Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Gratification of Lust ❯ Boheme ( Chapter 1 )

Gratification of Lust

Chapter One

Author's Note: AU. Spin-off of 'Want'. For more details to the plot, see that story.

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"…And we must have the white roses. They're some of Van's favourites…"

I allow the girls and the wedding talk to waft over. I slip quietly into myself. They know how to reach me if they need me. Currently, we're sitting on the private deck of an outdoor café. The deck is surrounded by dense, pseudo-exotic plants. The maître d' waits on us hand and foot. Very stylish but inanely expensive. Merle is paying.

Well-manicured fingers snap in front of my face drawing me rather unceremoniously out of my trance. Blood-red fingernails - only Yukari. Although she was not one of the original group she is still a part. I turn to face her. I arch an inquiring eyebrow. What?

"You were off in dreamland again, Schezar," she says then pauses for a drink. "Thinking about someone we might know?" She has always been one to attack. "If I didn't know better, I'd say your mind was on a certain silver-haired artist."

Both my eyebrows attempt to become part of my hairline at this. The utter absurdity of the accusation make the others burst out in gales of laughter. Soon, Yukari herself has joined the laughter. I simply smile.

What they do not know cannot hurt them. Yukari would be pleased to know that she was right. She will have to live without that satisfaction. Her fascination with Dilandau has not ebbed despite her engagement to Amano. Hitomi speaks.

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After another half of an hour of discussing whether or not to go with the duck, chicken of veal, the assembly parts ways. As we depart, I have no idea what is going to be served at the reception. Although I enjoy helping with the wedding plans, it physically aches me to sit there and assist in the crushing of his…I am unsure of its name.

My mobile rings. I had in my bag a moment ago - now which pocket? Here. Folken? Wonder what he wants. I answer.

"Folken. To what do I owe this honour?" I open the door to my car - a midnight blue Mercedes - as he begins his customary formalities. Fifteen minutes later, his purpose has been cleared. I find myself driving northeast of original destination (home, Asturia) towards Dilandau's apartment, Zaibach.

I stop at a red light that I wasn't able to beat. I need music. What was the last thing I left in my CD player? Oh, yes, Deep Forest - Boheme. Perfect. Green. GO.

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I am the speed demon himself as I swing into Dilandau's parking lot five minutes later. Zaibach isn't very far from Asturia. In the elevator, I stare out of the glass backing at the wide expanse that is Gaea City. The view is comprehensive.

Gaea, an island city, is crescent-shaped. Almost perfectly so. It is divided into five main districts - Asturia, Fanelia, Freid, Palas and Zaibach.

Directly across from this building is Fanelia. It is the centre of the city, to the south, on the inner curb of the crescent. Mainly made up of the variety of highly praised, immaculate national parks that are every Gaean's pride and joy, Fanelia is probably the hardest place to get real estate. Houses - or should I say, Manors - are few and far between. Architecture is old, dating back a few centuries. The Fanel Manor is on the very centre of the curb, the backyard opening directly onto the sea. Why Folken gave it all up, I'll never know.

Palas, on the lower tip of the crescent to the southwest of Fanelia, is small enough to be a sub-district. The towering corporate-looking buildings of the main business sector are impossible to miss. The Aston Corporation - the largest business entity on Gaea - occupies the tallest building there. And to the north of Palas, directly west of Fanelia, is Asturia, my home. A place on could easily describe as the "Fashion centre" of the city. The buildings are all high-rise. "Leaders" of fashion can be found in their penthouses, sipping champagne and wallowing in money and melodramatic self-pity - my brother included.

East of Fanelia, on the upper tip, is Fried. All industrial activities are there. Everywhere is a factory, a plant, a laboratory, an industrial unit of some kind. It's not really the kind of place people live, generally. But it's very private if you do.

And finally, to the north, straddling the upper curve is Zaibach - the artist's quarters. Arts and crafts make up a large part of Gaea's economy and are an integral part of its history. Dilandau's loft looks out onto the sea (the elevator if on the back of the building) - facing directly away from Fanelia, and the Fanel Manor.

I look up. We're passing the 9th floor. So far, the elevator has not stopped. Technically, it's the 18th floor. This particular building - all lofts - makes two floors into one. Dilandau's is, of course, on the very top. A quick mental run through of the list and I am ready. Folken owes me for this. Again.

Couldn't he find anyone but an Schezar to do his dirty work? He's a bloody Fanel.

There is a great deal of genuine surprise when Dilandau opens his door. I have been standing here, knocking on solid mahogany, as hard as my knuckle would allow, for the past five minutes.

He wasn't expecting company. I hadn't expected to find him so indisposed. Wrapped in a white sheet - only - his previous activities are obvious. There are signs written all over his person. His silver hair is unruly and tousled in such a way that suggests finger other than his have been at it. His exposed torso is covered in a thin layer of sweat. His ruby-red eyes are clouded with post-passion haze. God, I want him. We stand there, staring at each other, for who knows how long.

A rustle in the background causes me to look away and peer around him into the apartment. Still more signs of confirmation. Two half-empty wine glasses stand on the centre table. His sketchbooks are scattered and the final notes of Ravel's Bolero emanate from the speakers. Where is she?

She stands at the top of the step to his bedroom, dressed. I've never seen her before. Probably a model. Dilandau often has them although he's never produced a portrait before and probably never will. Regular sluts, they are.

Dilandau's shoulder is blocking my face from her but she knows I'm female. From the way Dilandau is standing, she knows I mean something to him. Her eyes dart away from Dilandau's back to me, to Dilandau and back again. What is she thinking? Who am I? Am I a sister? A cousin? The other woman? Or, worse yet, the girlfriend herself?

I scan her up and down. She is exactly his type: A perfect, killer figure. Long red hair, like fire, frames a delicate face. Full red lips, slightly bruised - he's been rough, are pressed together. Her big doe-eyes stare at us questioningly. To top it all off, there's her oh-so-accommodating disposition. I turn an arch an eyebrow almost imperceptibly. Still, his shoulder blocks my face. Having fun Dilandau?

He steps backwards, allowing me inside. Allowing her to see me.

"Celena," he says, "come in."

She studies me, watching my every move. How can I be okay with this? We're not related, although we do resemble. I must be someone very close to him. How do I know my way around so well? Ask him. Would I like something to drink? Yes, of course.

He turns towards the kitchen and stops. His shoulders tighten ever so slightly. He's just remembered she exists. I look at her. And she knows it. What would she like? A diet coke, as usual.

He leaves and there is silence. She does not ask. She watches me. When he returns, she realises. There is too much familiarity. We're too comfortable. We're standing too close together. He's too far away from her. We haven't even been introduced. Ten minutes later, she leaves. She knows she's probably never going to see him again.

He goes upstairs to change, leaving me to sip at my hot chocolate. He's made it perfectly, just the way I like it. I watch his form moving around his bedroom through the glass walls. He's arranged his furniture in such a way that one can only see from the waist up. I walk towards the northern wall, which is made up of huge glass windows that stretch from my hip to the roof. I stare out at the wide expanse of blue. There's only a road between this building and the sea. No wonder Dilandau bought this loft.

"Celena, what are you doing here?" Dilandau asks suddenly. I turn and am confronted by his bare chest. He is clad in a pair of black silk pyjama-pants. He's vetoed the shirt. He'll probably have a shower after I leave. What am I doing here? He's never asked me that before. Not in that tone. I'm taken aback and almost feel guilty when I realise that I have a purpose.

"Folken," I reply. "Apparently there are a few things you have that he needs." He nods and disappears into the room under his bedroom. I cannot see him. The walls of the lower floor are polished oak. He emerges bearing a box of wedding things. I arch an eyebrow. He gives me a guilty half-smile.

I place my cup on the kitchen counter. Suddenly, I realise I have no idea where Folken is. At home or at the Manor? I ask.

"At the manor," he replies. "I was planning on joining them soon. After I was finished, of course." He sips at his leftover wine. I shake my head. Normally, I would wait for him. Today though, I need to see Folken before Dilandau arrives.

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As I drive down the apple tree-lined roads of Fanelia, heading directly to the Fanel Manor, I have a little time to myself to think. Sometimes, Life can be just a bit too complicated. It is most likely a reflection of the complex web of emotions and relationships that humans weave for themselves.

Heading towards Van's house, I can easily picture Dilandau standing in the elevator, staring longingly across the city. I remember the day I first met Dilandau. Jajuka introduced us. Jajuka was, and is, the glue that holds us together.

After Father disappeared, Jajuka was a great help to Mother. When she died, he was made our (Allen and I) legal guardian. Grava, viewing Jajuka as one of his most respected partners, was allowed to Jajuka to introduce us to his daughters - Marlene, Eries and Millerna. Because of the Fanels' dealing with the Aston Corporation, Van and Folken joined our mismatched group. Finally, when I was on the verge of becoming six (August 28th), Dilandau appeared. It was his birthday (August 10th). Jajuka had legally adopted him after his parents' death - a car accident - two weeks earlier.

He had been so small and so forlorn. My little heart went out to him and never came back. Of course, being the foolhardy child that I was, I broke the ice first by grabbing his arm and pulling him off the "see the puppies". Ever since then, we've been inseparable.

Now, however, we are drifting apart. Dilandau's initial interest in Van did not emerge until we were much older. I think I first saw the signs when five years ago, when we were seventeen, when Van and Hitomi started dating. By then, I knew, of course. I knew I couldn't live without him, that I loved him with every fibre of my being and that every cell of my ached for him. A knowledge that I have to thank Yukari for.

Van and Hitomi's wedding date draws nearer and threatens to ram our group with the force of an oncoming train. There are some who are braced for impact and will not feel it as much. But I feel as though I am standing in the middle of the tracks with my foot caught. As the train moves closer, I see Dilandau turn. When it hits, he will begin to walk, and when it has finished flattening me, I will see him in the distance running. The date - having changed to the fact that they are wed - chasing him still.

Folken's Explorer -an almost black violet- is the last car parked on the driveway behind Amano's mother-of-pearl Ultima, Merle's golden-yellow Ram pick-up, Hitomi's light green Beetle, and Van's white Pajero. It's a big driveway. I park.

Van opens the door, smiling. I try to return it.

"Where's Folken?" I ask. He stand aside and allows me in. I turn and he says, "Ballroom. Sound-effects, I think." Thanks.

I storm into the ballroom where my friends are scattered. Allen smiles at me as I pass him. This is where the reception will take place. I try not to think about it. Folken sits besides the PA system, twiddling dials and running checks.

"Celena, darling," he begins. I cut him off."

"You knew he had someone there!" I spit.

"Of course I did," he replies. "And I know you like them just as much as I do."

"Which is none at all." I spin around. Where the hell did Dilandau come from?

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Author's Note: The first Chapter. I had to rewrite this from memory because my floppy disk died. I hope I didn't leave out anything I might need for the next chapter, which is already typed up. If there are any inconsistencies, please bear with me.

Thank you for reading. Please review. Appreciate it ^-~.

Disclaimer: Deep Forest owns the album "Boheme", which rocks. It is mentioned without their consent. Also, I do not, in any way, shape or form, own any part of Escaflowne. Do you think it would be rated PG-13 if I did?