him ruefully. Gods, he looked good. A few weeks of training under Dilandau and already he carried himself differently. Shoulders thrown back, backbone straight—and flaunting spotless blue armor instead of the usual footsoldier grey. He looked like he could take on a dragon and win.

Then again, this was Kagero. He might just have been trying to make an impressive entrance.

"So what does bring you here, anyway? I doubt Dilandau would send Ryuon someone as backup in case the Fanelians got unruly." Rephina tried to sound lighthearted but, listening, didn't believe herself. And neither did Kagero; pulling a chair over from a furniture display, he sat at the counter and leaned on his elbow. "Let's not joke about this if you don't mean it," he said. "Why did you ask him to do it?"

She stiffened. "I didn't. Uncle Paxton made me mad. I just asked for Ryuon's help, and the next thing I know he's convinced his father that I'd be better off staying here while he went on the Fanelia trip. I never asked him to run away from the army for my sake. Gods, Kagero, do you think I wanted to stay if staying meant knowing every miet was one closer to his court-martial? Don't give me grief. I don't need any more."

"So if a chance to switch back happened your way, would you take it?" He stared at her over the rims of his glasses, eyes unnaturally grave. "If, say, there were a guymelef parked just outside the city whose pilot would fly you wherever you wished—would you tell him to go to Fanelia?" His voice dropped. "Would you be willing to make that sacrifice?"

"Don't be dramatic. Wasn't it you who said not to joke?" she returned softly, turning her back on him; if even she didn't know what kind of expression her face wore, she certainly didn't want Kagero seeing it. So that was how Dilandau had reacted. He'd been willing to give Ryuon one last chance to return. Her chest tightened sweetly at the thought of such nobility...but what good would chasing after Ryuon do now? They'd both, deservedly, look like complete idiots; his reputation was already good as gone anyway; and nothing guaranteed even her following him would make him return. Hopeless, really.

Why had she ever written that stupid letter? This mess was all her fault, for not freeing herself entirely, for not standing on her own—yet to plead independence from obligations regarding Ryuon seemed the basest act imaginable. Ryuon had done this for her, and that connected them, like it or not.

Restless and sensing her indecision, Kagero eased himself into a sitting position on the counter and spoke over his shoulder to her back. "I have orders to bring him back regardless, but I just thought I'd check here first to be sure he'd left and see what you wanted to do. I never actually thought you'd ask something like that from him, figured you'd be mad too. Hell, when he said you'd asked for help, I laughed. You asking for help is like Lord Dilandau showing mercy. It's never gonna happen."

"Well, both did, all right?" Rephina snapped. "I caved, and Dilandau's giving him a second chance. Next thing you know we'll prove that Draconians still exist. Now if you really want to be nice—which you're doing a really bad job of, by the way—go away. Come over for dinner; I'll have my answer then." I hope.

"Easy, easy." Sliding off the counter, Kagero backed to the door, hands up in a warding gesture. "Strike not the messenger."

"Out," she growled, turning around. Bowing slightly in acknowledgment of overstepping, he fled. Rephina cast a sidelong glance at the model Jeture still observing the world from his shelf above. "I don't know whether to thank you or desert you for that," she told it. "Did it have to be him?"

No divine revelation descended from the heavens. One of the most pathetic things she'd seen in a long time sickly observed her from the mirror. She looked awful, worse than when she'd just returned from Asturia. Now her eyes were completely dead. A walking corpse. A figure deprived of its humanity. A traitor to someone who cared about it.

"If I ever find out it was you who invented guilt," she told the Jeture statue, "I am never speaking to you again."

o0o0o0o0o0

"Gods, it's gorgeous!" Rephina shouted so Kagero could hear her within his control chamber. In front of her, the blue giant slowly rotated its limbs, violet cloak rippling in the air, checking all systems for any problems. She'd never seen a Zaibach guymelef before, and began to fully understand why pilots were among the most revered soldiers in the army—in the empire even. Its streamlined silhouette coupled with sheer hugeness commanded respect and attention. And to think that Ryuon was throwing even this away--

That settled it. She had to stop him.

"Hang on. I'm picking you up. Ready?" Amplified, Kagero's voice came drifting down to her; she stepped backwards as the machine bent one knee and lowered an arm. "Brace yourself."

For what? Rephina wondered, then screamed as something silver shot out of the arm and wrapped itself around her body. The substance congealed, effectively trapping her within up to her shoulders. Squirming, she gasped up at him, torso hammering with her heartbeat. "A more specific warning would have been nice!" she yelled at him, furious.

"This is the easiest way to make sure you don't fall," Kagero replied, standing his melef up and lifting her off the ground. "And if it makes you feel any better, I'm covered in the stuff too."

"That really makes all the difference," she drawled, still upset but calming down slightly. Thinking it over, this method of carriage made sense; she hadn't considered, when she'd accepted Kagero's offer, how two people were going to fly to Fanelia in a one-man guymelef. She just hoped whatever it was covering her wouldn't suddenly loosen.

Considering the alternative, she winced. Or tighten. Tightening would be bad too. What a horrible way to die--

"Lifting off!" The wind whooshed through her hair as Kagero launched the machine into the air with a leap, its legs folding together and head rotating downward for flight. "Comfortable?"

"For now," she hollered over the wind and the hum of machinery. "Just don't squeeze any tighter."

He laughed. "Gods, Reph, what kind of a bastard do you think I am? The crima claws can do all sorts of nasty things, but only someone truly sick would crush somebody with them."

"I guess you're right," she agreed, craning her neck for a better view of the landscape below her. So this was flying. This was what it was like to be free from even "gravity," that strange force the Emperor insisted all children be taught about. Below her, those teachings and that country were vanishing into memory; ahead of her...lay the world. And here, in the sky, she felt it was hers for the taking. Never mind that her limbs were bound. Never mind that she was speeding towards a situation that could prove embarrassing at least and incendiary at worst. For the moment, she was unencumbered. For the moment, she could fly.

Rephina promised herself on the spot that, should her military application ever be accepted, she would make it into the melef squads if it killed her.

O0o0o0o0o0

Ryuon Jetura, member of the Zaibach Army elite and communications specialist in the making, had gone into hiding. From his father.

"What's this I hear about our best merchandise walking off with a family who hardly paid half the asking price? Boy? Where are you?" In his current mood, Ryuon was sorely tempted to drop an apple on his father's round pate below him but resisted the urge, if only to remain hidden. Discovery meant not only confrontation but also having to get down from the tree in which he sat—and, as it was a near-miracle he'd been able to scale the thing in the first place, he did not look forward to climbing down. For starters, he wasn't sure he'd be able to.

Taking a bite of an apple fresh off the branch, Ryuon half-frowned at its tartness and leaned his back against the trunk. For the past day, he'd tried to learn from his father the ins and outs of haggling, of helping the customer arrive at an acceptable price, but failed spectacularly. A middle ground between obstinacy and consideration had to be firmly grasped by the skilled trader; Ryuon fluctuated between the two. Either he dug his heels in and the customer left dissatisfied or the let the villagers walk all over him. Which had been occurring with increasing frequency.

"So I'm hiding in a tree," he muttered, taking another bite and wiping juice off his chin. "How incredibly mature." In his mind's ear, he sounded like Rephina. No surprises there. He'd thought about her all day—when he wasn't thinking about the upcoming Dragonslayer trials. Soon Lord Dilandau would be testing them again, assigning each boy a position within the company. Second-in-command—small groups leaders—guardsmen—spy.

But he'd gotten over that. There would be other chances. No point in grabbing at one in which nothing else about the situation appealed. What was done, was done. He knew the risk he'd taken and accepted any possible consequences. He wasn't a child.

No, he was just up in a tree eating an apple instead of training for war because if he'd spent one more day in Dilandau Albatou's presence, the commander likely would've found Ryuon's fingers wrapped around his alabaster neck.

Fuming anew, he chomped on the apple with a vengeance. Bad enough the man had been a point of dissension between him and Rephina for which Ryuon had never properly apologized. Bad enough the only respect Dilandau ever accorded his soldiers was their mere position. Bad enough what Ryuon had taken for a warrior's spirit in the man downgraded in person to common bullying. No, the truly infuriating thing about "Lord Dilandau" was that no one else seemed to care. He could hit them, overwork them, insult them, and still they'd run to polish his armor and refill his vino. Why? Because they owed him. They were willing to overlook the abuse for the sake of their honor and their giant blue killing machines. What was so honorable about bowing to a petty tyrant? Not a damn thing.

"Soldier Baby," he reflected bitterly, turning the apple core over in his hands. "The maturity level's about right. Throw a tantrum and everyone'll come running." Standing and hefting the core, he tossed it into the forest behind him; he heard a soft "thunk" as it fell.

A shadow fell over the trees and a low hum began to fill the air. Ryuon recognized the sound after two weeks of practically hearing it in his sleep: a guymelef. An Alseides, the Dragonslayers' model. But why?

"Hang on tight!" came a voice from above, and a girlish shriek of excitement cut the air as one of the blue giants prepared its descent. Flattened against the tree trunk, Ryuon watched, confusion and interest mounting. Whoever it was—and it had sounded like Kagero—was flying with an arm out, unorthodox for the normally fairly aerodynamic design of the flight mode. Not only that, it was carrying--

A blonde ponytail waved like a flag in the wind as the guymelef touched down heavily; sharp blue eyes met his own an an incredibly familiar voice cried, "Holy Jeture, look out! He's right there!"

"What the...whoa. Ryuon, since when did the birds buy Asturian imports? Are you expanding your markets?"

Had he still been holding the apple core, he would have chucked it at both of them with all his strength. He knew why they'd come, and he hated them for it. Couldn't they just leave well enough alone? Did they really want another argument over who was going to be the martyr? Didn't they see that he couldn't go back now?

Or could they also tell that he really wanted to?

"Let me guess," he scowled, torn between lashing out and hugging his cousin, crima claw-blanket and all. "You wrote another letter."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

a/n: So he's dead wrong. The fact remains...the original plot of the story has started! At first there was much less of a focus on the dynamics between the characters and more just "here's how Rephina got a melef"...but I'm too shojo to not have fun with relationships and stuff. Things start happening in the next chapter...which also sees a return of Random Cameo Hour. We've had a drought of show leads lately...I intend to fix that. It ought to be fun.

Here's the official preview, then: In Chapter Seven, Rephina chases a thief, is saved by quite possibly the most in-shape old guy ever, and encounters someone who's affected her life more than she knows. She also gets a strange present from this man...and Uncle Paxton is actually pleased by something!

Thanks for reading so far and I hope you stay tuned. Honestly, if this weren't my story I don't know if I'd read it, so your attention is VERY MUCH appreciated. Thank you so much and see you next time!