AN: We're still trucking along!

Orders (Lechter, Rean)

They'd both accepted their roles in this song and dance long ago; the fancy envelope, the formal speech, the inevitable conclusion.

Time and again Lechter would be looking into the eyes of the Ashen Chevalier, waiting for the moment where the utter exhaustion would be replaced by resolute determination – the determination to do the hard things that no one else could, odds stacked against him be damned.

He wondered sometimes if Rean ever resented him for his part in this, but even if he had… well, it wouldn't have mattered, not really.

Lechter had his orders, and so did Rean.

Cut Off (Ash/Musse)

"You lost count? Thought you were supposed to be smart, Egret."

"Don'be mean," she borderline slurs, unable to keep from slumping against him and oh yeah; she's a lost cause for tonight. "N'body likes mean people."

"Nobody likes drunk people either," he muttered, making a slashing motion to the bartender and the well-meaning but exceptionally patronizing smile he got in reply set his teeth on edge. "C'mon. We're taking off."

"… Where?"

"Back to wherever you were staying so you can sleep this off."

She hummed something unintelligible into his neck, her hand finding his jacket pocket.

Carefully, they walked.

Cliché (Dorothee, Machias, Stefan, Emma)

"How can you say that?" Dorothee demanded piteously, her eyes wide with stunned indignance.

"I-I'm sorry, but I'm holding firm. This book," Machias said, trying his best not to be put off by her reaction, "shamelessly uses virtually every cliché and archetype that the genre's already known for. It's the literary equivalent of painting by numbers."

"This is hardly a case of 'been there, done that', though. Clichés are perfectly fine if executed well, and if you carefully look at the last few chapters I think you'll see…"

xxx

"They're getting along well."

Emma beamed. "Hehe. I thought they might."

Of course (Celestin, Patrick)

He's watched over the boy since the day he was born. He'd seen him laugh and seen him cry; seen him fall only to rise again.

The fierce light that appeared in his charge's eyes at the news of Class VII's arrival, however… well, that was something new altogether.

"What shall we do?" he asked, hands gracefully clasped behind his back.

Patrick exhaled, tapping the sword at his side with a rhythm that betrayed his eagerness to step forward, to show just how much he's grown and learned.

"We go, Celestin."

He smiled.

"Of course, Master Patrick. Please, lead on."