Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Under The Same Stars ❯ 1.7 Chance Encounters (II) ( Chapter 7 )

A/N: Welcome to the second part of chapter VI, which is a draft I'm posting only to ease your curiosity, since I'm going to have zero time for writing in the upcoming days (weeks?). Troublesome chapter, hate it, must rewrite it, will rewrite it soon. Hope it doesn't disappoint you guys too much, though. 'Thank you's to everyone who took the time to read and/or review!

On with it!

 

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Part 1 : Innocence
Chapter VII : Chance Encounters (II)

 

The day had not started well, and its end was far from what he had initially planned. Not that that had been a bad thing, though. Just unexpected.

 

The red-eyed had gone back to his room, high into the night, determined to sleep off the conversation he'd overheard until it was no sooner than noon of the following day. He was having no trouble sleeping, no nightmares or any kind of dreams, and having no appointed time to wake, all had been well. Until the banging commenced.

 

Jerked out of his sleep, it took him some moments to grasp through the fog of sleep that he wasn't supposed to be awake yet and his original plan was failing. Then as the ruckus settled in, he forced himself to get up, grumbling furiously at whoever it was that dared to disturb him. His annoyance only got deeper when he opened the door to find the boss' second in command.

 

His boss was an ignorant old man, who resorted to his size to intimidate others and thus solve his problems. He was a fawning man, too old to gain anything from it other than the privilege to be loud. And loud he was, taking great pleasure from it in the process, no doubt. This was a trait that his assistant was quickly learning. The boy had no greater aspirations in life other than to become a cheap copy of his boss.

 

For a while, he pretended to listen to the speech this idiotic little man was giving him, too focused on his drooping eyelids and lingering warmth from the bed sheets to really care about what was being said. As soon as those last strands of sleep melted away, he walked out and went to town, leaving the scrawny assistant without saying a word.

 

The cries and threats of losing his job that were left in his wake had as much an effect in slowing him down, as the Mystic Moon still hanging in the sky did. He was used to there always being complaints about him, anyway, even when he did fulfil his duties, and the reason was painfully clear.

 

It was a cool spring day outside, some clouds made sure that the sky wasn't too blue nor the sun too hot. The smell of the sea was but a faint memory amid all the fragrant goods for sale on the streets and shops. Asturia was a merchant country that kept good relations with all others, and this was something anyone who had been there could attest to.

 

It was especially noticeable during the day, when people from everywhere busied themselves browsing the shops and running around full of boxes and bags. Beast-men, Egzardian soldiers, local fisherman delivering their morning catches and Basram dealers with their fine cloths and rare items were only a small sample of the crowd that could be found crossing the streets.

 

He spent the rest of the morning observing the coming and goings of these people, fascinated by how absorbed they looked in their tasks. He watched how they went in and out of their houses, sometimes catching a glimpse of the homes within; he saw the sellers grinning away to attract clientele... Everything was so simple to them. Children were playing on some corners, their mood light as they playfully teased and begrudged each other...

 

A sudden surge of rage permeated him and he decided to leave the open market streets and turn towards a shadier part of the city.

 

He hated being around people for too long, anyway, for at one point or another, he was bound to end up remembering where he'd come from. He had felt as an outsider in his own home, but had come to fully embrace that fate with time. It had become rooted in him, no longer something he was forced to be, but something he wanted to be and the only way he knew how to be.

 

Ever since he could remember, he'd been called devil or cursed on account of his eyes and his white hair. He had been born in a village surrounded by woods, too small for any of the great countries in Gaea to be interested in taking claim to it. He did not recall ever being physically mistreated in any way, simply ignored most of the time. He'd had no friends - he remembered with some shame being chased out into the woods at age five, after asking some of the older children to take part in their game. Shame for both not having been able to get back at them at that time and for wanting to join them in the first place. To his parents, he'd been a disappointment, and to everyone else, a strange little boy to be approached with caution, if ever.

 

He'd grown up without ever knowing what was friendship, so he never missed not having it. He lived by himself and for himself; that had been a resolution he'd made fairly early on. Therefore, when he left his hometown behind, he wasn't exactly leaving home, for he'd never had something worthy of that name to begin with.

 

Not that he longed for a home, or anything else for that matter. He had everything he needed, and what he didn't have, he took. He watched as others busied themselves with feelings and love and friends and called them weak fools. He was disgusted to think that those had been the things he'd been searching for in the first place when he left his village. In a bitter kind of way, he was glad none of it had come to be, for such things tied people down and deprived them of their freedom.

 

That wasn't him. He could do whatever he felt like without having to think twice. He could come and go as the tides and not miss out on anything. He was absolutely free.

 

And yet, back on the road to Asturia, only days ago, when he saw that carriage being attacked by a couple of low rated thieves, he couldn't help not helping that crying girl. Hope of finding someone who would understand him had inexplicably rekindled without his permission, only to be utterly dashed when he revealed his face. The look of horror that had struck the girl hadn't been lost to him, and it had been twice as hard to put behind after expecting the reaction to be different than the one he was accustomed to.

 

Now, he laughed in the faces of these asturians, who thought themselves to be so great and advanced, when in fact they knew nothing apart from their bargains and business. He knew so much more than they did, he was happier than them, and the blind fools, like his boss, still treated him like he should have never set foot in their city.

 

It was time to move on to somewhere else, he decided. There was nothing to be gained by staying in such a wretched place. Coming to Asturia had been his worst idea ever. Perhaps he could go to Freid or Zaibach next.

 

By the time he nicked something to eat as lunch, it was getting late, and later even when he felt like having an afternoon snack. The sun was setting and lights were randomly flickering on throughout the city. The deceiving moon was just starting to peek over the rooftops, glowing a sickly red and taking claim over the land before its sibling rose.

 

Soon he was raiding the by-streets and alleys, occasionally poking his head inside one pub or another, searching for a good place to have a proper meal. He couldn't help thinking ironically to himself how he'd never find anything “good” in those secondary alleys that even the sun's light didn't reach. He was just getting closer to one of the main arteries when a shriek made his head turn.

 

He was in the middle of a cross-roads and looking to the right, in the direction of where the scream had come, he found the last person he'd ever expected to see in such a place: Celena Schezar.

 

She was running towards him, her shoes clattering like mad in the pavement while she did her best to hold her dress up to ease her movements. Her face was one of panic, sweaty and with loose curls turned wayward. It was obvious she wasn't used to running, but so was the exceptionality of the situation, for looking behind her he could see a familiar low rated thief in pursuit.

 

His gaze returned to Celena, only to find her looking back at him. She had just caught sight of him in the dark and recognized him. She skidded to a halt beside him, both desperate and pleading.

 

“It's you!...Please, help me...” she begged between gasps. For an instant, he stared at her, mildly surprised. Then his thoughts strayed to what he'd heard her say the previous night and to what had happened that morning, and he made a decision.

 

What the hell, I might as well pretend this scum is that low-life of an assistant and exercise a bit. “Keep running straight and you'll get to one of the main avenues...”

 

“Oy you!” The thief interrupted, having caught up with the two as well. The red-eyed ignored him and continued calmly to Celena.

 

“There you'll be safe. Wait for me there.” She looked hesitant, but the knowledge that she would be useless in fighting drove her to comply with what his commanding voice asked.

 

The clatter of her high heels against stone filled the cross-roads a second time, as she ran to safety. The thief made to follow but the red-eyed slid into his path. The burly man - the same he had left unconscious in the woods when first they had met - regarded him unbelievingly.

 

“Look, kid, this isn't your business, so get out of the way and I won't have to hurt you.”

 

“Kid? Hurt me?” He laughed coldly into the evening, a broken sound that was the first indication of why the thief should be getting afraid and considering escape about now. “Not only are you slow, but also forgetful, old man.” He added, derisively. “Forgotten me so soon?”

 

Little by little, the pieces fell into place on the thief's mind and as he realised who this person was, he slowly began pacing backwards.

 

“I see you've remembered, but now, it's too late to retreat.” He, in turn, gave two steps forward for each one of the man's. His red eyes gleamed as dangerously as his sword when he unsheathed it.

 

Without further warning, he dashed forward, bringing down his sword from above his head with enough force to cut through timber. The thief could only do so much to parry the blow, placing his blade horizontally in-between themselves.

 

“Are you alone this time? What happened to your friends?” The now attacker asked, in something of sarcastic curiosity when he drew back his sword.

 

“Arrested”, the man answered simply. He had thought he would be killed without delay, from the look the other's eyes had taken after the girl left, but now he was starting to feel as if he might have a chance. “Some days afterwards, a bunch of guards found our hideout and took in everyone but me.”

 

“So now you've come to get revenge on the girl...” he contemptuously guessed.

 

“No! Well... yes. I found her here by accident and, you know... thought I might as well have some fun.” The man laughed tentatively, unsure of what was going through the other's head. All he knew was that if it came down to those eyes, he would have been dead long ago. They had to be the most menacing thing he had seen. But he gained some certainty, as the red-eyed began to smirk too.

 

“Of course.” He dropped his attack stance, and widened his smirk. The man took that as encouragement to do the same, but, to his horror, as soon as his blade had been lowered, the red-eyed slashed upwards, rapid and effectively. A gush of blood spurted forth from his chest and midsection.

 

“Now go and run to a place where I can't find you.” He concluded maliciously, temporarily more interested on the blood on the ground than the man, who was by now going back to where he'd came from as fast as he could, leaving a bloody track behind him.

 

The thief had disappeared successfully into the dark when he moved. He wiped the sword to his shirt with slow deliberate motions and was placing it back in its sheath, when a new set of footsteps broke the silence. He turned towards the source. It was Celena Schezar, of course.

 

Her eyes travelled from the blood on the ground to that on his shirt, from his sword to his eyes. “You didn't come... Are you...?”

 

Her nerves had been sent to the edge of coherency, so she was unable to formulate the entire question. “I'm fine”, he coolly assured her.

 

“Jichia... what happened?” Her affliction contrasted with his stony face, set and determined. He shook his head “no”.

 

“Let me take you back to the castle. You shouldn't be wandering through these parts of town on your own after sunset.” Grabbing her arm, he started dragging her. She was beyond resistance, the sight of blood having left her too unsettled for rational thinking.

 

They made the whole walk up to the castle gates in silence, and not once did his firm grip on her lessen. Under normal circumstances, Celena might have complained that he was hurting her or cutting off her circulation, but pain was something of minor when your whole body ached from exertion and the aftermath of adrenaline left you shaking and cold.

 

She only became aware they had reached their destination when his warmth went missing by her arm. He was walking away, leaving her by herself as he had done the first time they'd met.

 

“Your name?” She feebly asked.

 

“Dilandau.”

 

“How did you know I was staying at the castle?” Pause.

 

“Good-night.” And he left her again.