Disclaimer: The wonderful anime "Vision of Escaflowne" and all of its cast members are created and owned by Shouji Kawamori and Sunrise, Inc. If only use names and characters in the most illegal sense possible; this is, after all, a fanfic. Please don't sue me - I have no money to give you anyway! ************* "Feuerfest" by Kotetsu Part Two: Civility at the Dinner Table ************* Dilandau didn’t even bother to knock. He threw open the door and stomped across the darkened room. Folken sipped his coffee calmly. “So, how did it go?” “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!!!” “So then. It didn’t go well.” “THEY PRE-EMPTED US! THEY ESCAPED!” “But at least we got the bluewood sap safely through the pass. And those bandits probably won’t ever bother us again. You’d be amazed at the power of deterrence.” “I *HATE* BANDITS! HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE!!!!!!!” “That’s nice to know.” Dilandau kicked a table, which fell over with a crash. “I’LL KILL THEM ALL! SOMEDAY! YOU WAIT AND SEE!” “I’m sure you will.” “AND NOW I’VE GOT A DEATH-VENDETTA TO WORRY ABOUT!” “Who? The Bandits?” “THE CRAZY OLD LADY IN THE WOODS!” “Muirne de Eowyn? She’s not so old. Only a few years older than you. She just thinks and acts like she’s old.” “I’LL KILL HER!!!!!!!!!!!!!” “I don’t doubt it.” “I’LL BURN HER TO A BLOODY CRISP!” “Isn’t ‘bloody crisp’ an oxymoron? Not that I would know.” “I SAID THAT I WOULD RETURN SOMEDAY, BUT MAYBE I’LL JUST KILL HER TONIGHT!” “I think that ‘tonight’ is too soon for ‘someday.’ You ought to stick to your commitments. You’ll pick up more girls that way. Girls like guys who stick to their commitments.” “I’LL SET HER HOUSE ON FIRE, THEN I’LL SET THE WHOLE FOREST ON FIRE! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” “Are you even listening to me?” “AND THEN I’LL DANCE IN HER ASHES! MWAHAHAHAHA!!!!! MWAHAHAHAHA!!!!! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!” “Has anybody ever told you that you’re a psychobunny?” “MWAHAHAHAHA-- Huh? What did you say?” “Nothing.” Folken sipped his coffee. “I said, ‘good coffee.’ ” “Oh.” Dilandau bent down and righted the table that he had kicked over. “Any coffee left for me?” “Some, but it’s cold. By the way, if you *do* burn down the bluewood forest tonight, Dornkirk will kill you.” “Hmph.” Dilandau poured himself a cup of coffee. “What do you use that junk for, anyway?” “That’s classified information.” “Hmph. Hmph hmph.” Dilandau swallowed his coffee in a single gulp and poured himself another cup. “You know that girl? Muirne de Eowyn?” “You shouldn’t drink so much coffee. It’ll stunt your growth. Yes, I do know her. She worked for the Madoshi, for a little while. I thought you would have liked her, had you ever had the chance to know her. She was pretty crazy. We called her the Arsonist. Really, now, don’t drink so much - you really should be growing taller, I think your current height is partially the fault of a high caffeine intake.” Dilandau raised one eyebrow. “The Arsonist?” “Hmm, yes. We had her set fire to things.” “Things?” “Enemy bases. Enemy weapons. Enemy Guymelefs. She was a brilliant physicist, could burn any material known to man, and quickly, too. But there was a falling out between her and her superiors. It was political ideology, I remember that. I wasn’t involved personally, but everybody talked about it. They banished her to live in exile. She set herself up in the bluewood forest before the trees were officially protected. Under the Emperor’s orders, even *we* don’t have the authority to kick her out.” “Well, your troubles are over!” Dilandau announced dramatically. “For tonight, I will kill the de Eowyn woman!” He bowed with a flourish, then paused. “Say . . . Do you really think that I’m short?” “Not as much short as *small* . . .” “Really?” Dilandau actually sounded hurt. “It’s not too terribly noticeable.” Then Folken muttered under his breath, “But we do call you ‘shrimp- boy’ and laugh at you behind your back.” “Huh? What was that?” “Nothing. I said, ‘Your inner strength and self- assured countenance makes you appear taller than you really are.’ ” “Oh. Thank you.” Dilandau turned away from the older man and began walking back across the room. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll go . . . finish my business now.” And then he was gone. Folken sighed contentedly, relishing the sudden peaceful quiet that marked the departure of the phenomenon that he had mentally dubbed Hurricane Albatou. “But I do hope,” Folken said aloud to the silent walls, “That he doesn’t do anything brash, like burning down a forest of endangered trees. That would not bode well for his future.” “And if and when he does come back,” Folken muttered as he drained the last drop of coffee from his mug, “we’ll have to work on his communication skills.” * * * Orinda sat in front of the warm, flickering fire, eating her roast chicken and lost in thought. It had been quite an exciting day, to say the least. Inside her cozy cabin, all was peaceful, warm, and quiet. Suddenly, the quiet was interrupted by a dull thud as something fell and landed gracefully on her roof. Orinda put down her fork and pushed her chair away from the table and stood, craning her neck, following the progress of her would-be assassin as he clambered across her roof. “Probably landed his guymelef miles away, and walked here, climbing trees until he could reach my roof,” she murmured to herself. “Well, if I had known I was having company for dinner, I would have made more tea. Ah, wait, I think that I brewed more than usual today . . . Yes, I think that I have enough.” The assassin leapt off her roof and landed with a soft thud on the ground just outside her front door. “Hmmm. We must teach this boy to improve his stealth skills,” she frowned as she turned to face the door. There was a dramatic kick, and the thick wooden door burst open. “I am Dilandau Albatou and I have COME TO KILL YOU! MWAHAHAHA!” The little soldier brandished his sword. “Yes. I can see that.” Orinda yawned. “I thought that you were going to burn down my house while I slept.” “I changed my mind. OF COURSE I’m going to burn down your house, but I also wanted the pleasure of PERSONALLY beheading you before I incinerated your corpse.” “Sit down and have some chicken with me.” Both Dilandau’s sword and his jaw dropped at the same time. “Huh?” “I said, sit down and have some chicken with me. If I die, they’ll be nobody left to eat it. I fed and raised this chicken from its birth; I’d hate for it to go to waste.” The boy-captain stood in the middle of the cabin, jaw gaping. “Ch-chicken?” “Yes, chicken. Poultry. It’s good for you. Protein to build up those bones. Hopefully it’ll make you grow a bit taller. Now, don’t be rude. Please shut the door behind you. The wind from outside is cold.” “But- you- chicken- kill-- . . . . uhm . . . .” Dilandau scratched his head, struggling to overcome his shock and form a coherent sentence. Finally, his brain snapped back to its original intentions. “I HAVE COME TO KILL YOU!” he screamed as he lurched toward Orinda. “Not until you help me finish off this chicken you aren’t.” Dilandau stopped again, dropping his arms to his side and standing, limp and puzzled. “Aren’t you . . .” “Afraid? No. Hungry? Yes. Very much so.” “Er . . . chicken?” “Yes. This is chicken.” The young boy sat down warily in the chair across from Orinda. He picked up a fork and pierced the pile of meat that sat in the center of the table. Hesitantly, he brought a chunk of whit flesh to his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. “Okay. I ate some. Can I kill you now?” “No. Not yet. Help me finish up the whole bird.” “That’s . . . a lot of chicken.” “A growing boy like you needs protein.” “I’m not short.” He glared at her across the table. “Why, I never said that you were short. I just said that you were growing.” “Hmph.” He dug into the chicken again, this time angrily attacking the meat with his fork. He tore off a large chunk of breast meat and brought it to his mouth, chewing on it and growling with fury. Orinda watched him as he growled and chewed his meat. “You don’t scare me,” she told him calmly. “Why not?” “Because I know all about you. I know enough to not be scared.” “How do you know all about me?” “Because I’m a lot like you. Still am. Just in a different way.” Dilandau swallowed the last chunk of meat in his mouth. “Explain,” he ordered her. “I think that it’s fun to make people suffer. Only it’s more fun to make them squirm like little worms,” Orinda stated calmly. “I can see that.” Dilandau helped himself to a drumstick and chomped into it ferociously. “Go on,” he commanded through a mouthful of meat. “I’m an expert with fire.” “I’ve heard about that.” “I hate the Madoshi.” Dilandau paused in his chewing. “What makes you think that I hate the Madoshi?” “Well, you do, don’t you?” “But how did you know that?” “I can tell. I’m good at reading these sort of things. The way your mouth worked or your eyes flickered, every time you mentioned the Madoshi this morning.” “Yeah.” Dilandau savagely attacked the drumstick with his teeth. “I also hate you.” “Why?” “Because you embarrassed me in front of my men. You made me look like a fool.” “You are a fool,” she smiled. “But your men don’t think that. And I certainly can’t make them think that. You know that your men admire and respect you regardless, don’t you? They love you, Captain.” Dilandau gingerly placed the bone of the drumstick down on the table and lowered his head, coughing slightly. Orinda could tell that he was blushing. Dilandau coughed again. “I would like something to drink, if you don’t mind,” he growled as he whacked his fist against his chest, attempting to dislodge a chicken bone in his throat. “Of course. Right away.” Orinda stood up and scurried to the kitchen, returning with a jug of wine and a pair of glasses. She set one down in front of the boy and poured him a glassful of red wine. “I hope that you’re not too young to drink . . .” “You’re never too young for the good stuff,” the boy sighed as he gulped down the wine. “Hmmm. That’s what I needed.” “More?” “Please.” Orinda sat down after she had poured him another glassful of wine. “That’s not very wise of you,” she admonished as he gulped down the second glassful. “I could have drugged or poisoned that wine.” “But you didn’t.” “No. But I wish that I had thought of that sooner.” “You used to work for the Madoshi?” “ . . .Yes.” “You were an arsonist.” “I was THE Arsonist.” “So you burned things.” “Hmm, yes, that’s what an arsonist does.” He placed his glass down on the table, folded his slender hands together, and rested his chin on his hands. “Tell me about it. Tell me stories. About burning things.” “Well . . .” Orinda tapped her finger to her chin, thinking of a good story to tell. “There was this one time that I burned a guymelef from the inside out.” “Ahhh . . .” “It was one of my first assignments, too. They couldn’t figure out how to burn titanium alloys - er, the Madoshi, that is. Oh, sure, anybody can melt any metal with the right amount of heat and time, but the trick is to do it FAST, and to leave such a mess behind that there’s no hope of salvaging *anything* . . .” She stopped suddenly, and raised on eyebrow. “Say . . . aren’t you going to behead me?” “Hmmm? I beg your pardon?” “Aren’t you going to chop off my head and burn down my house?” “Oh, right, *that* . . . Um, not until the chicken is gone.” “The chicken IS gone. You ate it all.” Orinda gestured at the plate covered in nothing but glistening bones and skin, which had been right in front of the boy’s nose all along. “Oh,” said Dilandau, noticing the conspicuous absence of the chicken for the first time. “Well, I’m sure that murder and revenge can wait until after . . .” He trailed off, his eyes momentarily unfocusing. Then he shook his head abruptly, rubbed his temples, and yawned. “Damn! I shouldn’t have drunk so much wine after drinking coffee with Folken . . .” “If you’re too tired to kill me now, you can always come back later.” “Later?” The boy yawned, again. “No. Now. Tonight.” Suddenly he pushed back his seat and stood up. “There’s something that I want to show you.” Orinda blinked, mildly surprised (but only mildly surprised) at the way that the evening was progressing. “Really, if you’re going to kill me, I’d rather that you got it over with.” She cracked her knuckles together. “I’m ready for a fight.” “Ah, no, forget about it.” Dilandau dismissed her invitation with a tired wave of his hand. “There’s something more interesting that you could help me with.” Now it was Orinda’s turn to drop her jaw open. “Y- you’re forgetting about the death-vendetta? Just like that?!” The boy was already striding across the cabin toward the door. He turned to face her, his hands resting on his slender hips, frowning. “I might decide to follow through with the death-vendetta if you don’t follow me right now.” Orinda stood up and took a cautious step forward. “Where are we going?” “Outside.” Orinda followed. Dilandau strode across the moonlit clearing in front of Orinda’s cabin, and stopped near a large, craggy rock that had sat in the middle of the clearing for as long as Orinda could remember. The yard was dark and quiet, and deserted, with all the chickens asleep in their coop. Half-tired, half-contented, the boy plopped himself down and sat patiently on the rock, once again resting his chin in his hands. “This rock . . . do you know what it’s called?” “Bluestone. It’s the same stuff that the mountains are made of.” “The buildings in Fanelia are made of bluestone. They imported it from Zaibach centuries ago.” And then Dilandau smiled - a thin, creepy smile that sent an involuntary shiver down Orinda’s spine. “Zaibach is going to invade Fanelia. Soon. As soon as we work out all the details. But the problem is that nobody can figure out how to burn the bluestone.” “Stone is difficult to burn.” “But even stone will burn and melt under the right amount of heat and pressure.” Dilandau was playing games with her, testing her knowledge. All right. Orinda could play along. “Conventional methods - that is, flame - won’t due the trick. Chemicals are necessary to simulate the amount of heat and pressure that can normally only be found in the core of a planet.” “Such as . . .?” “Well . . . Triglyceride-oximonium, for starters. Not to mention Agent Yellow, which is something that your beloved Madoshi developed. Blue Fairy Dust, but that has a nasty tendency to kill the soldiers that handle it.” “Triglyceride-oximonium, Agent Yellow, Blue Fairy Dust . . .” the boy murmured to himself. “Yeah, I can remember that. Easy. Triglyceride-oximonium, Agent Yellow, Blue Fairy Dust.” “You taking that info back to the Madoshi?” “Back to Folken. He’s the only one of them that I can stand.” “Hmm. Tell him that a little bird told you. It’s best that they don’t know you and I ever had contact, other than this morning.” “Why is that?” Orinda ignored the question. “You look awfully tired. Are you sure that you can fly your guymelef back through the mountains?” “I’ll be fine. I’m not tired . . . But I don’t feel right. Uncomfortable, but not tired.” The boy slid off the rock and stood up. He patted his side, once, to make sure that his sword was back in its hilt - it was - and then turned to leave. Orinda waved at his retreating figure. “Come back for dinner sometime!” “I will if you tell me stories about burning things!” “It’s a date, then!” Orinda laughed at the absurdity of it, but couldn’t suppress the slight trickle of happiness that dared to worm its way through her chest. The boy waved back at her, once, then disappeared into the dark forest. * * * After Dilandau’s Alseides had docked at the Vione and the tired young captain had climbed out of its cockpit, he instantly found himself confronted with five very concerned-looking Dragonslayers. “Dilandau-sama! You didn’t . . . burn down the forest, did you?!” “Folken told us that you were going to--” “Dilandau-sama, they’ll KILL you for that!” Dilandau grinned, cocky and arrogant. “It’s all right. The trees are still there. And so is the girl.” The Dragonslayers blinked in unison. “Huh?” “Triglyceride-oximonium, Agent Yellow, and Blue Fairy Dust! Again, in unison: “What?!” “It’s our ticket to the conquest of Fanelia!” Cackling madly, and swaying slightly, the young captain passed through the gaggle of confused Dragonslayers and slowly made his way toward his quarters. The Dragonslayers watched their commander disappear down the long, dark hallway. “He’s drunk,” Migel pronounced solemnly. “And how!” “Did he kill the de Eowyn woman?” “I don’t think so . . .” “Maybe she scared him off!” “A girl scare off Dilandau-sama?! I don’t think so . . .” “Man, you haven’t heard the stories about her that I’ve heard. It’s enough to make your skin crawl.” “Wasn’t she one of *them*? The Madoshi?” “No, but she worked for them.” “They called her the Arsonist.” “They say that she threatened to kill Dornkirk, and that’s why she was exiled.” “I heard that she was exiled because she killed one of the Madoshi.” “How’d she kill him?” “Burned him alive.” A collective gasp of horror ran through the huddled Dragonslayers. “That’s not what I heard. I heard that she burned guymelefs . . .” “I heard that she’s a witch.” “No . . . There are no witches still around.” “There are female Madoshi. Maybe she found out all their dirty little secrets, and then they had her exiled.” “Why not just kill her?” As one, the five Dragonslayers furrowed their brows in thought. “Hmmm . . .” Migel spoke first. “She’s still useful to them somehow. Useful to the Madoshi.” Gatti chimed in. “Maybe she was in love with one of them, and he can’t bear to kill her.” “Eew! She seduced a *Madoshi*? Of all the un- attractive, asexual servants in the Zaibach Empire---” “Oh, surely we’re not that ugly.” The Dragonslayers jumped. “Lord Folken!” Chesta laughed nervously. “Uh, greetings, Lord Folken. Um, we didn’t see you there.” “I heard the Alseides docking. Is Dilandau back?” “Yes. Back and gone to bed.” “Already?” “Yes, sir.” “Did he . . . ?” “No, sir. We believe that both the trees and the girl are without a single scorch mark on them.” “Astounding.” Folken sighed, perhaps with relief, perhaps with consternation. “Oh, sir - I think that Dilandau has a message for you, sir,” Dalet began. “Let’s see . . . Triglyceride- oximonium, Agent Yellow, and Blue Fairy Dust. Does that make any sense, sir? He said something about Fanelia . . .” Folken regarded the Dragonslayer for a moment, mulling silently. Then his eyes widened, ever so slightly. “Of course. A perfect cocktail for burning bluestone. How on Gaea did he figure that out?” In unison, as they did so many other things, the five Dragonslayers shrugged. “Marvelous. Keep me posted. And tell the captain that I want to see him first thing in the morning. Adieu.” Folken strode back down the hallway from which he had come, a dark silent shadow among darker, more silent shadows. “ ‘Keep me posted’ . . . what did he mean by that?” Guimel pondered aloud. “Watch Dilandau, and watch him carefully.” Gatti winked. “Nothing different than what we do normally, right, boys?” “Right.” And the Dragonslayers retired to their beds. -- End Part Two --