Why go with a crossover servant? Just run over Zeltrech with your car. For extra fun, you're in Carnival Phantasm and don't know it.
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The Ontario Motorist's Guide to the Kingdom of Tristain
- Thread starter FurikoMaru
- Start date
Why go with a crossover servant? Just run over Zeltrech with your car. For extra fun, you're in Carnival Phantasm and don't know it.
Generalissimo
Generalissimo of SufficientVelocity
- Location
- Tropico, Tropico
OUR completely random speculations will blot out the sun!
I assure you that is the only reason they're of any significance.
Magdahas nothing to worry about beyond their handsomeness as a group
It's exactly as you suspect.
Xellosss/Guiche hybrid in a pirate hat who travels with a small child, a refugee from Rozen Maiden, and random tattooed big guy.
Assassins you say?
I just see a friendly band of Gallian travelers
I completely forgot adding Daphne or Amethyst into speculations!
How could we overlook this?
Although it's a bit hard to imagine them killing anybody?
Tristain's vampire black ops somehow are rather pacifistic.
(Sleep type spells for everyone!)
Pacifism and Black Ops aren't something you would usually see mixing.
That contradiction seems a little weird to live by.
Of course Furiko did kill off Karin's daughter. . .
. . . maybe they'll make a singular exception?
Better still that Magda likely isn't aware of them.
Czlyydwr Llrngwl
"Sell ya a door Learn gull," Czly/Celly for short
- Location
- Where the Beef is
- Pronouns
- Any
Even farther than the "slicked-back flatlanders from Massachusetts, stickin' their noses in evverwun's business" that the hill hermits used to complain about when I lived in New Hampshire for a while, though speaking as a member of a family that have had a constant presence in MA since the second year of the Plymouth settlement and has cousins still running a farm on a plot that was marked out before the town of Bridgewater was a thing, I have to include Massachusetts Yankees. Connecticut though is the land of insurance companies, yuppies and doctors and yuppie doctors, and wealthy retirees in common perception, even it's no more true in absolute terms than New Jersey being "The Garbage State" or any other stereotyped group generalization.
Jus' that ahs is obvious bettah'n yourn, seen wo'ss tho. I did honestly have someone quite seriously tell me that Connecticut Yankees weren't the real thing and only a Southerner like Mark Twain would have made that kind of mistake as a kid in NH, though. Think it was an "Uncle" (actually a cousin through my grandmother, or something along those lines) or one of the grumpy-grampies at the sitter's after school, who were more amused at a kid my age more interested in books than the telly. (And yes, I do use an amazing amount of British slang for someone from that situation - blame it on my mum, a direct import from there.)
WRT turbine utility versus required metals technology, I'll concede that they probably would need to be a second-stage product, after you'd already introduced some degree of mechanization and standardization at least for your own workshop/factory, and a proper steel foundry as well.
Chapter Four
I don't want to talk about the interrogation.
I don't even remember most of it; I learned late in my mother's marriage that when you hold onto the specifics of what a man says when he wants to frighten you or hurt you or provoke you into doing something stupid, all you do is give him the space in your head that he thinks he deserves.
Our conversation started out perfectly cordial, if stiff, and quickly descended into a mutual feast of the passive-aggressive sarcasm that idiots frequently mistake for cleverness.
I... lost my temper, a couple of times, but I didn't say anything incriminating. I mean, I think; in light of subsequent events I'm not sure I can say for sure one way or the other.
Though I will say, Wardes had nothing on certain US border officers of my erstwhile acquaintance – that is, he appeared to be capable of understanding the difference between 'being justifiably suspicious' and 'being overtly suspicious of literally every single thing like a psychotic cat chasing three laser-pointer-dots at once'. Also, he didn't actually rough me up physically at all. I suppose no matter how much I had messed up his plans and pissed off the power-players in Tristain, there was still a certain level of concern about where the hell I could have come from and what kind of connections I might unexpectedly have, having arrived in a personal landship.
No joke, he actually used that phrase before Colbert corrected him. I almost declared myself to be a citizen of the Empire of Melniboné right then and there.
I was surprised at how pretty he was, honestly. After all those fanfics kicking up a huge fuss about Louise being forced to marry some middle-aged skeevemeister, it was a shock to actually see the man and realize he was at most in his thirties, in a society where mages lived at least as long as people in my own country. I can see why pre-Saito Louise would be pretty happy with the match; he was fit, of an equal with her own standing, socially-prominent, a former protègé of her terrifying mother whom no one sane would ever want to piss off. The third daughter of a Duke could do much, much worse.
At the time I was too concerned with vindictively fantasizing about him never holding a prominent military position again after defecting to the Reconquista to consider his best qualities. I was still thinking in terms of real-world history, y'see; the near-universal truism that No One Likes A Traitor hadn't yet had the addendum Unless They're Square-Class tacked onto the end in my mind.
Eventually, blessedly, he sighed my favourite sigh in the whole repertoire of Difficult Conversation-sighs; the I Am Tired Of Talking About This, Let's Leave It There For Now sigh.
"Professor Colbert," he said, turning to the corner where the older man was watching the proceedings with a sour expression on his face, "I will examine the... 'car', now."
I got to my feet when Wardes did. "Thank you for giving me the opportunity to explain myself, sir. I'm sorry for your loss." If you can't conduct yourself civilly throughout a process, you can at least try to end on a mature note.
He looked back at me with a frown. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"When you were in the hallway arguing with the professor," I said, "he seemed to think you being here would present a conflict of interest. Logically, it follows that you knew Miss Vallière." I lowered my eyes. "I'm sorry if I misunderstood the situation."
He didn't move, for a moment, and I didn't want to look at his face in case he took that as me checking to see if he was buying it. Then he nodded at Colbert and left without another word.
The professor followed, but not before giving me an encouraging smile as he passed by. I tried to smile back.
After that I spent a few hours practicing with my wand, in an attempt to stave off my fear with awesomeness.
First I worked on Sparking, 'cause if your primary element is the one that melts faces, it's a good idea to improve your control of it every chance you get.
"Firebending comes from the breath," I said aloud, mildly frustrated at my scattershot efforts, and began regulating my breathing the way my mom taught me.
We really must be in dire straights for you to start quoting shows you don't even watch, I thought, and a nervous giggle messed up my rhythm for a second or two.
C'mon, channel it right.
Eventually I got the sparks to... behave themselves a little better – I think the term is 'grouping', when you're talking about firing a gun? I dunno; for two people who were in the reserves, my parents weren't huge firearm enthusiasts, so it's not like I ever had any reason to learn this stuff.
At any rate, after a solid two hours I could reliably light the candle nine times out of ten. One of the nice things about magic is that it's easy to motivate yourself to practice because you never fully lose the sheer sense of glee that comes of knowing that you are doing actual goddamn magic.
I wonder... if I improve my aim more, could I light someone's eyelashes on fire?
I thought back to some uses of the spell Glitterdust I'd read about, and pursed my lips – small inconveniences could be brutal if they hit at the right moment in the right spot. Especially since holding my wand in my left hand left my stronger, dominant right free for followup punching.
I shook my head. There was no point in thinking seriously about escape attempts until I was sure they were dead set on throwing me in the clink. Who knows? Maybe they'd want to cut a deal to get more intel on the car. Maybe – wonder of wonders! – Henrietta wouldn't want to bend the law for her BFF's sake and I'd actually be cleared.
I don't deserve to be cleared.
I deserve to be cleared.
Depression is some serious bullshit. So is narcissism. Together, they fightcrime my capacity for self-motivation. And for a good half-hour I just sat there and stewed.
Eventually I tried to cheer myself up with a couple of the little cantrips Fouquet'd taught me – at the very least I didn't want to have to look like a convict. But there's only so much primping you can do before it starts to reinforce your paranoia that everyone is judging you, so it didn't really help.
Was nice having non-frizzy waves for once, though.
Mae turned out to be remarkably plain for someone of her rumoured speciality – but then, it was a rumour. Even if it wasn't, what did I know about Tristainian beauty standards, aside from the fact that they apparently shared my appreciation of dark-skinned redheads?
She might have been a quick study at reading and writing, but she was not a very patient teacher. I don't want to say she was bad, necessarily, because I did learn, but she would sigh and roll her eyes while I sounded words out and she thought I couldn't see her, and whenever I asked more in-depth questions she'd stare at me blankly and then repeat what she'd already told me, except more slowly.
Ten minutes into our first session I decided I was glad I didn't have any way to pay her.
In the end, after an hour of having to strain harder and harder against the impulse to smack the girl, I asked if we could stop.
"If milady wills," she replied eagerly, seriously making me wonder which one of us was supposed to be the student.
When she'd gone, I had a nice little cry into my pillow, and a short nap. I wasn't even tired, I just... needed to be somewhere that wasn't Tristain for a while.
It helped a little, I guess; when I awoke I was in a slightly better mood, and a little bit of Air magic practice lifted my spirits significantly. The ceiling of my room was low, so I couldn't practice Levitation on myself yet, but there were pages upon bloody pages of mistakes from my writing lessons sitting around, and I still remembered how to make paper airplanes.
Heh. The high school setting must be infecting me, I thought as I folded. I'd never been great at throwing the things – or anything, really, just ask anyone who's ever been unfortunate enough to be stuck with me on their sports team for gym – but you'd be hard-pressed to find someone more willing to go the extra mile for symmetry in a paper airplane. It was actual paper, too, which had surprised me a bit; before I arrived, I'd pictured Halkeginia as more Renaissance than 17th-18th century.
When I was finally satisfied with my work, I muttered, "I push aloft, Levitation," and tapped the little glider with my wand.
It jumped straight up out of my hand and flattened itself against the ceiling.
... so that's why Fouquet had me try it on the desk chair first, I thought sheepishly. Hell. I should have known there were some physical laws to this place.
Out of curiosity, I let the paper fall and cast the spell on the chair again. Sure enough, it worked just fine. I cast it on my bed next, and didn't feel any significant difference in strain.
Aw, man, I thought with a grin, where's an X-Wing when you need one?
Of course, that just prompted the obvious thought: Control, control, you must learn control!
With a little hum, I carefully set the bed back down – and promptly proved the thought right when this resulted in a loud WHUMP that rattled the windowpanes.
Naturally I thought, y'know, oh shit, someone must have heard that, and in a panic I set aside my wand and hopped over to the desk to pick up pen and paper again so if anyone looked in on me, I'd be definitely not trying to escape, not at all, no sir.
It took me almost a full minute to realize...
Nothin'. Not even a knock on my door, not even a "What on earth was that?!" coming up through the floorboards. Not a goddamn thing. No one was coming.
No way. I know it's a big castle, and I know it's the middle of the day, but seriously?! What if I really was a murdering psychopath? This school is full of children!You don't have anyone guarding me?
I was almost relieved, twenty minutes later, to hear rushed footsteps outside my door and a key turning in the lock.
"... good... afternoon, Viscomte Wardes," I said when he burst through the door, putting on my best weirded-out expression. I find looking innocent is easier when you act like other people are the ones behaving oddly.
"Miss Alexandre," he said with a sigh, calming somewhat from the wild expression he'd had at first, "good evening. I trust all is well?"
"Well there was a loud banging noise a few minutes ago," I said, looking around the room as if trying to decide whether it had come from above, below, or next door. "Not sure what that was about. Other than that, I'm fine."
"Good," he said with a curt nod. "My apologies for intruding upon you."
... that was weird, I thought after he'd left and started giving someone down the hall orders in a low, furious tone. If he went to all the trouble of coming up here to make sure I wasn't fucking around, why wouldn't he even check out the room? Is he really that dumb?
Maybe any mage who wanted to get out of here could do it lickedy-split, and it was enough to see I was still here.
No, if that were his logic he wouldn't have come at all; he'd have swept the grounds from the air and sent an underling up here to discreetly check on me. Wouldn't he?
I frowned. I really didn't know as much about strategy as I wished to.
Well, I'll just make a note of that on the massive and ever-growing list of Things We Are Shit At, shall I?
Fuck you.
Driving is only second, if you're curious. Finishing what we start overtakes it for the top spot by that much, so good news, we aren't so much an awful driver as we are an all-around failure in life!
Y'know, it's a good thing we weren't summoned as the Lifdrasil, I thought sourly. I bet you'd be all for volunteering to power the genocide.
Nope. But I would've been quite pleased if we'd run over Tiffania.
The fuck?
Oh, shut up, you don't like her either.
Not to the point of wanting her to die, Jesus! Are you seriously this mad that she isn't as smart as she is pretty?
Both of you put a sock in it, my most sensible side snapped, trying to maintain order. The question, if you will remember, was why Wardes didn't search the room. What's up with that?
"I don't know, maybe he's just bad at his job," I muttered sullenly.
I was angry again, and tired. All I wanted was just one hour, a full sixty minutes where I didn't have to keep thinking about what I'd done. One hour, out of twenty-four. Was that too much happiness for me to have? Did I somehow infect the universe with my depression, and now it was going to start telling me I had no right to be alive?
My parents are going to think I was kidnapped, raped, and murdered. I was perfectly clear on that. I mean, where else do white girls go when they just up and disappear without a trace? It was way more plausible than any other explanation, and for all their differences mom and dad were both eminently practical when they were in pain. Fuck, my dad was a soldier and a firefighter – he didn't have any illusions about this shit.
I remembered how, when I was little, and he was still an irresponsible twentysomething, he'd taken some crap that'd been sitting around in the wake of some project or other and dumped it in a field outside of town, something my mother found utterly appalling. Throughout my childhood, from time to time he'd jokingly tell me to behave, or he'd take me to a field and dump me.
I guess that's one lame dad joke he won't be making again in a hurry, I thought with a dark chuckle.
Even if I get to Shaitan's Gate, wherever the fuck it is, it'll just take me to Saito's world.
What with all the time I had on my hands that day, I'd had ample occasion to review my memories – ostensibly trying to figure out something truthful I could say at my trial that would make it clear how unintentional my actions had been, but, actually, just... wallowing, really.
I didn't drive into a green portal, a green portal swallowed me after I'd already driven through the rip.
It wasn't the first time today I'd thought that.
It's not fair.
It's not fucking fair!
It's funny; I used to believe in fairness so much. It was a mania with me. "The world is naturally unfair, so as humans who collaborate to create a society, it is our moral imperative to impose justice and mercy upon the cold, dark world."
Fuck the Void. Fuck it in its spine until it can't walk and it falls, and falls away forever, and Brimir's legacy never taints mankind ever again.
I was on my feet, my nails digging into my skin, my voice screaming out in a wordless whisper, my arms begging for something to tear apart.
But I couldn't keep that up forever. Inevitably, my shoulders hunched, my clasped hands came apart, aching, and the scream that wasn't died off into sobs and panting.
I can't do this anymore. I can't keep feeling like this.
Getting to my feet and crossing to the window, I unlatched it and threw it open, and breathed in the crisp spring breeze.
Well, jump. What are you waiting for?
You lazy shit. Is that the best you've got? You know we're afraid of heights.
"How can you want to die when you smell that?" I asked, rolling my eyes and taking a deeper whiff. I sighed.
"Seriously, though," I whispered to the warm sunset disappearing behind the far tower, "fuck the Void."
=
"My lady..."
My eyes snapped open and I clenched my right hand into a fist.
The room was full of blue evening shadows and the lingering smell of my uneaten dinner. Standing over me was a cloaked and hooded figure, with a bone-white mask.
I glared. So, this is how the nightmare ends. With the world's least-competent assassin killing me in my bed.
"So much for the trial," I said flatly.
"Ah, yes," the figure said, "I'm afraid you won't be making that court date – there are so many more interesting things you could be doing, don't you agree?"
I felt my frown weaken, but for a while I didn't say anything. I'm really stupid and inarticulate when I first wake up – not to mention irritable. I'm no use to anyone until I get some food into me.
"Come now," the figure continued in a playful tone, holding out a hand, "let's get you out of this gilded cage and into the moonlight."
The wheels were turning inside my head.
Someone was helping me escape?
No, wait, holy shit! A phantom thief was helping me escape!
Before I was really aware of what I was doing, I leapt out of bed and embraced my new guest, clinging to them for dear life.
Please don't let this be a dream. Please be real!
"There, there," she said softly (oh, yep, voice-distortion spells and baggy clothes don't cut it when hugs are involved, hi Fouquet), and patted me on the back.
"... I have to stay."
It broke my fucking heart to say it, but I felt like I had to.
She pulled back in surprise.
"I owe it to Miss Vallière." My voice didn't tremble; by this point I was all cried out, and as I spoke I felt peculiarly calm. "I owe her this, at least."
I cannot believe I seriously thought of myself as Red-Blue back then. I was so lily-White it's almost painful to think about it now.
"Miss Vallière is dead, dear girl," Fouquet said quietly, whatever expression she might be wearing obscured by the mask. "You are alive. There's no reason they should bury both of you."
I sighed, and let go of her. "Thank you for trying to help me." I managed my first proper smile of the day. "You don't know how much it means."
Everything in me screamed for her to press the issue, to talk me into coming away with her, to seduce me. Thinking that something's the right thing to do isn't the same as wanting to do it, after all; no matter how naïve I might have been back then, I wasn't a completely suicidal idiot.
Thankfully, she didn't press the issue – she was too professional for that.
"I'm sorry, Miss Alexandre," she said. "Gentle slumber be thine – Sleep."
-------------
Ugh. Never, ever, ever let me watch Fate/Zero again - I am going to be 25 on the 7th, I am too fucking old to be writing self-inserts where I ship myself with fucked-up priests.
I don't want to talk about the interrogation.
I don't even remember most of it; I learned late in my mother's marriage that when you hold onto the specifics of what a man says when he wants to frighten you or hurt you or provoke you into doing something stupid, all you do is give him the space in your head that he thinks he deserves.
Our conversation started out perfectly cordial, if stiff, and quickly descended into a mutual feast of the passive-aggressive sarcasm that idiots frequently mistake for cleverness.
I... lost my temper, a couple of times, but I didn't say anything incriminating. I mean, I think; in light of subsequent events I'm not sure I can say for sure one way or the other.
Though I will say, Wardes had nothing on certain US border officers of my erstwhile acquaintance – that is, he appeared to be capable of understanding the difference between 'being justifiably suspicious' and 'being overtly suspicious of literally every single thing like a psychotic cat chasing three laser-pointer-dots at once'. Also, he didn't actually rough me up physically at all. I suppose no matter how much I had messed up his plans and pissed off the power-players in Tristain, there was still a certain level of concern about where the hell I could have come from and what kind of connections I might unexpectedly have, having arrived in a personal landship.
No joke, he actually used that phrase before Colbert corrected him. I almost declared myself to be a citizen of the Empire of Melniboné right then and there.
I was surprised at how pretty he was, honestly. After all those fanfics kicking up a huge fuss about Louise being forced to marry some middle-aged skeevemeister, it was a shock to actually see the man and realize he was at most in his thirties, in a society where mages lived at least as long as people in my own country. I can see why pre-Saito Louise would be pretty happy with the match; he was fit, of an equal with her own standing, socially-prominent, a former protègé of her terrifying mother whom no one sane would ever want to piss off. The third daughter of a Duke could do much, much worse.
At the time I was too concerned with vindictively fantasizing about him never holding a prominent military position again after defecting to the Reconquista to consider his best qualities. I was still thinking in terms of real-world history, y'see; the near-universal truism that No One Likes A Traitor hadn't yet had the addendum Unless They're Square-Class tacked onto the end in my mind.
Eventually, blessedly, he sighed my favourite sigh in the whole repertoire of Difficult Conversation-sighs; the I Am Tired Of Talking About This, Let's Leave It There For Now sigh.
"Professor Colbert," he said, turning to the corner where the older man was watching the proceedings with a sour expression on his face, "I will examine the... 'car', now."
I got to my feet when Wardes did. "Thank you for giving me the opportunity to explain myself, sir. I'm sorry for your loss." If you can't conduct yourself civilly throughout a process, you can at least try to end on a mature note.
He looked back at me with a frown. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"When you were in the hallway arguing with the professor," I said, "he seemed to think you being here would present a conflict of interest. Logically, it follows that you knew Miss Vallière." I lowered my eyes. "I'm sorry if I misunderstood the situation."
He didn't move, for a moment, and I didn't want to look at his face in case he took that as me checking to see if he was buying it. Then he nodded at Colbert and left without another word.
The professor followed, but not before giving me an encouraging smile as he passed by. I tried to smile back.
After that I spent a few hours practicing with my wand, in an attempt to stave off my fear with awesomeness.
First I worked on Sparking, 'cause if your primary element is the one that melts faces, it's a good idea to improve your control of it every chance you get.
"Firebending comes from the breath," I said aloud, mildly frustrated at my scattershot efforts, and began regulating my breathing the way my mom taught me.
We really must be in dire straights for you to start quoting shows you don't even watch, I thought, and a nervous giggle messed up my rhythm for a second or two.
C'mon, channel it right.
Eventually I got the sparks to... behave themselves a little better – I think the term is 'grouping', when you're talking about firing a gun? I dunno; for two people who were in the reserves, my parents weren't huge firearm enthusiasts, so it's not like I ever had any reason to learn this stuff.
At any rate, after a solid two hours I could reliably light the candle nine times out of ten. One of the nice things about magic is that it's easy to motivate yourself to practice because you never fully lose the sheer sense of glee that comes of knowing that you are doing actual goddamn magic.
I wonder... if I improve my aim more, could I light someone's eyelashes on fire?
I thought back to some uses of the spell Glitterdust I'd read about, and pursed my lips – small inconveniences could be brutal if they hit at the right moment in the right spot. Especially since holding my wand in my left hand left my stronger, dominant right free for followup punching.
I shook my head. There was no point in thinking seriously about escape attempts until I was sure they were dead set on throwing me in the clink. Who knows? Maybe they'd want to cut a deal to get more intel on the car. Maybe – wonder of wonders! – Henrietta wouldn't want to bend the law for her BFF's sake and I'd actually be cleared.
I don't deserve to be cleared.
I deserve to be cleared.
Depression is some serious bullshit. So is narcissism. Together, they fight
Eventually I tried to cheer myself up with a couple of the little cantrips Fouquet'd taught me – at the very least I didn't want to have to look like a convict. But there's only so much primping you can do before it starts to reinforce your paranoia that everyone is judging you, so it didn't really help.
Was nice having non-frizzy waves for once, though.
Mae turned out to be remarkably plain for someone of her rumoured speciality – but then, it was a rumour. Even if it wasn't, what did I know about Tristainian beauty standards, aside from the fact that they apparently shared my appreciation of dark-skinned redheads?
She might have been a quick study at reading and writing, but she was not a very patient teacher. I don't want to say she was bad, necessarily, because I did learn, but she would sigh and roll her eyes while I sounded words out and she thought I couldn't see her, and whenever I asked more in-depth questions she'd stare at me blankly and then repeat what she'd already told me, except more slowly.
Ten minutes into our first session I decided I was glad I didn't have any way to pay her.
In the end, after an hour of having to strain harder and harder against the impulse to smack the girl, I asked if we could stop.
"If milady wills," she replied eagerly, seriously making me wonder which one of us was supposed to be the student.
When she'd gone, I had a nice little cry into my pillow, and a short nap. I wasn't even tired, I just... needed to be somewhere that wasn't Tristain for a while.
It helped a little, I guess; when I awoke I was in a slightly better mood, and a little bit of Air magic practice lifted my spirits significantly. The ceiling of my room was low, so I couldn't practice Levitation on myself yet, but there were pages upon bloody pages of mistakes from my writing lessons sitting around, and I still remembered how to make paper airplanes.
Heh. The high school setting must be infecting me, I thought as I folded. I'd never been great at throwing the things – or anything, really, just ask anyone who's ever been unfortunate enough to be stuck with me on their sports team for gym – but you'd be hard-pressed to find someone more willing to go the extra mile for symmetry in a paper airplane. It was actual paper, too, which had surprised me a bit; before I arrived, I'd pictured Halkeginia as more Renaissance than 17th-18th century.
When I was finally satisfied with my work, I muttered, "I push aloft, Levitation," and tapped the little glider with my wand.
It jumped straight up out of my hand and flattened itself against the ceiling.
... so that's why Fouquet had me try it on the desk chair first, I thought sheepishly. Hell. I should have known there were some physical laws to this place.
Out of curiosity, I let the paper fall and cast the spell on the chair again. Sure enough, it worked just fine. I cast it on my bed next, and didn't feel any significant difference in strain.
Aw, man, I thought with a grin, where's an X-Wing when you need one?
Of course, that just prompted the obvious thought: Control, control, you must learn control!
With a little hum, I carefully set the bed back down – and promptly proved the thought right when this resulted in a loud WHUMP that rattled the windowpanes.
Naturally I thought, y'know, oh shit, someone must have heard that, and in a panic I set aside my wand and hopped over to the desk to pick up pen and paper again so if anyone looked in on me, I'd be definitely not trying to escape, not at all, no sir.
It took me almost a full minute to realize...
Nothin'. Not even a knock on my door, not even a "What on earth was that?!" coming up through the floorboards. Not a goddamn thing. No one was coming.
No way. I know it's a big castle, and I know it's the middle of the day, but seriously?! What if I really was a murdering psychopath? This school is full of children!You don't have anyone guarding me?
I was almost relieved, twenty minutes later, to hear rushed footsteps outside my door and a key turning in the lock.
"... good... afternoon, Viscomte Wardes," I said when he burst through the door, putting on my best weirded-out expression. I find looking innocent is easier when you act like other people are the ones behaving oddly.
"Miss Alexandre," he said with a sigh, calming somewhat from the wild expression he'd had at first, "good evening. I trust all is well?"
"Well there was a loud banging noise a few minutes ago," I said, looking around the room as if trying to decide whether it had come from above, below, or next door. "Not sure what that was about. Other than that, I'm fine."
"Good," he said with a curt nod. "My apologies for intruding upon you."
... that was weird, I thought after he'd left and started giving someone down the hall orders in a low, furious tone. If he went to all the trouble of coming up here to make sure I wasn't fucking around, why wouldn't he even check out the room? Is he really that dumb?
Maybe any mage who wanted to get out of here could do it lickedy-split, and it was enough to see I was still here.
No, if that were his logic he wouldn't have come at all; he'd have swept the grounds from the air and sent an underling up here to discreetly check on me. Wouldn't he?
I frowned. I really didn't know as much about strategy as I wished to.
Well, I'll just make a note of that on the massive and ever-growing list of Things We Are Shit At, shall I?
Fuck you.
Driving is only second, if you're curious. Finishing what we start overtakes it for the top spot by that much, so good news, we aren't so much an awful driver as we are an all-around failure in life!
Y'know, it's a good thing we weren't summoned as the Lifdrasil, I thought sourly. I bet you'd be all for volunteering to power the genocide.
Nope. But I would've been quite pleased if we'd run over Tiffania.
The fuck?
Oh, shut up, you don't like her either.
Not to the point of wanting her to die, Jesus! Are you seriously this mad that she isn't as smart as she is pretty?
Both of you put a sock in it, my most sensible side snapped, trying to maintain order. The question, if you will remember, was why Wardes didn't search the room. What's up with that?
"I don't know, maybe he's just bad at his job," I muttered sullenly.
I was angry again, and tired. All I wanted was just one hour, a full sixty minutes where I didn't have to keep thinking about what I'd done. One hour, out of twenty-four. Was that too much happiness for me to have? Did I somehow infect the universe with my depression, and now it was going to start telling me I had no right to be alive?
My parents are going to think I was kidnapped, raped, and murdered. I was perfectly clear on that. I mean, where else do white girls go when they just up and disappear without a trace? It was way more plausible than any other explanation, and for all their differences mom and dad were both eminently practical when they were in pain. Fuck, my dad was a soldier and a firefighter – he didn't have any illusions about this shit.
I remembered how, when I was little, and he was still an irresponsible twentysomething, he'd taken some crap that'd been sitting around in the wake of some project or other and dumped it in a field outside of town, something my mother found utterly appalling. Throughout my childhood, from time to time he'd jokingly tell me to behave, or he'd take me to a field and dump me.
I guess that's one lame dad joke he won't be making again in a hurry, I thought with a dark chuckle.
Even if I get to Shaitan's Gate, wherever the fuck it is, it'll just take me to Saito's world.
What with all the time I had on my hands that day, I'd had ample occasion to review my memories – ostensibly trying to figure out something truthful I could say at my trial that would make it clear how unintentional my actions had been, but, actually, just... wallowing, really.
I didn't drive into a green portal, a green portal swallowed me after I'd already driven through the rip.
It wasn't the first time today I'd thought that.
It's not fair.
It's not fucking fair!
It's funny; I used to believe in fairness so much. It was a mania with me. "The world is naturally unfair, so as humans who collaborate to create a society, it is our moral imperative to impose justice and mercy upon the cold, dark world."
Fuck the Void. Fuck it in its spine until it can't walk and it falls, and falls away forever, and Brimir's legacy never taints mankind ever again.
I was on my feet, my nails digging into my skin, my voice screaming out in a wordless whisper, my arms begging for something to tear apart.
But I couldn't keep that up forever. Inevitably, my shoulders hunched, my clasped hands came apart, aching, and the scream that wasn't died off into sobs and panting.
I can't do this anymore. I can't keep feeling like this.
Getting to my feet and crossing to the window, I unlatched it and threw it open, and breathed in the crisp spring breeze.
Well, jump. What are you waiting for?
You lazy shit. Is that the best you've got? You know we're afraid of heights.
"How can you want to die when you smell that?" I asked, rolling my eyes and taking a deeper whiff. I sighed.
"Seriously, though," I whispered to the warm sunset disappearing behind the far tower, "fuck the Void."
=
"My lady..."
My eyes snapped open and I clenched my right hand into a fist.
The room was full of blue evening shadows and the lingering smell of my uneaten dinner. Standing over me was a cloaked and hooded figure, with a bone-white mask.
I glared. So, this is how the nightmare ends. With the world's least-competent assassin killing me in my bed.
"So much for the trial," I said flatly.
"Ah, yes," the figure said, "I'm afraid you won't be making that court date – there are so many more interesting things you could be doing, don't you agree?"
I felt my frown weaken, but for a while I didn't say anything. I'm really stupid and inarticulate when I first wake up – not to mention irritable. I'm no use to anyone until I get some food into me.
"Come now," the figure continued in a playful tone, holding out a hand, "let's get you out of this gilded cage and into the moonlight."
The wheels were turning inside my head.
Someone was helping me escape?
No, wait, holy shit! A phantom thief was helping me escape!
Before I was really aware of what I was doing, I leapt out of bed and embraced my new guest, clinging to them for dear life.
Please don't let this be a dream. Please be real!
"There, there," she said softly (oh, yep, voice-distortion spells and baggy clothes don't cut it when hugs are involved, hi Fouquet), and patted me on the back.
"... I have to stay."
It broke my fucking heart to say it, but I felt like I had to.
She pulled back in surprise.
"I owe it to Miss Vallière." My voice didn't tremble; by this point I was all cried out, and as I spoke I felt peculiarly calm. "I owe her this, at least."
I cannot believe I seriously thought of myself as Red-Blue back then. I was so lily-White it's almost painful to think about it now.
"Miss Vallière is dead, dear girl," Fouquet said quietly, whatever expression she might be wearing obscured by the mask. "You are alive. There's no reason they should bury both of you."
I sighed, and let go of her. "Thank you for trying to help me." I managed my first proper smile of the day. "You don't know how much it means."
Everything in me screamed for her to press the issue, to talk me into coming away with her, to seduce me. Thinking that something's the right thing to do isn't the same as wanting to do it, after all; no matter how naïve I might have been back then, I wasn't a completely suicidal idiot.
Thankfully, she didn't press the issue – she was too professional for that.
"I'm sorry, Miss Alexandre," she said. "Gentle slumber be thine – Sleep."
-------------
Ugh. Never, ever, ever let me watch Fate/Zero again - I am going to be 25 on the 7th, I am too fucking old to be writing self-inserts where I ship myself with fucked-up priests.
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Kataphraktos
Remove gringo from premises
At least you're not a pleb with EMIYA for a husbando.
Yeah, I never really got that fad. Archer's hot, but... he's just zis guy, you know?
Baughn
Healing-type writer
- Location
- Dublin
Holding to a moral code, I can respect, even if I don't understand the code.
We have our own courts, and laws. Killing someone over vehicular manslaughter is nothing more than compounding tragedy with murder, and frankly, no court I know of would even convict her of manslaughter.
She's willing to let herself killed because she didn't hit the brakes fast enough, in a situation that took minutes to comprehend after it had happened? No, all I can think is that she's letting her feelings run away with her. Certainly she has a good excuse for that, but it still isn't rational—if it is, I'd like to see her reasoning spelled out.
We have our own courts, and laws. Killing someone over vehicular manslaughter is nothing more than compounding tragedy with murder, and frankly, no court I know of would even convict her of manslaughter.
She's willing to let herself killed because she didn't hit the brakes fast enough, in a situation that took minutes to comprehend after it had happened? No, all I can think is that she's letting her feelings run away with her. Certainly she has a good excuse for that, but it still isn't rational—if it is, I'd like to see her reasoning spelled out.
The slight cabin fever was not conducive to rational thinking.
Nicely written chapter, btw. I like the way the mood goes back-and-forth from "Fuck yeah, MAGIC!" to "Oh God, I ran over a kid."
Nicely written chapter, btw. I like the way the mood goes back-and-forth from "Fuck yeah, MAGIC!" to "Oh God, I ran over a kid."
Main thing I have to say about this chapter is: Why the hell you didn't watch Avatar: The Last Airbender? Go watch it!
Seriously though, given the circumstances, it might actually be good to stay, at least if Wardes didn't turn traitor yet and is willing to give her a fair trial. Long story made short: If she apparently escapes, even if actually kidnapped by being kidnapped by a phantom thieve, there goes any chance at all of having her name cleared.
Seriously though, given the circumstances, it might actually be good to stay, at least if Wardes didn't turn traitor yet and is willing to give her a fair trial. Long story made short: If she apparently escapes, even if actually kidnapped by being kidnapped by a phantom thieve, there goes any chance at all of having her name cleared.
midnightmissiles
Princess of Memes, Shitposts, and Puns
As long as it's not "Fuck yeah, oh god, I ran over a magic kid!"
Guile
Having a really great time right now
He's very… Three Musketeers-y, but that's the fashion at the time.Furiko said:
Even a tiny fire that close to someone's eyes is not what I'd call 'inconvenient.'
This is such a great line.
Hey, fuck you, me. You think this is easy, being you?
On the upside, this little event suggests that maybe child abduction rates are less than statistics would indicate. They're just off to fairy land!
Creative swearing is the best swearing. I can only regret that I never manage to do that in real life.
No! No, Furiko, don't fall for the romanticism!
Too late. Goodness. Well, I guess it's time to Thelma and Louise it up in here!
Aw, man.
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Retsof
I will keep you safe.
*shrug* never got into the franchise myself, but if you write it ill read it
.Looking at pictures from the anime, he's got sort of a late-game Brad Pitt appeal. Not really my kind of thing - I have a tendency to distrust men with facial hair - but I know handsome when I see it.
And you said I wasn't a sadist.
's why I don't wear makeup, usually. I get all worked up trying to make it perfect and it fucks with my perception of reality. It gets weird.
-_- "My king, I'm beginning to think you have a problem. Sarah was thirty years ago, you-"
"DON'T YOU DARE SAY HER NAME!" ;_____; *huggles tiny children*
"I made you an okcupid account. Just try, all right? This is not healthy, even by goblin standards."
I'm not usually very good at doing it outside my head. There are so few occasions to get poetic in your rage; fuckin' Anglos always laugh when you try.
I'ma fall for it~
Oh, no, it's much sadder than that. Magda ain't out of the woods yet.
This isn't a happy story.
Zero-Caster made me sad, as a Jeanne d'Arc fangirl from way back.
Guile
Having a really great time right now
Ahh, Jareth. Never have I seen a fandom with such a high percentage of shipping.
I need to watch that movie again.
I figured, as a Black Army survivor (all the characters were), it was expected.
It's weird to think that Fate Zero Bluebeard was probably a pretty good guy at some point, and just became completely unhinged post-burning. Not that this excuses him from taking his crazy out on good honest French women instead of the English, of course, but still.
I need to watch that movie again.
I once created a character for an RP just so that I had an excuse to think up and use a bunch of creative swearing. Just to make up for my own deficiency.
I figured, as a Black Army survivor (all the characters were), it was expected.
Speaking of Jeanne, where the heck did the Bluebeard-Jeanne connection come from? It's been a while since I read Bluebeard's story, but I don't remember that at all.Zero-Caster made me sad, as a Jeanne d'Arc fangirl from way back.
It's weird to think that Fate Zero Bluebeard was probably a pretty good guy at some point, and just became completely unhinged post-burning. Not that this excuses him from taking his crazy out on good honest French women instead of the English, of course, but still.
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Women? Oh, you sweet summer child.
Barbe-bleu is a fairytale partially inspired by Gilles de Rais, who after Jeanne's death went through quite a downward spiral. It's unclear whether he actually did what he confessed to, or if he'd made himself such a thoroughly inconvenient man to allow to live that people couldn't resist getting rid of him, but most of the evidence suggests that something weird was going on at his castle.
Basically, the story goes that he developed a taste for child-rape and murder. He used to let in little waifs from the village, particularly young boys, and dress them in fine clothes and feed them good food and wine. Then he'd explain what they were actually they for - reportedly the best part for him was their looks of horror and confusion when they realized their situation. He and his cronies allegedly hung them up on hooks, cut new and interesting orifices into their skin to fuck, and eventually let them back down so de Rais could sit on them until they suffocated.
There was also the implication that he was messing around with demons and necromancy in order to bring Jeanne back to life, and the child-murder was to aid in that, but mostly that was so they could hammer him with heresy as well as general awfulness, if I recall correctly.
Personally, I don't know enough about the case to say either way if he did what he was accused of or not. I mean, it sounds like the usual appalling stuff men throughout history have made up about gay guys in order to get them arrested, and I can't imagine having an avowed supporter of Jeanne still around and maintaining a belief in her innocence was something anyone was comfortable with. But it's not like noblemen couldn't get away with this kind of thing for years if they wanted to, as he supposedly did. So I don't know.
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...Might want to put those details under a spoiler tab.
*sigh* Yeah, probably a good idea.
Guile
Having a really great time right now
Neat. I'm not sure what I read, but it wasn't that. Whatever it was had him bringing a procession of young wives into his castle, not random male urchins. Then the latest of seven wives got into the locked door he told her not to open, and, well...
That would make a pretty interesting story, if all the waif-murdering actually worked.
Bluebeard: Jeanne! I saved you! Haha, take that, God!
Jeanne: Uh, Gilles, what's that behind you? With the hook, and the... oh my god.
Bluebeard: Nope! God had nothing to do with this!
Heh, yeah, you can't really write a fairy tale about sodomy. I mean, not one for children, anyway.
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Tachikoma's Aunt
Priestess of Yog-Sothoth
- Location
- Variable
Of course, historically speaking most of the children's fairy tales weren't actually for children. It's just that Walt Disney came along back in forties and ruined everything.
Thozmp
Gets my kicks above the waistline, Sunshine.
Sure they are. They're for when you want to frighten your children into good behavior, else they'll end up dead. Or worse.
Tachikoma's Aunt
Priestess of Yog-Sothoth
- Location
- Variable
Point. But I still say the best use for a time machine is going back in time to assassinate Mr. Disney before he started his company.
Chloe Sullivan
Subdefective
- Location
- 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale CA
I can hear hitler screeching in outrage over losing his title.