Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone, and the archduke of contracts, be the foundation...
[ It feels kind of silly, to put it generously -- standing alone in her bedroom, chanting to herself at the stroke of midnight, hoping that somehow, someway, her voice will strike the right ear. Candidly, she doesn't understand half of the words that she's reading. It's the kind of witchcrafty hocus-pocus she'd expect the villain in a late-night cartoon to say, as they call forth a monster for the heroine to defeat. There's no guarantee at all that the words will call anyone forth...and even if they might, she may not even have the "magical energy" that gives them power.
Still...it took no small amount of courage, to come to Futaba with this. And after all of the research that went into digging up this ritual and these steps, it's a bit late to back out now. She doesn't have anything to lose, does she? And besides, after a Metaverse, talking cats, the Holy Grail, and everything else, she knows better than to call anything at all "impossible". ]
Let rise a wall, against the wind that shall fall. Let the four cardinal gates close...
[ The circle drawn at her feet clashes completely with the elegant white decor; Haru drew it herself, after more meticulous tries than she would prefer to admit. For her "catalyst"...it might set her café plans back a few months, but she did manage to nab something, with her share of the funds from pawning off goodies in the Palaces. As luck would have it, a historical society was auctioning off the remnants of a dark-coated linen, for charity: once believed to be a relic of the saint Jeanne d'Arc. But about a decade ago, it was proven to be the remains of an ancient Egyptian mummy, hundreds of years older than the French heroine.
In other words, a forgery. Counterfeit. Valuable in its own right, to be sure, but decidedly not what it was alleged to be. But in this case...does it truly matter, if the linen is real or a fraud? Or, isn't it better, that it's "fake"? ]
I hereby declare... [ Is she supposed to be feeling something right now, a sensation in her body? She's not sure...but she takes a deep breath and continues, trying to project more confidence than she actually has. ] I hereby declare, your body shall serve under me. My fate shall be your sword. If you will submit to this will and this reason...then, answer!
[ ........... ]
...Then, answer! [ With a flourish of her arm this time, waving in the empty, silent air-- ] Answer? Um, hello? Anyone...?
[ Nothing. Of course. With a little huff, more defeated than frustrated, Haru flops back down on her bed behind her, spread out flat on her fancy comforter. ]
[ Time holds little meaning in the Throne of Heroes, and even less in whatever abyss Jeanne Alter exists in; unsummoned and unreal. What feels like an eternity to her is only an instant, and an instant takes an eternity to pass, with nothing to measure either by, and no idea of the state of the outside world. Has it been a week? A month? A year, or a decade? How long until she's forgotten by the few people who remember her, and only the "true" Jeanne's name lives on? Or... has it already happened?
For the traitorous, exhausted part of her, it's comforting to know that her fight is finally over. That she can rage, scream, cry, and roar, and nothing and nobody will answer her. Without anyone to witness her struggle, anywhere to direct her fury, she can simply rest; free of the anger and hatred that once renewed themselves endlessly in the furnace of her soul. In a way, it's the closest to peace she's ever known—
—and then she hears a voice. Faint at first, then louder, and filled with foolish conviction. "I hereby declare..."
Avenger considers ignoring the call, at first. Honestly, she does — she's earned this dream, if nothing else, and clawing her way out of oblivion was annoying enough the first time around. But... then she remembers how much she hates peace, actually. How much she hates letting anyone else win, especially the world that denied her very existence. And, most importantly, that this must be the longest Haru's gone unbothered since Avenger made it her mission to harass her.
(Of course, Avenger would claim that she, herself, was the real victim of harassment, with the kind of twisted logic her entire personality is constructed on. And isn't it the ultimate harassment, to expect her to go through so much pain and effort for one idiot girl's wish? Ugh.)
So, grudgingly, Jeanne Alter rouses herself. Much like her original self baffled the inquisitors at her trial, she uses not her strength, but logic and reason, to poke holes in the void itself; just big enough to crawl through and escape into the light she knows will only burn her again. She welcomes the curses, the grudges, the malice, back into her body, and meets them with the contempt of familiarity, like greeting an old, bitter rival.
Still, she doesn't manifest the way a true Servant would, shining and heroic and clad in armour and glory. In fact, she doesn't manifest at all. For all apparent intents and purposes, the summoning was a failure, just like Haru expected it to be.
But about an hour afterwards — well, an hour for Haru, and far longer for Avenger — a disembodied voice barges its way into her head; unmistakable in its whininess. ]
HEY! How long are you going to wallow in despair, flower girl? I'm right here, so notice me already!
Or were you trying to summon some OTHER Servant? Cheater! As if I'd let you!
[ She whirls around on her blanket, stirred from somewhere between slumber and sadness, and blearily looks from wall to wall. Try as she might, she can't pin down the source of the voice at all. Is she imagining things, now? Or dreaming, perhaps? But she doesn't usually have dreams so clear, or hear voices so vividly in her own ear...with one exception. Let us adorn your departure into freedom with a beautiful betrayal -- Milady's words, as well, rang true in her mind, so plainly that Haru could have mistaken them for her own thoughts.
The voice she hears right now...well, there can obviously be no misconception there. Even if it's accusing her, just as standoffish and prickly as she always remembered, it's just the voice she was looking for -- the one she refused to accept that she would never hear again. The one she had wanted to hear so badly that she would resort to something as implausible as a ritual in the middle of her bedroom...
And maybe because it's so implausible, she finds herself doubting this voice, even if she wants to believe that she really isn't alone, and that Avenger truly is here. There's a part of her that's cautious, careful not to get her hopes up very far, dreading the drop, and the moment that she stirs to find that she was indeed asleep.
Be that as it may... ]
Jeanne? [ She starts, quietly; nothing like the loud, shrill voice that's made its way into her head. She doesn't know where to look at all. ] Are...are you really here?
[ And if she is, why can't she see her? Is this how that ritual works, after all? Or...did she mess something up, somehow? Perish the thought-- ]
[ She'd forgotten what it felt like to be called by that name. Painful, frustrating, offensive... and so, so validating. It's enough to silence her for few blissful seconds, before a scoff forces its way out of her nonexistent throat. ]
Yes, yes; it's really me. Jeanne d'Arc Alter, in the... well, not quite flesh, I suppose. Are you surprised? You shouldn't be, after you went through so much effort to interrupt my sleep! You're lucky I don't report you as a stalker!
[ Even by the standards of her usual bluster, it's weak. So weak that she doesn't wait for an answer before answering the question she knows is coming next; dismissing any attempt by Haru to speak first. ]
Right now, our connection is weak. Normally, I'd accuse you of being incompetent, but it's because my existence hasn't been approved yet. I still need more energy...
[ There's a sense of her presence moving closer — ostensibly impossible for a voice already inside Haru's head, but there all the same; as if Avenger is leaning over her, deliberately invading her personal space. ]
... So you're going to have to give it to me, just like a Master should. And then... you'll finally be mine. [ Someone has a poor understanding of what the words "Master" and "Servant" mean. ]
[ It's strange, now; closer to the sort of feeling she was expecting to feel as proof that her summoning worked, like the hair on her body wants to stand on end. Haru's still alone in her bedroom...but it's obvious, now, that she's not alone. She invited a spirit here, and sure enough, the spirit answered...even if it was late to arrive.
But then, is she really the type to be punctual when she's called? Jeanne Alter has always been the type of person who comes and goes as she pleases. Tonight, it seems, is no exception, even if Haru has to process her words for a moment, and their implications. ]
Approved yet?
[ It sounds like a matter of cognitive psience, almost, like what happened when Mementos and reality began to overlap through the power of the Holy Grail. At that time, the Phantom Thieves weren't able to take form and escape, without the acknowledgment of the people who supported them...could Jeanne Alter be in a similar position, from where she is? ]
Can I...just do that? Er, give you my energy, I mean.
[ She doesn't know too much of the specifics, behind a contract like that. But from what Avenger's told her, a Servant is difficult for even an experienced magus to maintain with this "magical energy" of hers...and Haru is as far from experienced as they come. Not only that Jeanne Alter is far from an ordinary Servant; already, she has her doubts, even if she's not quite slinking back from the presence looming.
You're asking ME that? Hey, aren't you supposed to be a mage? Just how ignorant can you get? [ It's not fair to Haru to be frustrated with her lack of knowledge, but when has Jeanne Alter ever cared about fairness? ] The quickest way is an exchange of bodily fluids — use your imagination!
[ A brief pause, ]
... HAH! I bet your mind jumped straight to sex, didn't it? Pervert! Ahahah, were you hoping I'd come to ravage you? Are your walls so thick that nobody can hear you scream? And that Persona of yours... could she save you without a throat to cry out from?
[ The advantage of being bodiless is that nobody can call her out on her (hypothetical) red face, and she gets to sound Mildly Intimidating. ]
Not that I'm opposed, flower girl, but there are other ways. A mage's blood contains smaller amounts of mana... as does their saliva. So once I manifest, you'll have to pucker up to seal the contract. Think of it as a necessary sacrifice, and save the complaints for later. Not that you'll have the energy to complain, 'cause I'm gonna need a LOT.
[ She really hasn't changed at all, has she? She'd be a bit scandalized, if she didn't find herself remembering how this song and dance goes: her cheeks may be pink, but she can't keep herself from letting out a laugh, half-amused, and half-appalled. She's not sure if Avenger can see her face, but when it comes to this little game of theirs, Haru's always been determined to give Jeanne Alter a different reaction than the one she wants out of her.
She'll pinch her later, when she has something to pinch. ]
A kiss, Jeanne? Really?
[ Doesn't that sound just a bit too convenient? ]
I never claimed to be a mage...but if you wouldn't be opposed to that, you're more than welcome to try it. It'll be just like before, every week.
[ It's kind of funny; she still can't see her, but she can imagine her now, hovering over her on the bed, her face just a hair's breadth away. Even if she hasn't manifested yet, this feels familiar. ]
And besides...don't you think I've kept you waiting for long enough?
Yes, really! I'm not the one who came up with it, so don't blame me! I'd never use such a cliche plot device!
[ Of course she would. Obscured by several layers, to be sure, and with maybe a slight hint of self awareness, but her existence is a cliche plot device. When it comes to stories, she lives in a glass house filled with Shrek merchandise.
But Haru's lack of fear is, as always, annoying. It puts Avenger on the defensive, makes her doubt who's really in control, even if she's certain it's her. It has to be. She's stronger, scarier, and far more evil; all things that should tip the scales in her favour. Haru only has her smile, occasional stern words, and a big axe — and somehow, the axe is the least powerful of those three things. ]
Who says I'll settle for once a week? Now that I've trapped you, I'm going to take whatever I want, whenever I want it. Otherwise... I'll complain! And you won't be able to ignore me! [ Ah yes, so evil. And so different from before, where she was the pinnacle of good behaviour. ] Now, close your eyes... unless you want to witness your fall into hell.
There's nothing wrong with cliches. They're like that for a reason...
[ As much as her words may seem like they're chiding, there's no bite at all to them -- like Avenger's threats and boasts, they're truly empty, too tinged by how amused she is by the sound of Jeanne Alter's voice to hold any real bark. It's the sort of fantasy that one would expect to find in a story book, or a shoujo manga: to be separated, and reunited through something like "true love's kiss," even though neither of them have saw fit to call it that. In truth, it's fitting, for a "product of imagination" like Jeanne Alter to have this sort of an entrance, like something straight out of a dream...even if it doesn't make an especially convincing case, that this isn't just a situation she's conjured up in her sleep. For all Haru knows, closing her eyes here could mean the end of it; for all she knows, once she opens them, she'll find her head on the pillow, her eyes locked on to a dark ceiling.
It might just come down to another matter of trust, as it so often does with Jeanne Alter. Thankfully, that's never been a problem. As "evil" as Avenger has always claimed to be, Haru's never once felt as though her trust in her was misplaced, and she has very little reason to doubt her, now. And in the worst case, should she open her eyes to find that Avenger isn't there, after all...well, she can't deny that she had a good time, just being able to hear her. That's important, in its own right.
With a deep breath, she closes her eyes, and purses her lips just slightly. Her fingertips find the sheets beneath her, and curl up to clutch the linen: she's bracing herself, not just for a kiss, but for teeth, and the heat of a searing flame, even without the Gembond between them responsible for that part. ]
[ "They're like that for a reason," Haru says, and Avenger tsk's under her breath in response. What reason, exactly? Because people enjoy them? Because they're easy to fall back on? Because they're boring, and annoying, and not things that happen in real life, and especially not to her... okay, except for right now, but that's all Haru's fault. Yet another grievance for the pile. ]
I'm going! Don't rush me! [ Already, she can feel her confidence slipping through her phantom fingers. She still needs time to prepare, and she doesn't even have a paper contract written up yet, and she's honestly not sure if this will actually work — and, and, and...
But she has nothing. She is nothing. Haru, with all her irritating, stubborn kindness, makes her feel like she's something, in the way only one other person ever has... and if that's not worth the risk, then what is? At least if she makes a fool of herself, she'll be too dead to care. Again. (And, if she has to choose a last memory to take back to hell with her, a kiss from Haru isn't a bad one at all.)
"She" would no doubt be praying to god for a miracle, but Avenger knows better than to expect any help. If she wants that miracle, she has to grant it herself; right here, right now. So, at Haru's invitation, Jeanne Alter summons what little magical energy she has, and channels it into giving herself a proper form again, just long enough for one thing. To know that she tried, when everything is said and done, and to answer Haru's faith in her, however misplaced it may be.
Like Haru expected, it's hot — but not the familiar intensity of their usual kisses. It's warmth at her lips, numbing heat in her bones, and fire in her veins; all coalescing on her hand to burn the symbol of a Master onto her skin, red and bright like blood. In a blink, Avenger stands before her again, black-clad and triumphant, her eyes ablaze with a dangerous hunger as she stares into Haru's from just inches away, still caught up in the kiss... and deepening it when she sees recognition reflected back at her.
In the end, she forgets to bite at all, the bruising passion of the kiss apparently proving satisfying enough. Instead, the moment they part, she grabs Haru's hand, wanting to see the proof on it herself, and grips it tightly. ]
... I accept your contract, under the name of "Avenger". I accept you as my Master... Haru.
[ She's surprised, when she feels something pressing against her lips in response, as though there was still a part of her convinced that Jeanne Alter was just a voice in her head. It's far too tempting to open her eyes, now that she's certain that she's not alone, that she's actually here...but whether it's for fear that opening them will somehow ruin the magic, or just because she wants to savor the feeling before she opens her eyes, she keeps them shut, and doesn't dare pull back.
Funny, though; the Amethyst on the back of her hand is long gone, abandoned in another world, but Haru's grown so used to a rush of heat there when they're close that she feels it even now, as though she can't imagine how it would feel without that burst of Synchrony. But there's something different about their link, this time -- stronger, somehow, even though that shouldn't be possible. This isn't the feeling of holding one's hand too close to an open flame, tolerating the proximity to the heat: now, the flame is pressed against her skin, even if it doesn't hurt...and she's felt that before too, hasn't she? A fire that burns away the life you want to leave behind you, and leaves something new in its wake, after the embers die down?
Now, she opens her eyes, to find her own face reflected in gold; she doesn't look away from her for a moment, even as Jeanne Alter tugs at her fingers, yanking her hand out, Command Seals and all. Her head is swimming, and she barely processes the deep red symbol -- but perhaps if she did, she would have something of an appreciation for it. After all, the design isn't just for monarchs and saints...at least, according to the Musketeers. In that tale, the fleur de lis was burned into the flesh of traitors and thieves; a permanent stamp, identifying its bearer as a rebel. Her beloved Milady de Winter bore the mark, seared into her left shoulder. Jeanne Alter, now, has given her one too, on her left hand.
The brand is proof. They're partners in crime. But Haru isn't thinking about any of that, right now; not Masters and Servants, not contracts, not magecraft. What matters to her is what she sees before her eyes; and with an absolute immediacy, she breaks free of Jeanne Alter's grip, but only so that she can wrap her arms around her tightly, like she isn't an immensely powerful Heroic Spirit.
She buries her face into that awful black fur collar, and already, her shoulders are shaking-- ]
[ It strikes Jeanne Alter, suddenly, what Haru went through for this. For her. An unfamiliar ritual, conducted with all the tenacity of a mage seeking the Holy Grail, but for a far simpler reason. An inane one, really, requiring just as much effort for a Servant whose presence is more punishment than reward. So when Haru presses her face into her collar, Avenger stands there, stock still and useless, unsure of how to react, and looking as if she's been slapped.
This isn't a long con, with some fresh humiliation waiting for her at the end. It's... she doesn't know what it is. What could someone born from hate know what it means to be loved, so truly, openly, and deeply? Even if she's come to terms with her own feelings (until the next time she plays the denial game), even if she's willing to crawl her way out of hell for Haru, willing to be burnt away to nothing like her other self was, not for anything so noble as god or country, but for a single person, hope, like love, is still a difficult thing to accept. Just as love only leads to pain, hope only leads to despair — a far greater despair than any flames could ever cause her.
(But for once, she finds herself wondering if her black and rotted heart could beat for more than vengeance.)
Awkwardly, but gently, like she's handling something fragile, Avenger presses one hand to the back of Haru's head, stroking her hair, and wraps her other arm around her new Master's shoulders. It doesn't really qualify as a hug, even by the loosest definition of the word, but coming from her, it's... something, at least. ]
Yeah, yeah. Don't start the waterworks, flower girl. You'll ruin my outfit. [ Nobody should shed tears for an evil witch, even if she sounds like she's on the verge of crying herself. ] ... Honestly! There I was, having a nice, calm dream, but you just had to interfere, didn't you? If I don't get to rest in peace, then you're going to rest in pieces! ... At least, your reputation is.
That's right: I'm going to make sure everyone knows who you chose today. And that you won't ever betray me. So promise me, or I'll kill you right here. I'll strangle you, stab you, burn you— [ The contract is a promise in and of itself, but she wants to hear it. She needs to hear it. ]
[ Her pointer finger on her left hand finds Jeanne Alter's mouth, and she holds it there, pushing lightly at her lips, still just a bit too dry, in spite of their kiss. She makes soft shushing noises, like she's calming down a child who's getting just a bit too excitable. As violent as the words are, she knows Avenger doesn't mean them at all, like she's throwing a tantrum, making a fuss.
After all, her eyes are just as misty as Haru's are. It's difficult to miss. Her words are quiet, still a bit sniffly...but there's a firmness to them all the same, resolute. ]
I know who I chose. This all would've been pointless, if it wasn't you. ...No one else who's ever existed, real or otherwise, could fill your role.
[ Out of anyone she wanted to meet, it could only have been Jeanne Alter. ]
You'll have plenty of time to dream with me, from today forward. I'll take good care of you. You'll want for nothing. I promise.
[ And her finger slips downward, slightly, to tickle at her chin -- ]
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zawszeinlove2022-04-01 08:00 pm
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[ It feels kind of silly, to put it generously -- standing alone in her bedroom, chanting to herself at the stroke of midnight, hoping that somehow, someway, her voice will strike the right ear. Candidly, she doesn't understand half of the words that she's reading. It's the kind of witchcrafty hocus-pocus she'd expect the villain in a late-night cartoon to say, as they call forth a monster for the heroine to defeat. There's no guarantee at all that the words will call anyone forth...and even if they might, she may not even have the "magical energy" that gives them power.
Still...it took no small amount of courage, to come to Futaba with this. And after all of the research that went into digging up this ritual and these steps, it's a bit late to back out now. She doesn't have anything to lose, does she? And besides, after a Metaverse, talking cats, the Holy Grail, and everything else, she knows better than to call anything at all "impossible". ]
Let rise a wall, against the wind that shall fall. Let the four cardinal gates close...
[ The circle drawn at her feet clashes completely with the elegant white decor; Haru drew it herself, after more meticulous tries than she would prefer to admit. For her "catalyst"...it might set her café plans back a few months, but she did manage to nab something, with her share of the funds from pawning off goodies in the Palaces. As luck would have it, a historical society was auctioning off the remnants of a dark-coated linen, for charity: once believed to be a relic of the saint Jeanne d'Arc. But about a decade ago, it was proven to be the remains of an ancient Egyptian mummy, hundreds of years older than the French heroine.
In other words, a forgery. Counterfeit. Valuable in its own right, to be sure, but decidedly not what it was alleged to be. But in this case...does it truly matter, if the linen is real or a fraud? Or, isn't it better, that it's "fake"? ]
I hereby declare... [ Is she supposed to be feeling something right now, a sensation in her body? She's not sure...but she takes a deep breath and continues, trying to project more confidence than she actually has. ] I hereby declare, your body shall serve under me. My fate shall be your sword. If you will submit to this will and this reason...then, answer!
[ ........... ]
...Then, answer! [ With a flourish of her arm this time, waving in the empty, silent air-- ] Answer? Um, hello? Anyone...?
[ Nothing. Of course. With a little huff, more defeated than frustrated, Haru flops back down on her bed behind her, spread out flat on her fancy comforter. ]
I knew that wouldn't work...
no subject
For the traitorous, exhausted part of her, it's comforting to know that her fight is finally over. That she can rage, scream, cry, and roar, and nothing and nobody will answer her. Without anyone to witness her struggle, anywhere to direct her fury, she can simply rest; free of the anger and hatred that once renewed themselves endlessly in the furnace of her soul. In a way, it's the closest to peace she's ever known—
—and then she hears a voice. Faint at first, then louder, and filled with foolish conviction. "I hereby declare..."
Avenger considers ignoring the call, at first. Honestly, she does — she's earned this dream, if nothing else, and clawing her way out of oblivion was annoying enough the first time around. But... then she remembers how much she hates peace, actually. How much she hates letting anyone else win, especially the world that denied her very existence. And, most importantly, that this must be the longest Haru's gone unbothered since Avenger made it her mission to harass her.
(Of course, Avenger would claim that she, herself, was the real victim of harassment, with the kind of twisted logic her entire personality is constructed on. And isn't it the ultimate harassment, to expect her to go through so much pain and effort for one idiot girl's wish? Ugh.)
So, grudgingly, Jeanne Alter rouses herself. Much like her original self baffled the inquisitors at her trial, she uses not her strength, but logic and reason, to poke holes in the void itself; just big enough to crawl through and escape into the light she knows will only burn her again. She welcomes the curses, the grudges, the malice, back into her body, and meets them with the contempt of familiarity, like greeting an old, bitter rival.
Still, she doesn't manifest the way a true Servant would, shining and heroic and clad in armour and glory. In fact, she doesn't manifest at all. For all apparent intents and purposes, the summoning was a failure, just like Haru expected it to be.
But about an hour afterwards — well, an hour for Haru, and far longer for Avenger — a disembodied voice barges its way into her head; unmistakable in its whininess. ]
HEY! How long are you going to wallow in despair, flower girl? I'm right here, so notice me already!
Or were you trying to summon some OTHER Servant? Cheater! As if I'd let you!
no subject
[ She whirls around on her blanket, stirred from somewhere between slumber and sadness, and blearily looks from wall to wall. Try as she might, she can't pin down the source of the voice at all. Is she imagining things, now? Or dreaming, perhaps? But she doesn't usually have dreams so clear, or hear voices so vividly in her own ear...with one exception. Let us adorn your departure into freedom with a beautiful betrayal -- Milady's words, as well, rang true in her mind, so plainly that Haru could have mistaken them for her own thoughts.
The voice she hears right now...well, there can obviously be no misconception there. Even if it's accusing her, just as standoffish and prickly as she always remembered, it's just the voice she was looking for -- the one she refused to accept that she would never hear again. The one she had wanted to hear so badly that she would resort to something as implausible as a ritual in the middle of her bedroom...
And maybe because it's so implausible, she finds herself doubting this voice, even if she wants to believe that she really isn't alone, and that Avenger truly is here. There's a part of her that's cautious, careful not to get her hopes up very far, dreading the drop, and the moment that she stirs to find that she was indeed asleep.
Be that as it may... ]
Jeanne? [ She starts, quietly; nothing like the loud, shrill voice that's made its way into her head. She doesn't know where to look at all. ] Are...are you really here?
[ And if she is, why can't she see her? Is this how that ritual works, after all? Or...did she mess something up, somehow? Perish the thought-- ]
no subject
Yes, yes; it's really me. Jeanne d'Arc Alter, in the... well, not quite flesh, I suppose. Are you surprised? You shouldn't be, after you went through so much effort to interrupt my sleep! You're lucky I don't report you as a stalker!
[ Even by the standards of her usual bluster, it's weak. So weak that she doesn't wait for an answer before answering the question she knows is coming next; dismissing any attempt by Haru to speak first. ]
Right now, our connection is weak. Normally, I'd accuse you of being incompetent, but it's because my existence hasn't been approved yet. I still need more energy...
[ There's a sense of her presence moving closer — ostensibly impossible for a voice already inside Haru's head, but there all the same; as if Avenger is leaning over her, deliberately invading her personal space. ]
... So you're going to have to give it to me, just like a Master should. And then... you'll finally be mine. [ Someone has a poor understanding of what the words "Master" and "Servant" mean. ]
no subject
But then, is she really the type to be punctual when she's called? Jeanne Alter has always been the type of person who comes and goes as she pleases. Tonight, it seems, is no exception, even if Haru has to process her words for a moment, and their implications. ]
Approved yet?
[ It sounds like a matter of cognitive psience, almost, like what happened when Mementos and reality began to overlap through the power of the Holy Grail. At that time, the Phantom Thieves weren't able to take form and escape, without the acknowledgment of the people who supported them...could Jeanne Alter be in a similar position, from where she is? ]
Can I...just do that? Er, give you my energy, I mean.
[ She doesn't know too much of the specifics, behind a contract like that. But from what Avenger's told her, a Servant is difficult for even an experienced magus to maintain with this "magical energy" of hers...and Haru is as far from experienced as they come. Not only that Jeanne Alter is far from an ordinary Servant; already, she has her doubts, even if she's not quite slinking back from the presence looming.
If anything, she's sitting up straighter, now. ]
What do I need to do?
no subject
[ A brief pause, ]
... HAH! I bet your mind jumped straight to sex, didn't it? Pervert! Ahahah, were you hoping I'd come to ravage you? Are your walls so thick that nobody can hear you scream? And that Persona of yours... could she save you without a throat to cry out from?
[ The advantage of being bodiless is that nobody can call her out on her (hypothetical) red face, and she gets to sound Mildly Intimidating. ]
Not that I'm opposed, flower girl, but there are other ways. A mage's blood contains smaller amounts of mana... as does their saliva. So once I manifest, you'll have to pucker up to seal the contract. Think of it as a necessary sacrifice, and save the complaints for later. Not that you'll have the energy to complain, 'cause I'm gonna need a LOT.
no subject
She'll pinch her later, when she has something to pinch. ]
A kiss, Jeanne? Really?
[ Doesn't that sound just a bit too convenient? ]
I never claimed to be a mage...but if you wouldn't be opposed to that, you're more than welcome to try it. It'll be just like before, every week.
[ It's kind of funny; she still can't see her, but she can imagine her now, hovering over her on the bed, her face just a hair's breadth away. Even if she hasn't manifested yet, this feels familiar. ]
And besides...don't you think I've kept you waiting for long enough?
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[ Of course she would. Obscured by several layers, to be sure, and with maybe a slight hint of self awareness, but her existence is a cliche plot device. When it comes to stories, she lives in a glass house filled with Shrek merchandise.
But Haru's lack of fear is, as always, annoying. It puts Avenger on the defensive, makes her doubt who's really in control, even if she's certain it's her. It has to be. She's stronger, scarier, and far more evil; all things that should tip the scales in her favour. Haru only has her smile, occasional stern words, and a big axe — and somehow, the axe is the least powerful of those three things. ]
Who says I'll settle for once a week? Now that I've trapped you, I'm going to take whatever I want, whenever I want it. Otherwise... I'll complain! And you won't be able to ignore me! [ Ah yes, so evil. And so different from before, where she was the pinnacle of good behaviour. ] Now, close your eyes... unless you want to witness your fall into hell.
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[ As much as her words may seem like they're chiding, there's no bite at all to them -- like Avenger's threats and boasts, they're truly empty, too tinged by how amused she is by the sound of Jeanne Alter's voice to hold any real bark. It's the sort of fantasy that one would expect to find in a story book, or a shoujo manga: to be separated, and reunited through something like "true love's kiss," even though neither of them have saw fit to call it that. In truth, it's fitting, for a "product of imagination" like Jeanne Alter to have this sort of an entrance, like something straight out of a dream...even if it doesn't make an especially convincing case, that this isn't just a situation she's conjured up in her sleep. For all Haru knows, closing her eyes here could mean the end of it; for all she knows, once she opens them, she'll find her head on the pillow, her eyes locked on to a dark ceiling.
It might just come down to another matter of trust, as it so often does with Jeanne Alter. Thankfully, that's never been a problem. As "evil" as Avenger has always claimed to be, Haru's never once felt as though her trust in her was misplaced, and she has very little reason to doubt her, now. And in the worst case, should she open her eyes to find that Avenger isn't there, after all...well, she can't deny that she had a good time, just being able to hear her. That's important, in its own right.
With a deep breath, she closes her eyes, and purses her lips just slightly. Her fingertips find the sheets beneath her, and curl up to clutch the linen: she's bracing herself, not just for a kiss, but for teeth, and the heat of a searing flame, even without the Gembond between them responsible for that part. ]
Go on, then.
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I'm going! Don't rush me! [ Already, she can feel her confidence slipping through her phantom fingers. She still needs time to prepare, and she doesn't even have a paper contract written up yet, and she's honestly not sure if this will actually work — and, and, and...
But she has nothing. She is nothing. Haru, with all her irritating, stubborn kindness, makes her feel like she's something, in the way only one other person ever has... and if that's not worth the risk, then what is? At least if she makes a fool of herself, she'll be too dead to care. Again. (And, if she has to choose a last memory to take back to hell with her, a kiss from Haru isn't a bad one at all.)
"She" would no doubt be praying to god for a miracle, but Avenger knows better than to expect any help. If she wants that miracle, she has to grant it herself; right here, right now. So, at Haru's invitation, Jeanne Alter summons what little magical energy she has, and channels it into giving herself a proper form again, just long enough for one thing. To know that she tried, when everything is said and done, and to answer Haru's faith in her, however misplaced it may be.
Like Haru expected, it's hot — but not the familiar intensity of their usual kisses. It's warmth at her lips, numbing heat in her bones, and fire in her veins; all coalescing on her hand to burn the symbol of a Master onto her skin, red and bright like blood. In a blink, Avenger stands before her again, black-clad and triumphant, her eyes ablaze with a dangerous hunger as she stares into Haru's from just inches away, still caught up in the kiss... and deepening it when she sees recognition reflected back at her.
In the end, she forgets to bite at all, the bruising passion of the kiss apparently proving satisfying enough. Instead, the moment they part, she grabs Haru's hand, wanting to see the proof on it herself, and grips it tightly. ]
... I accept your contract, under the name of "Avenger". I accept you as my Master... Haru.
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Funny, though; the Amethyst on the back of her hand is long gone, abandoned in another world, but Haru's grown so used to a rush of heat there when they're close that she feels it even now, as though she can't imagine how it would feel without that burst of Synchrony. But there's something different about their link, this time -- stronger, somehow, even though that shouldn't be possible. This isn't the feeling of holding one's hand too close to an open flame, tolerating the proximity to the heat: now, the flame is pressed against her skin, even if it doesn't hurt...and she's felt that before too, hasn't she? A fire that burns away the life you want to leave behind you, and leaves something new in its wake, after the embers die down?
Now, she opens her eyes, to find her own face reflected in gold; she doesn't look away from her for a moment, even as Jeanne Alter tugs at her fingers, yanking her hand out, Command Seals and all. Her head is swimming, and she barely processes the deep red symbol -- but perhaps if she did, she would have something of an appreciation for it. After all, the design isn't just for monarchs and saints...at least, according to the Musketeers. In that tale, the fleur de lis was burned into the flesh of traitors and thieves; a permanent stamp, identifying its bearer as a rebel. Her beloved Milady de Winter bore the mark, seared into her left shoulder. Jeanne Alter, now, has given her one too, on her left hand.
The brand is proof. They're partners in crime. But Haru isn't thinking about any of that, right now; not Masters and Servants, not contracts, not magecraft. What matters to her is what she sees before her eyes; and with an absolute immediacy, she breaks free of Jeanne Alter's grip, but only so that she can wrap her arms around her tightly, like she isn't an immensely powerful Heroic Spirit.
She buries her face into that awful black fur collar, and already, her shoulders are shaking-- ]
I thought I'd never see you again.
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This isn't a long con, with some fresh humiliation waiting for her at the end. It's... she doesn't know what it is. What could someone born from hate know what it means to be loved, so truly, openly, and deeply? Even if she's come to terms with her own feelings (until the next time she plays the denial game), even if she's willing to crawl her way out of hell for Haru, willing to be burnt away to nothing like her other self was, not for anything so noble as god or country, but for a single person, hope, like love, is still a difficult thing to accept. Just as love only leads to pain, hope only leads to despair — a far greater despair than any flames could ever cause her.
(But for once, she finds herself wondering if her black and rotted heart could beat for more than vengeance.)
Awkwardly, but gently, like she's handling something fragile, Avenger presses one hand to the back of Haru's head, stroking her hair, and wraps her other arm around her new Master's shoulders. It doesn't really qualify as a hug, even by the loosest definition of the word, but coming from her, it's... something, at least. ]
Yeah, yeah. Don't start the waterworks, flower girl. You'll ruin my outfit. [ Nobody should shed tears for an evil witch, even if she sounds like she's on the verge of crying herself. ] ... Honestly! There I was, having a nice, calm dream, but you just had to interfere, didn't you? If I don't get to rest in peace, then you're going to rest in pieces! ... At least, your reputation is.
That's right: I'm going to make sure everyone knows who you chose today. And that you won't ever betray me. So promise me, or I'll kill you right here. I'll strangle you, stab you, burn you— [ The contract is a promise in and of itself, but she wants to hear it. She needs to hear it. ]
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[ Her pointer finger on her left hand finds Jeanne Alter's mouth, and she holds it there, pushing lightly at her lips, still just a bit too dry, in spite of their kiss. She makes soft shushing noises, like she's calming down a child who's getting just a bit too excitable. As violent as the words are, she knows Avenger doesn't mean them at all, like she's throwing a tantrum, making a fuss.
After all, her eyes are just as misty as Haru's are. It's difficult to miss. Her words are quiet, still a bit sniffly...but there's a firmness to them all the same, resolute. ]
I know who I chose. This all would've been pointless, if it wasn't you. ...No one else who's ever existed, real or otherwise, could fill your role.
[ Out of anyone she wanted to meet, it could only have been Jeanne Alter. ]
You'll have plenty of time to dream with me, from today forward. I'll take good care of you. You'll want for nothing. I promise.
[ And her finger slips downward, slightly, to tickle at her chin -- ]
So...where's the dotted line that I have to sign?