Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ New Blood ❯ Arrival ( Chapter 1 )

The steady rattle of the pouring rain against the pavement was the only sound in the perpetually darkened Zaibach capital. It struck like a million tiny feet, but permeated the air as a fine mist, immediately soaking anything and anyone who set foot in it. Occasionally the wind would come howling through the midst of it all, throwing the rain against the walls and windows and sending the street rivers running askew. Nothing remained dry that dark morning, least of all the one person who dared to brave the torrent.

Fourteen year old Shesta's footsteps echoed dully as he scrambled alongside the wall, clamping a hand uselessly to his drenched blonde hair. His uniform - black leather with blue and gold highlights - was a mess. It had been completely soaked the moment he'd stepped out of the barracks two blocks back. Now it was the most annoying thing he'd ever worn.

He skittered out from beneath the line of ineffectual awnings lining the streets, ducked a cascade of water crashing off the eaves around the corner, and scrambled half-stooped across the street to the next row. The wind blew up again as he ran, whipping the rain around him. It was like a living thing, trying its hardest to keep him from reaching his destination. It took all his energy to keep from being swayed off his feet by the gusts, but he finally made it across.

What a day this is, he grumbled to himself, glaring up at the sky. A bolt of lightning raced across the clouds, trailed closely by the roar of its thunder. A wonderful time to be leaving. The thought brought a faint smile to his face, It doesn't rain on a floating fortress, and a dry place would be heaven right now… He continued his run, passing the locked and barred shops to his right and rounding the corner. Ahead he could see the wavering shape of the base where his guymelef was stationed. His new guymelef. Not one of the old worn down models that the soldiers were currently using, but one of the brand new, just-out-of-the-factory Alseides units. Shiny blue and ready to fly, perfectly fitting for a new member of Dilandau's Dragonslayers

He had to force himself not to shout with joy as the thought occurred for the hundredth time that morning. A Dragonslayer! No longer just a petty, worthless, faceless, expendable and uncared for soldier, but a Dragonslayer! He would take his orders from Emperor Dornkirk himself from now on. His position was second only to Lords Folken and Dilandau, two of the most awe-inspiring soldiers in the recent history of the Zaibach military, and the four legendary generals. To Shesta, there could be no higher honor. He would indeed be fighting for the good of his country now, just as he'd always wanted to.

It was a grand achievement, even if he was one of the last to join in on it. The Dragonslayers themselves had only been in existence for maybe about a year, but their purpose was clear enough to anyone who looked by now. They were the best of the best, chosen specially from the ranks by Dilandau and other commanders like him, Folken, and Dornkirk. They had no outwardly known mission as of yet, but it was no secret that the plans for the group were beyond anything ever imagined. Each team consisted of sixteen soldiers ready to do the impossible and come out victorious.

Shesta grinned to himself, having forgotten the rain entirely in his joy. He crashed through the last lake-sized puddle before the gates of the base, and slammed the door open with one hand.

The future was looking bright indeed.

The first thing Shesta noticed as he closed the door was that the hangar was unbelievably cold. He shivered, rubbing at his arms with his hands and watching his breath rise in a misty cloud. He could smell the rain from outside and heard a distant pattering of water from the dark corners. The guymelefs stood still and silent as gargoyles among the shadows. Shesta frowned. Normally, the hum of the heating systems and the whisper of moving air provided a comfortable background noise. Today, there was only silence.

He stepped out onto the wide catwalk running down the center of the hangar, his footsteps echoing eerily. A glance to the ceiling revealed nothing but deep shadows, solid and complete above him, the walls fading to nothingness not more than halfway up… The power's out here, too. That's not good. Thunder crackled faintly above him as he made his way slowly and carefully through the gloom. His Alseides was docked at Bay 12, right at the far end to his left and he found it in no time. Thankfully, there was only one Alseides in the whole hangar, and it stuck out like a sore thumb among the older models.

Glancing over his shoulder - a nervous habit leftover from an old fear of the dark when he was a child - he quietly ascended the stairway to the hatch, hesitating for a bit at the top to gaze up at the thirty-foot machine. It was strange. He'd been piloting guymelefs since he was tall enough to climb into the cockpit, but they never ceased to astonish him. The sheer power behind them... it always sent a bit of a chill through him. This one was no exception. Equipped to the teeth with weapons such as twin flamethrowers and the versatile liquid metal Crima Claws as well as useful new features like the flight mode and the ingenious new stealth cloak technology, the Alseides was the most dangerous guymelef on the face of the planet Gaea. Of course, they were new technology, designed only a few months earlier and still in testing phases, but the lack of malfunctions so far was amazing. The techs really put everything they had into this one... Shesta thought, laying a gloved hand on the cool metal surface.

He winced and pulled back. Not just cool. Cold. Ice cold. Once again, he scowled. Of all things, he would have thought they'd have at least kept the hangar bay's heating systems working. He snorted in disgust and turned to tap the controls for the bay doors. Light and rain flooded into the bay immediately as the hatch above slid open. Shesta ducked into the shelter of the hulking machine to avoid the downpour, slapping the control panel at the side and hopping in backwards before the hatch had even finished opening.

He'd only been in an Alseides once before, so the workings of it were still a bit strange to him. He felt his arms grasped by a dozen thin black rings, then was hefted up into the cockpit as the hatch cycled closed in his wake. The collar - used to protect him from jolts during battle and to provide data on the rest of his team as well as the Melef itself- settled into place across his shoulders as the platform he stood on came to a stop. All went silent for a moment after that, finally broken by a hissing noise as the liquid metal flooded the cockpit. It quickly filled the spaces between his body and the inner walls, lifting the collar just off of his chest. He settled back comfortably and began a methodical check of the systems.

The first glance told him that something wasn't right. He flicked his gaze down and had to blink and look again to confirm what his readings were telling him. What the hell? All systems off-line? That's not good... He twitched his finger tips anxiously, wishing suddenly that they were completely free for use. After a few quick failed attempts to initialize the transformation to flight mode, he ran a check on the energists powering the system. Immediately, the power indicator on his command screen flickered red. The cold is depleting the energy. Damn, I knew it would cause problems... He leaned back, gazing over each of the controls within reach, there's something... an emergency heating system... just enough to get it running. Where is it? He tapped at the controls with his left hand, searching for the switch he knew was there, Just need enough to power the transformation and then it's up to the levistones... simple.

Finally, he found the switch. He snapped his finger over it and turned his gaze to the energist output indicator bars in the corner of the display. Slowly but surely, the indicator began to rise.

He counted off the seconds in his head, restraining a curse as they slowly turned to minutes. Damn it… I'm going to be late… Nice way to start things off. I'm gonna thrash the person who let the heating system shut down on such a cold day. He tapped the side of his head impatiently on the side of the collar, gritting his back teeth as he watched the indicator rise slowly. So irritatingly slowly. C'mon, c'mon… He shifted uncomfortably as it rose to 80%, Almost…

85% So close...

90% He let out a growl of frustration as it stalled for a moment...

95% Ha. There we go...

Finally, the indicator beeped an alert as it topped out at 100%. He grinned and curled his fingers around the controls, inwardly cheering as he turned off the heating system and punched the flight mode key. With a lurch, the guymelef transformed around him and in less than a second, he was tapping the controls and maneuvering expertly through the rain above the base, heading for the dark shape of the monstrous floating fortress anchored above. He gazed out as the ground faded between the clouds, then turned back to the sky above.

He tapped the comm switch as the bay doors came into view through the rain, "This is Dragonslayer Shesta requesting permission to dock."

The voice came back in a crackle of static, "Permission granted. You're late, Sir."

"Technical difficulties. My apologies."

"Tell that to Lord Dilandau."

Shesta scowled at the hint of amusement in the other man's voice, "I intend to, soldier. Open the doors, please."

"Yes, Sir."

Shesta watched the doors slide open before him, still scowling as he directed his Alseides into its place. Dilandau will understand. I can't very well be blamed for some other yahoo who didn't do his job. Piece of cake…

As soon as his feet touched the ground in the hangar bay, Shesta broke into an all out run. He scrabbled through the nearest doorway, arms flailing for balance as his feet slipped on the slick tile floor, and proceeded down the hall as fast as his feet could carry him. He'd memorized the corridors before he'd arrived, but somehow the blueprints and the actuality didn't click quite the same way in his mind. He found himself slowing at corners and stopping altogether at forks in the road, feeling like he was running in circles even when he'd headed in a straight line. Every hallway was the same dark blue metal, marked by deep shadows and a complete absence of landmarks. He was feeling more than a little frustrated by the time he finally recognized a door and realized he'd been on the right track the whole time.

Gritting his teeth, he whirled around what had to be the millionth clone of a corner and up a set of all too familiar stairs. His foot caught on the top step and he was nearly thrown right onto his nose, but he managed to lash out with one hand and catch himself at the last second. Cursing aloud, he picked himself up again and skidded past the audience chamber door, whipping back with a screech and pounding straight through the door. He paused inside, breathing hard but trying not to show it.

Fifteen blue clad soldiers turned to look back at him in unison. Shesta froze for a second under the collective gaze, his own flickering nervously over the scene as he slowly stepped into the room. Their expressions were for the most part unreadable, but their was enough of contempt in a few of those before him to make him feel incredibly small. He pulled away from the doorframe and straightened his hair with a shaky hand before slinking into the darkness. He was stopped partway by a disapproving snort from the front of the room. He froze again, turning to meet a pair of blood red eyes set in a face that was incredibly pale. He recognized that face immediately. It was impossible not to. That dark glare belonged to none other than Dilandau Albatou, infamous commander of the Zaibach military's Dragonslayers.

And he was looking very displeased.

Shesta swallowed and skittered quickly into the room, forced to take the last spot possible: right up front. He slipped into place right between a taller boy with chin length dark brown hair and a slightly shorter one with sandy blonde hair. They said nothing and refused to cast him a single glance although their nervousness was plain enough just in the way they stood. Shesta felt no different than if he was the only person in the room aside from the commander.

For a long moment, Dilandau stood silently, arms crossed over his chest, a quiet smile of his face that failed miserably to reach the icy fire in his eyes. He seemed content for the time being just to watch the new recruit squirm, and, if so, he was getting his wish. Shesta visibly shook, unable to control it despite his best efforts. His gaze flickered repeatedly back and forth between the floor and Dilandau's face, his mind racing but going nowhere except in circles. He nervously flexed his hand into a fist and relaxed it, feeling a light sweat on his forehead.

Say something… he silently pleaded, Just say something… anything to break this…

Dilandau hummed a quiet note, his smirk broadening for a second as he abruptly strode forward. Shesta felt his heart leap in fear and immediately stiffened, having to fight the urge to run for the door. The smile was gone, replaced with a cold impassiveness that Shesta found positively bone-chilling. The air behind him was as still as death. It seemed everyone in the room was holding their breath. The two nearest him even visibly backed away, leaving him utterly on his own against one of the most feared officers in the Zaibach military.

Dilandau slowed his pace as he neared, letting each click of his boots against the floor echo maddeningly until finally the last of them rang out. Shesta's trembling was now so severe he feared more for losing his footing than for keeping it hidden. He swore that everyone in the room could hear his heart racing.

The flicker of anger in Dilandau's scarlet eyes was there only long enough to make Shesta's heart skip a beat, but not long enough for him to spot the oncoming attack. He started to cry out, lifting one foot half off the ground in a last ditch effort to escape, but too late. All he saw was a blur in the corner of his vision before Dilandau's hand connected sharply with the side of his face.

Shesta's head was snapped sharply to the side with a resounding crack, and he toppled, landing shoulder-first and narrowly missing the Dragonslayer who'd been there only a moment before. He let out an unavoidable yelp, blinking hard to keep sudden tears back. No one dared to move to help him even a bit.

Dilandau stepped away, slowly lowering his hand. The previous smile returned for a triumphant moment before he turned sharply on his heel, leaving a hurt and bewildered Shesta still sprawled across the floor. "A lesson I hope you'll learn," he called back, waving one hand dismissively over his shoulder, "I will not tolerate incompetence in my Dragonslayers."

Shesta said nothing in return, still too stunned to speak. He lifted a hand and swiped at his now throbbing cheek, only mildly surprised when his glove came back glistening with blood. He was still staring at it when a hand slipped around his arm and hauled him somewhat roughly back to his feet. Shesta shook off the arm, pausing to give a shaky nod of thanks to the sandy haired boy before stepping back into place. He could feel the trickle of blood running down the edge of his jaw, but resisted the urge to swipe it away, not wanting to evoke further unpleasantness.

Dilandau settled into his seat, perched like a gargoyle at the edge of the throne, a wicked smile across his features. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm, "Now that we're all here, and in order, it's time to get down to business. I'd like to hear your reports from the last set of tests. Gatty?"

"Yes, Sir," the sandy haired boy to Shesta's left stepped forward and clasped his hands behind his back, lifting his head and rattling off a practiced report.

Shesta let out a quiet breath of relief as the focus was finally brought off of him. He listened to the reports for a few moments, but quickly lost interest. His cheek was still throbbing although he could at least tell that the bleeding had stopped. He quickly reached up and swiped the blood away, wincing at the wave of hot pain that jolted through his jaw at the touch. It took a long time to fade when it came, and lingered faintly even when it was at its easiest to bear.

It seemed an eternity as the minutes passed. His initial shame was gone, but he still felt the need to escape. Ahead of him, Gatty finished his report and stepped back into place. Shesta dropped his gaze onto Dilandau through the tangle of his bangs, silently trying to will the commander to dismiss them. He wanted so badly to just disappear for a while. Just enough to be able to breathe…

"Very good. Thank you, Gatty. We'll continue the tests next day. I want to be absolutely certain that every flaw has been found and dealt with before we go out to the field." He turned his scarlet eyed gaze back to Shesta, "But today we have a new member. Duties will commence as usual for the rest of you, regardless, but you, Shesta, have today to settle in. Tomorrow I want you here on time and ready for your tasks. Understood?"

Shesta nodded sharply. "Yes, Sir."

"Good," He paused for a moment, then sharply turned his back, "Dismissed. All of you."

Shesta was the first to turn away, walking quickly to the door and out into the hall several seconds ahead of the others. He broke into a run as soon as he was out, heading in the direction of his quarters and feeling as though he'd just been turned loose from a wolves' den.

The others headed off their separate directions, leaving the audience chamber silent behind them. Dilandau sat quietly in the darkness, his chin resting on his knuckles and a frown on his face. A glance down at his gloves revealed dark droplets of blood on the scarlet fabric. He narrowed his eyes, letting out a slow breath before sitting back in his chair, his hand held spread before him.

Shesta, he thought, not losing the grimace, I'll have to keep an eye on that one, for sure…

Shesta lifted his foot quickly off the tile floor as a splash of water struck just where his toes had been. He ran one hand through his damp bangs and grabbed the nearby towel, trying to be careful around his newly acquired wound. It was just a small scratch; nothing that wouldn't heal within a couple of days, but it still hurt like crazy.

Finally satisfied, he turned off the faucet and walked out of the bathroom and into the main room of his quarters. The light flickered out behind him, leaving him in indigo darkness broken only by a small patch of thin cloud-shrouded sunlight from the lone window. Somehow, he found the dark more comforting than any light could be, so he turned away from the wall and headed for the rumpled lump that was his bag. It sat forlornly by the door, containing nothing of true importance to him really. A few extra sets of clothes like the plain white shirt and black pants that he currently wore, one or two books and a few small mementos of what little notable past he had. Everything else he could possibly have time to want was provided.

Still, he couldn't just leave it all in the bag.

His footsteps scuffled softly in the carpet as he dropped to a crouch, rifling through the contents of his pack with one hand. He tossed three old shirts and a second pair of pants onto a pile at his left, books to his right. Two were his old journals and one was a cookbook given to him by an old friend from the streets. He hesitated with the latter, letting an amused smile play over his features as he looked it over. It was such a silly thing for a soldier to own, indeed, but it was a sort of hobby of his. He prided himself on the fact that he was more than just another nameless killer in the Zaibach military. His talents were what reminded him that he was human after all. More than just a tool for his superiors' plans of attaining the ideal future and peace after the war. He flipped through it idly, wondering then if he'd have the time to actually try anything more in the months -possibly years- before that peace finally allow him to stop and relax. The cookbook landed atop the others before he could really ponder the point, and he found himself digging still further into the pack.

A few small trinkets were laid across the floor at his feet, some tossed and scattered, others laid carefully. He paid almost no attention to them as he dug further, however, searching for the one thing he'd had to make absolute certain that he didn't forget. His hands encountered it at the very bottom of the pack, wrapped carefully in a white cloth and cushioned by another set of shirts. He'd wanted to be sure it was in one piece the next time he saw it. Of all his possessions, this was the only one worth saving.

He drew back the corners as if the simple object within were something sacred. The cloth dropped away and he held it up in the darkness. Nothing but a simple plain white tablet, a little bigger than one of his journals, but marked with intricate black lines that he knew by heart. It was a shadowgraph, common enough on Gaea, but as precious to him as any piece of gold or work of art.

He traced his fingertip over the faces, naming them as he remembered. "Mom, Dad, Sister…" There were no names. He'd been barely three when he'd lost them all. The closest thing he had to memories were the nightmares that plagued him in the darkest of nights. Even those were made up of no more than imaginations of the stories he'd been told. They'd been killed by Zaibach soldiers while he slept. What they'd done to deserve it and why the soldiers had left him alive out of all of them, he'd never found out. He hardly wondered anymore. After all, it had been eleven years ago. Almost his entire lifetime. The past was pointless save for acting as a reminder and a lesson for the future. So he'd been told and so he'd lived. He'd become a soldier to avoid their fate, striving to be the closest to indispensable that he could be. All so that their sacrifice -if that's what it had been- wouldn't be in vain.

At least, that's what he'd always told himself.

He frowned, gazing down at the smiling faces. A million whispered thoughts fluttered through his mind at once then, and he was forced to place the tablet back out of sight. He wrapped it carefully and slipped it up onto the top of the nightstand before slowly pushing himself back to standing.

He made it barely half-way out of his crouch before the door chimed. Blinking in surprise, he turned to look. Sure enough, the thin crack of light under the door was shadowed in two places.

"Come in," he called, straightening.

The door slid open, dropping a rectangle of light across the floor, blocked partially by the visitor's shadow. It turned out to be none other than the sandy haired boy from earlier. If Shesta's memory served him correctly, his name had been Gatty.

The boy smiled and walked in, letting the door slide shut behind him, "Just thought I'd stop in and see how you were holding up," he said with a shrug. With the words barely out of his mouth, he hesitated in mid-step, his gaze taking in the entire quarters with a sweep. An amused smirk crossed his face, "You like the dark or something?"

"Oh, I'm sorry…," Shesta waved a hand in front of the sensor on the wall, immediately brightening the room, "I was just… unpacking…" He quickly pushed a few items out of the way with his foot, mostly trying to inconspicuously cover the cookbook.

Gatty rested a hand on his hip, casting Shesta a quizzical look, "In the dark?"

"I didn't feel like hitting the light. Besides, it's bright enough in here with the blinds open."

Gatty chuckled, throwing up one hand and turning back towards the door, "Okay. To each his own, I suppose. Looks like you're fine. I was a little worried about how you'd taken to Lord Dilandau."

Shesta dropped back to a crouch, gathering up some of his belongings into his arms, "Was that really necessary? It hurt. I'd think it seemed a little harsh for something so minor."

"Dragonslayers have to display nothing less than perfection, kid. You'll get it soon enough."

"My name's Shesta."

Gatty turned to lean against the doorway, "Nice to meet you. It reminds me, though, that I did have a message to relay. The rest of us are on a bit of a rest break right now. Just for a few minutes. We don't get those too often, so I was wondering if maybe you'd like to come and meet the others before we all get back down to work."

Shesta raised his eyebrows, "Dilandau's letting you guys slack off and yet he walloped me for being five minutes late?"

"I'm not complaining. It's not like this is a common occurrence, you know."

He tossed the clothes into a drawer on the nightstand, "No, I suppose I wouldn't know. Things are so different here. Not as consistent as I'm used to."

"It will be. Give it a few days. You'll get used to it."

"We'll see." The drawer slammed with a muffled thud and Shesta stepped back, "So, are we going to go, then? I wouldn't mind meeting the rest of the soldiers who are going to be watching my back in a fight."

Gatty grinned, "Sure. Let's go. We'd better hurry, though. Dilandau doesn't want us to have too much fun."

Shesta chuckled, following his comrade to the door, "I can well imagine."

"Cheers!"

Shesta gulped down a mouthful of the brilliant pink liquid, settling back in his hard-backed chair. It had a sweet sharp taste and seemed to warm him from the inside out. He'd never had anything like it before, but felt that it was something he could definitely get used to.

His fingers tapped against the glass almost of their own accord as he lifted his head, glancing up and around the room once again. Quiet conversations muddled in a jumble of sound from every corner. All fifteen of the Dragonslayers were settled in chairs around the three separate tables provided in what passed for a lounge. Shesta had joined the so-called 'elites' along with Gatty, but found himself still a bit of an outcast from their topics. He laughed at the jokes and threw in an occasional comment, but generally spent his time simply observing.

The room was nice enough. Someone had long ago redone the paint job, brightening the room from the usual dull blue to a cheery shade of pale yellow. Cracks and scrapes in the decor still showed part of the old metal in places but fortunately it was mostly hidden by the usual dull lighting that littered the corners and recesses with dark shadows. There was a distinct lack of professional comfort, but the homemade touch would do nicely for the time.

As the time drew on and the conversation drifted further into unknown territory, Shesta found his attention waning. He slouched back in his seat, feeling something like disheartened but more within the range of bored. He listened for a time to the tales -some true, before making up his mind in earnest. After a few slow sips, he finally downed the whole glass, dropping it back to the table beside Gatty's elbow and pushed back his chair.

The other Dragonslayer lifted his head from off of his arms, raising his eyebrows, "Where are you off to? Sick of us already?"

Shesta smiled, "Not quite. I just thought I'd go mingle for a bit."

"Ah," He nodded, "Have fun."

Shesta slipped quickly into the small crowd, slinking off towards the back with the hope of some comparatively alone time. An empty stool sat in one dark corner away from the others. A perfect place to watch and learn without distraction…

A sharp whistle and a wave caught his attention from the corner of his eye, freezing him in his tracks. He turned abruptly, vaguely amazed that he couldn't even cross the room without being noticed. A few feet away, a woman - not much older than himself - sat perched on the edge of a chair against the wall. She smiled and waved one hand into the air, "Hey, got a minute?"

Shesta stepped between the chairs littering his path, grabbing one at the table as he approached and dropping into it, "As long as the rest of us do. My name's Shesta, by the way."

"Mine's Alexia. Nice to meet you."

He shook the offered hand, but couldn't keep the puzzled frown from his face as he took in her features. She could pass for beautiful in the average man's opinion, a little taller than himself with curled auburn hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She didn't look much like the type of girl that usually appeared as a Dragonslayer. She didn't have the typical attitude, either. Seeing someone like her in the characteristic black and orange uniform was interesting to say the least.

She laughed quietly, "Is something the matter? You look kind of confused."

"No, no…" Shesta pulled his hand away, "It's just that… You're not a real Dragonslayer, are you? I mean… you're not…"

"Like the others? I know." She leaned back, still smiling without a hint of offence, "This is my uniform, though. I'm under Reika's command."

"Really."

"You did know that the Vionne has two Dragonslayer teams, didn't you? It's the only one in the whole fleet." One finger tapped her chin thoughtfully, "I'd be willing to bet it's why serving on this ship is considered such an honor. We're well fortified, for certain."

He grinned, "Well, you're proud enough to be a Dragonslayer. I had always heard that Reika's Dragonslayers ran rather high in that regard."

She shrugged, "Some do, some don't. Personally, I think that our commanders are prone to exaggeration." She met his gaze abruptly, "Speaking of which, I'd heard that Dilandau was giving you something of a rough time earlier today."

Shesta subconsciously lifted a hand to the bandage on his face, "Oh, that. Not much. Just got off on the wrong foot, that's all."

Her expression had gone decidedly more serious without him noticing the transition. "I'd watch it. He'll stomp on your other one if you're not careful," She glanced over her shoulder, suddenly serious, "There are a lot of people who wouldn't be so at ease in your place."

Shesta lost his smile in an instant, "I've heard the stories. If you believe that nonsense about him then I think this conversation's over. It's a matter of loyalty."

"That's not what I mean."

He scowled, crossing his arms and slouching back in the chair, "Well, then what is it?"

"I'm just saying that maybe you should be careful. Keep your eyes open. Dilandau's not known for being the best apple on the tree, if you know what I mean, and there are things he might miss. People he might misjudge. Especially now. Don't let this fool you. These aren't good times."

Shesta turned his gaze back to the table he'd left, then back to Alexia, "I don't follow you."

"You won't. Not for a while anyway…"

Shesta stared at her for a long time. She had sounded coherent enough when he'd first sat down, but this was making him wonder. "Are you sure you haven't had too much to drink? You sound like a street side prophet."

A slightly more frantic look crossed her face as she realized she was losing him, "No, really.. I was just trying to warn you…"

"…about a ridiculous conspiracy." He shook his head, sliding the chair back, "I think I've heard enough. If this is a prank, it didn't work. I'm not falling for it. Good try, though."

"No, no, wait… I just…" she reached out to grab his sleeve as he rose from the chair, missing by mere inches. He walked off without a backwards glance, rejoining his comrades as if he'd never left.

A grim frown settled over her face as she straightened back up, slipping her hand around her drink and settling back as nonchalantly as possible. A few seconds passed before she was certain that no one was watching and she could turn back to her glass with a snort. She glared into the pink liquid, swirling it against the glass before tossing the whole thing to the back of her throat and swallowing. "Stupid." She muttered, glaring at Shesta from across the room, "It's your funeral."

She dropped the glass back to the table and flicked the base of it with her finger, watching it skitter across the table and off the other side, tumbling to the floor with a crackle of breaking glass. She scowled down at the shards resting near the tip of her boot.

"See if I care."

He looked up as she approached, keeping his expression cool and collected as always. The room was nearly empty - most people wishing to avoid Dilandau's wrath when he eventually stormed in having already made their escape - and those still there were mostly the unlucky few who'd stayed up too late the night before or who'd had a bit too much to drink. He cast a look around, sighed, and went back to staring through his own still full glass.

"What's your problem?"

He looked up, seeing Alexia scowling down at him, "I could very well ask you the same thing."

She snorted, grabbing a chair and dropping into it, "It's Shesta. He wouldn't listen to me."

"Hmm. I didn't think he would. But as long as you gave him something to think about."

She paused, narrowing her eyes, "I don't understand why you wanted me to tell him that. I thought the idea was to not gather any attention."

"Not any unwanted attention, anyway. He's new, he's uncertain, and he'll be easy to manipulate once we get underway."

"That's not fair. This is supposed to be clean. How does bringing in a pawn keep it clean?"

"I'll explain it to you later. Right now, I just want you to make sure he keeps what you said in mind. Keep him on his toes, but don't let him find out more than the basics."

She sighed, "Good luck. I don't think he's going to listen to me anymore. He didn't take any of it too well."

"If you gain his trust, he will. Just keep at it, Alexia."

She sighed, "All right. I'll do my best. Just… don't hurt him. He seemed nice enough."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Don't worry."

"Good." She glanced at the clock on the wall, "I'd better get back. Reika's going to notice that I'm missing anytime now."

"Good luck."

"You, too." She rose from her seat, giving him a quick friendly smack on the back of his shoulder before jogging through the mess littering the floor, awkwardly stepping over one soldier who'd passed out right in the doorway and hopped out into the hall.

He smiled quietly, turning back to his drink, "And the pieces fall into place…"