Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ The D files: Dryden's Story ❯ Age 14: Indigo (part 1) ( Chapter 5 )

Took a while to come up with a theme, but once we did, the story pretty much wrote itself.

By the way, Animejo, this story is our sequel to "Asturia" (although technically it is a prequel). I doubt we'll write more after this one.

Posted Dec 11, 2004

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"Millie, HOLD STILL!!!"

"But I'm bored. And my leg's falling asleep."

"You are the one who begged and begged to be painted."

"But it's taking so long!"

"..."

The girls' voices drifted clearly to me on the early afternoon breeze. It sounded like Indigo was getting ready to let Millerna have it. The high hedge bordering the sinuous path to the Blossom Gazebo in the Central Palace Gardens prevented me from seeing a thing, but I have been on the receiving end of Indigo's death-glares enough to know exactly what expression she was making.

However, it was Eries who spoke next. "Millie, you have to be patient. Not to mention, Indigo's putting a lot of effort into painting this picture. I know! How about I make things more fun by singing you a song?"

Reflexively, my hands clamped protectively over my ears. In my haste, I scattered my books pell mell all over the stone pathway. Fortunately, I was not a moment too soon.

Despite a collective and resounding "NO!" from the other girls, Eries burst forth into song. Various images came to mind. Fingernails on slate. Machinery in desperate need of oil and a tuneup. Tortured cats dying a long slow death.

The Second Princess of Asturia had her talents, but singing was NOT one of them.

And from the sound of it, she was purposely singing worse than usual. Millerna began wailing in protest, and soon Indigo's angry voice joined in. Even with several paces and shrubbery separating us, it made for a mind-splitting cacophony.

Fortunately, Marlene came to the rescue, cutting off Eries' performance and placating Millerna's restlessness with the offer of a fairy tale.

By the time I gathered up my scattered belongings and rounded the last bends of the winding path leading to the garden, the sisters had settled down. The sight that met my eyes was tranquil and picturesque. Butterflies fluttered and bees buzzed amongst the colorful blooms of the palace's most exquisite floral collection. Within a charming gazebo at the center of the garden were the three sisters becomingly decked out in lacy dresses. Marlene was elegance itself, seated on the gazebo bench, the low tones of her voice blending sweetly with the hum and twitter of the garden fauna. Millerna, captivated by her sister's storytelling, perched prettily next to her. Standing beside the two was Eries, smiling broadly, indulging in this rare moment of relaxation and ease. And at an easel a few paces from the gazebo with her back to me was Indigo. Her hair was coiled into a bun, and she was wearing a stained gray smock that rendered her nearly shapeless, a sharp contrast to the haute couture outfits she favored. She was working with intense concentration, plying her brush with precision and stopping every now and then to look up and squint at her subjects.It was a complete contrast to what the scene was probably like a few moments earlier.

Eries noticed me first and waved. "Hi Dryden!"

"Eries," snarled Indigo, "will you please keep still!?" Indigo whipped her head around to shoot me a dark look for good measure.

"Sorry," said Eries, once again assuming her role as statue. "What are you doing here, Dryden?"

I brandished a playbook into the air. "Uh, rehearsal? Like you said you wanted to do this today? Like now? Remember?"

Our new literature tutor was of the opinion that to fully understand the magic of Gaia's master playwrights their works had to be experienced as they were intended. In other words, he was making us do a play. Eries and I had been cast in the lead roles. Not by virtue of our theatrical abilities or our striking physical appearances (oh, good heavens, no!), but because we were the two students that had the best chance at memorizing all the lines.

I have a feeling that Master Lau was regretting his selections. Eries and I had no trouble learning our lines, but learning our roles was a completely different matter. Eries could not relate to her character at all; it was beyond her how someone would choose to write a story that revolved around such a "insipid, immoral, and idiotic" woman. If she ever came across such a person in real life, she would probably slap her and tell her to get a clue. That added to her lack of theatrical training made for an unconvincing performance. Eries' lines couldn't have been stiffer than if she had starched them. As for me, the problem was not so much getting into character as it was staying in character. The overly flowerly hyperboles and excessive emotional outbursts struck me as so ridiculously overdone as to be uproariously funny. I had yet to get through an entire scene without bursting into guffaws.

Master Lau hoped that additional practice time would set all to rights, but I seriously doubted that.

Eries slapped a hand to her head. "Ugh! I knew I forgot something!"

"STOP MOVING!" Indigo always was extra prickly when she was playing the artist.

"Sorry." Eries immediately snapped back into position. Millerna snickered to see her older sister chastised for a change.

"I'm really sorry, Dryden," Eries continued, taking care to maintain her pose. "Freid's convoy got delayed a second time so we're receiving them today instead of yesterday, so my schedule got all mixed up, and when I was rescheduling I guess I forgot about rehearsing today. I'm sorry."

Before I had a chance to respond, the princesses' governesses appeared. "Your Highnesses, it's time to go. The carriages are waiting to take you to the leviship port." Dame Clementine's unyielding tone commanded respect, and the three sisters instantly obeyed. Drill sergeants could probably take bossy lessons from that governess.

"Indigo, I'm afraid that's all the time we have for today," said Marlene, stepping out of the gazebo.

Indigo sighed. "Fine, fine. Run along, I know you have a monarch to meet," she said, waving away at them dismissively.

"Dryden,we'llpracticesoon.I'lltalktoyouafterdancepracticetomorro w.Ipromise.Okay?" Eries said breathlessly.

Dame Cora cleared her throat meaningfully. "Ladies."

Eries hurried to catch up with the rest of the group, and with a rustle and swish of skirts, the princesses and their guardians were gone.

I threw up my hands. "So much for theatrical endeavors. Well, I'll see you in dance class tomorrow, Indigo."

"Dryden, wait!" Indigo was struggling to dismantle her easel, a huge, cumbersome looking thing. "Since you obviously don't have anything else planned, why don't you be a gentleman and help me with this."

"Wish I could, Indigo, but it's Ruby and the Bazaar awaits," I said jauntily, heading for the exit.

"I'll give you a cookie. Chocolate macadamia."

My voice dripped contempt. "What do I look like, a child? Such tactics won't work on me anymore, Indigo." Rounding on her, I thrust three upraised fingers into her face. "No less than THREE cookies, plus cocoa, for my services!!!"

"Done," replied Indigo crisply. "Now, help me unscrew this."

_)_)_)_)_)_)_)_)_)_)_

As a companion and frequent visitor of the Aston children, I knew that Prince Nueva's family had rooms on the third floor of the Royal Family's residence that they used whenever they were in Palas. So I was confused when Indigo stopped me just as I was about to mount the marble stairway.

I craned my neck around the bulky wooden framework in my arms to give her a puzzled look. "Huh? But we're taking these back to your suite, right?"

"No, this all goes into my studio."

Studio?

Curious now, I followed her past guest rooms and parlors until we reached the preparation areas and storerooms of the servants' area. She finally stopped at one non-distinct wooden door just before the kitchen and opened it.

"This is--your studio?"

The room was brightly illuminated along the far wall by a row of windows. Running the entire length of an adjacent wall was a long sink with multiple faucets. Mixing pots, brushes of various shapes and sizes, tubes of paint, blocks of pigments, oils, crayons, and charcoal crowded for space on a number of wooden tables. Frames, rolls of canvas, dropcloths, and boxes were stacked in haphazard piles on the stone floor. A bookshelf crammed with drawing manuals and art books and magazines stood in a far corner. And all over the walls were paintings and drawings, dozens of them, ranging from postcard size pencil sketches to full-sized oils.

Indigo carefully set the partially finished painting of her cousins and her bag of supplies onto one of the tables. "This used to be the laundry for the residence. It hasn't been used in years so when I ran out of space in my room, I made it my own. Not bad, isn't it?" she demanded.

"Uh, yeah." I was still trying to fully take in the sight surrounding me. Though the subjects ranged from landscapes and seascapes to pictures of flowers and portraits of Indigo's friends and relatives, they were all remarkably true to life. "You made all of these?" I asked dumbfounded.

Indigo smirked. "Why yes, I did, Dryden Fassa," she said proudly.

It was no surprise to me that she was capable of such work. She and Eries were the best students in their fine arts classes. But I had always thought that Indigo, like Eries, considered arts an amusement to while away idle time. Apparently, it meant much more. "Wow, I guess you are capable of applying yourself to something, Indigo."

Indigo humphed at my half compliment, half jab at her academic performance. "Well, why don't YOU apply yourself right now by putting that easel away."

"Uh, sure," I said with a start. I had been so mesmerized by Indigo's art collection that I had been standing stock-still at the threshold. I stepped quickly into the room. "So where does this go?"

"There's a closet for my easels at the other end of the room," said Indigo, waving vaguely in the direction of the old laundry's storage closets and cabinets.

"Oh, I see." I negotiated carefully, squeezing past tables and stands of half-finished canvases. "That picture looks exactly like Haim and Trevor, by the way."

"Thank you. No... Dryden, not there, that's the broom closet, you nincompoop. The easel goes further down by the drawers."

I finally spotted the area she was talking about and headed towards it. Unfortunately, the easel got caught on a partially open cabinet door. Caught unawares, I, easel and all, went crashing to the floor.

Indigo's head shot up an alarm. "Dryden! What on Gaia are you doing?"

"It's OK! No harm done." I said, quickly disentangling myself from the wooden frame. I resisted the urge to kick the offending cabinet door shut. I reached out to close it--

--and noticed the canvas lying inside.

I blinked. It was strikingly different from all the other paintings in the room. Those pictures resembled their subjects with striking accuracy and detail. This, however, didn't resemble anything at all. Broad swatches of color streaked boldly upon the canvas. Intrigued, I pulled it out for a better look.

"You know, Dryden, your being rewarded is contingent upon you NOT breaking my stuff. So I would appreciate if you would try a little harder not to--AIEEEEEE!!!"

Indigo flew across the room more quickly than I imagined possible in her heavy skirts and smock. "Give it back! Dryden! Please! Don't look at it!"

I wasn't about to though. Holding the painting high above my head, I continued studying it. Indigo attempted to wrest the painting from my hands, but as I was much taller than her, it was child's play to keep it out of her grasp. "You know, Indigo, it's always a good idea to test out your colors before use them, but I'm surprised that you would waste so much canvas just for testing," I teased.

"Dryden, you FIEND! Give it back to me!" Indigo was on the brink of tears.

I knew better than to push this too far. I lowered my arms. Indigo snatched the painting and stomped a few paces away. Shoulders heaving, she clutched the painting tightly to her chest. She trembled with silent fury.

Lightly, I asked, "Indigo, would you like to tell me what I was looking at?"

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" she snapped.

"Oh. Well then, maybe you can tell me why your "nothing" seems to incorporate so many elements of Kerosuke Jin and A.F. Animejo's pieces."

Indigo turned around slowly. "Wh-what?"

"Of course, it lacks the texture that theirs do. But I'm assuming it was painted with regular oils, and the stuff the Daedalans use is thick enough almost to throw pottery with. But the combination of lines and colors is still dramatic."

"What-- ? How --? You know about Daedalan abstract art?" Indigo sputtered.

I sniffed indignantly. "It may surprise you to know that even though I can barely draw straight lines with a ruler, I can know about and appreciate the world of fine art. I am Cassia Fassa's son after all."

Indigo stared at me as if I had grown a second head. Moments passed as she deliberated... something. Finally she spoke.

"If you don't mind staying a little longer, I... have some other paintings. Would you take a look at them?"

]\]\]\]\]\]\]\]\]\]\]\

An hour and seven abstract pieces of art later, I was starting to feel a little lightheaded.

"What about this one?" asked Indigo, putting forth another canvas for my critique.

"Woooaah, wait, wait, wait..." I lowered my head into my hands as a wave of dizziness passed over me.

"Is it that bad?" Indigo asked anxiously.

"No, no, it's not the painting," I said, holding my head. "The paint smell is just getting to me. Honestly, I don't know how you can stand to be in here very long without passing out."

"Oh! I'm sorry! I completely forgot to open the windows." Indigo hurried to throw open the glass panels. "I usually open them right when I come in, but I didn't expect us to stay here so long, and then I completely forgot," she explained as she grasped my arm firmly to help me stagger over to a stool by an open window.

I collapsed on the seat and leaned as far as I could out the window to take in several deep draughts. The fresh air was like the breath of God himself, and I was refreshed almost instantly. My senses considerably cleared, I rested my arms on the stone sill with my head cradled upon my forearms.

"Are you all right, Dryden?" asked Indigo worriedly as she seated herself beside me upon another stool.

"Jus' fine." I smiled to reassure her. "I am surprised though. Just how long have you been painting abstracts and using nouveau techniques?"

"After Lavender died."

I immediately regretted my question. "Oh."

Two years ago her family had suffered a double loss. Lady Miriam and Lavender had died within months of each other. Lady Miriam had been overcome by complications following a miscarriage, and Lavender had been killed in a riding accident. Enough time had passed such that we could reminisce freely about our memories of Lavender, but to speak about her death... it seemed territory too sensitive to tread upon.

Indigo, however, showed no reservations about broaching that topic. "It was really difficult, you know, losing her so suddenly. With Mother, at least we had a chance to say goodbye. But with Lavender... one day, I'm wishing her a good visit with our cousins in the country, and a few days later, she's dead. Just like that. No last words. Nothing."

Indigo leaned against the window frame and stared into the afternoon sky beyond. "Eries and Marlene, they were good to me. I wouldn't have been able to hold together without them. But there were those days it seemed nothing helped and Father was like a ghost himself."

Indeed, the loss had shattered Prince Nueva. Even now, he had yet to come to terms with the deaths of his beloved wife and favorite daughter. With her father in such a state, Indigo had had to be the strong one, and she had shown remarkable resilience. In fact, she had proven so capable and mature that it was easy to forget that she was still a child.

"Things felt so overwhelming, and I just felt like I had to scream or something--let it all out or else I would burst."

"And that's when I started to paint."

She smiled wanly. "It was weird at first, painting without a subject in front of me. But still, the subject was there," she said, tapping a finger over her heart. "It helped me--let me grieve. It let me release what I couldn't say in words. And that's when I learned that there's more to art than portraits and pretty pictures and that it's possible to make the invisible visible."

"And that's when I learned that I want to be--that I am an artist."

I glanced over my shoulder at the pictures we had been poring over the last hour. "Did you mean it when you said I was the first to see your abstracts?"

"Yes," she said, lowering her dark lashes. "You know how it is. I'm a Prince's daughter. Paintings are fine as long as they're sunny and happy and fluffy. But stuff like that--" She jerked a thumb back at the direction of her artwork, "that's much too crude and vulgar for a young, impressionable lady of class to look at, let alone paint. I didn't want criticism like that holding me back when I was exploring and experimenting with how I want to express myself."

She tilted her head to look at me. "When I saw you holding my painting, I was terrified. But now I'm glad. I guess I lucked out that you understand this sort of thing."

"Well, it gets a little boring when things are too straightforward, doesn't it? Modern pieces, most of them anyway, force me to think, and I guess that's why I'm intrigued by them," I replied. "It is a shame though. You obviously put so much effort into your work, and it doesn't even get to see the light of day."

"I want to change that though," she said with a determined set to her jaw.

"Do tell?"

"When I said I wanted to become an artist, I meant that. Not just as a hobby, but to REALLY be an artist. I..." Her hand gripped the window frame until her knuckles showed white. "I'm going to go to the Floresta Art Academy and study there. I'm going to learn painting and sculpture, and I'm going to come back to the capital and make an impact in the art circles."

I let out a low whistle. Those were high aspirations, especially for a girl. In the art world, women served primarily as patronesses and inspiration. The roles of artist and critic were almost exclusively dominated by males. But there was a fire in her eyes that was unmistakable. "Wow, and all this time, I thought that your goal was to marry someone strong, handsome, and rich who will make you look good as you dominate the Palas ball scene. My apologies."

She chuckled. "Actually, that's not too far off the mark. I thought I wanted that once. But now I know what I really want."

I grinned. "Well, congratulations. I hope to be able to haggle over your masterpieces in the Art Exchange someday."

Abruptly, Indigo rounded on me. "Do you mean that?"

"Of course I do."

She raised an eyebrow. "No, Dryden. Truthfully. Do you really mean that?"

I blew my breath out in exasperation. This was how much credibility I got for tormenting her over the years. "I know I'm not always straightforward with you, but I am being straightforward now. Honestly, I. Hope. You. Succeed."

"Then will you help me?" Indigo sprang to her feet and hurried to rummage through a drawer. She returned with three packets of paper, which she set before me.

Somewhat abashed, she said, "Actually... I've already applied to the Academy twice, and was rejected both times. Will you take a look at these? They're copies of my submittals. Maybe you can tell me if I'm doing something wrong so I can fix it before I submit my next application."

I reached out for the stacks of paper. "And when is that due?"

"In three weeks."

That wasn't that much time, but she was obviously serious about this. She was certainly more persistent than I ever gave her credit for, and I had to respect her for that. Plus, it was both gratifying and refreshing to have her seeking my advice for once. "All right, let's take a look." I untied the packet strings and scanned through the forms. "Wait, who's Maya Marie Torres?" I frowned at the unfamiliar name.

"That's my alias."

"Your what?!"

Indigo made a frustrated noise. "Look, I want to get into the Academy, but I want to get in because of my own merit and not because of whose daughter I happen to be."

"Besides," she added more softly, "I don't want Father to hear anything of it until everything's in place. He'll do anything to stop me for sure." Her hands wrung the fabric of her smock. "I love him, but I'm not going to let my dreams die because he can't get on with his own life."

I nodded. "I understand."

It didn't take very long for me to skim through the applications, the main parts of which consisted of three essays and four pencil sketches. I came to my final conclusion easily.

"Well?" asked Indigo eagerly.

"Well, I think it's obvious what the problem is," I said, slamming the pages onto a tabletop. "Your sketches are just fine, but your writing stinks. Honestly, Indigo, I'd be hard pressed to believe that you have had the privilege of the best writing tutors in Asturia with a writing sample like that. See this? Your grammar is atrocious. And this essay? I don't think you ever even answered the question! And here, you make absolutely no sense that all."

Crushed, Indigo stared at the pages in silence.

"Honestly, Indigo, if you were having so much trouble writing, I'm surprised you didn't go to Eries for help. She's really good at this sort of thing, and she can keep a secret. Plus, she is your cousin after all."

Indigo shook her head emphatically. "No. I KNOW Eries, and I know that she would give me some speech about how I am royalty, and how it's better for me to use my status to promote art and struggling artists rather than being an artist myself."

She was right. "You have a point there."

"So how can we fix this?" asked Indigo helplessly.

"Well, I can tell you now that I am not writing your essays for you--"

"I never asked you to," said Indigo curtly. "I told you I wanted to get in on the basis of my own work."

"Hmmmm..." I folded my arms and leaned back in my seat to sort through my thoughts. The only option that came to mind was multiple iterations of Indigo tackling these essays and me reviewing her writing. Even with my assistance, I doubted it would be enough to result in a satisfactory product.

"Stupid, stupid, STUPID ADMISSIONS PEOPLE!" raged Indigo, pounding her fists on the table. Why do they have to have these stupid essays anyway?!"

"The Floresta Art Academy is an elite artistic institution," I explained gently, trying to get her to calm down. "They need to do this to make sure they get students of caliber that are not just skilled but have fresh ideas and creativity."

"I have ideas! I am creative! I just can't write it in an essay!" railed Indigo.

Suddenly an idea of bright as the sun flashed in my brain. "Maybe you don't have to..."

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As you can see, this is only half the story. We thought this would be a short 5000 word chpt, but we're only half done and already hit 4000 so we decided to post in sections again, esp. since our last posting was last summer. Ya, we've been out of it for a while, but when we saw Aerika S writing again (and frequently too!) we were inspired to continue with this. Hope to get the rest of the story up in a few weeks.

-RahS