To celebrate my 20,002nd post (not actually), I'll upload this.
All questions and comments are welcome and appreciated.
Disclaimer:
Fate/stay night and Fate/hollow ataraxia are the intellectual properties of Kinoko Nasu, Type-MOON, and other respective rights holders. This story is written solely for the purpose of entertainment, and not for any sort of monetary profit. If anything, consider this free advertising.
The Thirteenth Trial
or: Whose Herculean Task is it, Anyway?
Humans are a naturally emotionally sympathetic species. Even the most insensitive of us can pick up on what a place or group feels to an extent from time to time. Emotions are instinctive, an evolutionary trait that surely helped us reach the levels we are at today, for good or for bad. To be emotionally attuned is to be, fundamentally, human.
"What's wrong? Are you not hungry?"
After all morning was spent on nonstop shopping with no breakfast to tide me over, I couldn't deny that the food court meal appealed to me in the most base of ways. There was no way that the ingredients were of high quality. It wasn't the epitome of post-Industrial Age mass production, with flash freezing and grease frying galore, thank goodness, but it nevertheless encouraged one to eat solely for the purpose of convenience; to take in as many calories as possible so as to fuel themselves for the rest of their trip at the mall. Desirable for its unrefinement and unashamedly accessible, it evoked the same kind of primal appetite that a fatty piece of meat from a fresh kill roasted over an open fire on a chilly night would.
To my famished self, the food before me was extremely appetizing. Yes, I was hungry.
In spite of that I could not bring myself to eat a bite.
"Uh," The best response I could manage was a mindless groan, "Well…"
The reasons why humans are unable to eat vary. Sometimes it is due to sickness, in body or mind. Sometimes it is due to unfamiliarity, and on the more extreme end of that scale, disgust. Sometimes it is a deliberate choice, a decision powered by the strength of ideology.
Sometimes it is simply rooted in deep-seated fear.
Because, really, who can eat comfortably when they know that they're seated on the precipice of disaster?
"Oh, how silly of me, to not be able to read the mood like that. You want to be fed, don't you?"
"I'm fine, really," I said as I far too quickly spent my only means of defense, plausible deniability.
Humans are emotional beings. To feel is to be. Conversely, a rockslide doesn't feel anything for the victims it crushes under its thousands of tons of earth. It could only destroy and permanently alter the landscape before it. Right then and there it felt like that force of nature's thousand-yard stare was gonna split my head like a melon. Any second now the couple at the nearest table, desperately trying to listen to their survival instincts and are ignoring us with all their might, would be splashed with a gout of spinal fluid, and that would be it.
"Nonsense! No more words are necessary! Say 'aah,' Shirou!"
And then Berserker slammed a tray of French fries into my face.
Hours later I could still smell greasy potatoes.
.
- ] | [ -
.
If you are familiar with the characters of the people involved, then how this story came to should be self-evident. But as the devil is in the detail, so too is the weight of the events that transpired here lost without context and a proper setup. It all started with a phone call that interrupted the reverie of a rare-in-our-household lazy morning as I washed dishes used for breakfast.
"Hello? Emiya residence, this is Emiya speaking."
"Great! You picked up right away, Shirou! That makes things easier." The voice of Illyasviel von Einzbern chimed in from the other end of the line.
"Hi, Illya," I replied, "What's up?"
"I meant to ask, you are on school break right now, yes?"
That was correct enough. Classes had adjourned the day before for the school's upcoming cultural festival. "Yeah, I am."
"I knew it!" Illya said, "We too, are taking a break of our own."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, curious. Illya wasn't the type to call ahead and always preferred to do things on her own terms, very much unannounced. A trait, I've noticed, that seemed to be rather universal to magi, or at least the ones I knew. That said, there was something about Illya's own independent nature that had an impulsive edge to it that the likes of Tohsaka and Sakura did not. Comparing it all made for something like a red paper/blue paper scenario: different hazards with the same outcome of suffering.
True to form, my question was brusquely dodged. "I'll tell you later. For now, take a guess where I'm calling from!"
Uh oh.
I thought about it for a moment, but just went with what first came to mind. "Are you calling from the castle?"
"That's far too obvious!" Illya said, somewhat annoyed but still excited, "Try again!"
"Are you calling from some payphone somewhere?"
"Nope, guess again!" She cheerfully denied me once more, "Your guesses are too broad, Shirou!" Illya complained.
"You expect me to immediately narrow it down? That's no fair. Without a lead I'll be on the phone with you all day," I said, "Can you at least give me a hint?"
She pondered it for a bit as I assumed she was weighing her options. "As fun as that could be, that is not the reason I called you in the first place, so I shall grant your wish.
The hint is such: I could be anywhere."
That little monkey's paw. Fine. If it took two to tango I'd dance with her.
"…Are you calling from the other castle?"
I could hear the judgmental glare from the other end of the receiver. This round of telephone had suddenly changed into a game of chicken, and when it came to matters of unstoppable forces Illya was virtually peerless.
"Please take it easy, Illya" I quickly said as I backed off, "I'm really not smart or patient enough to figure it out on my own. But, if you were to guide this lost boy just a little bit more, I'm sure the answer can be reached."
"Alright, here's a hint: check outside," she gave in with a sigh, as she had evidently had her fill of us mutually messing around with the other, "I don't want you to continue getting it wrong and wasting yet more time, so I mean the front."
Thank goodness she specified which part of the outside I was meant to search. I was halfway ready to go to the shed and brace myself for the agonizing sight of a torn up backyard that was the result of someone deciding to go dig for hot springs.
Again.
Phone down. Shoes on. Out the doorway. Nothing immediately suspicious ahead. The wall still looked like a wall. Nothing stood out about the road up to Ryuudou. On the way down, in the direction of the four-way road and the bus stop, however-
"Tah-dah-dah-dah! I bought a cell phone, Shirou!"
-a much peppier sounding Illya called out to me as she stood on the corner, where the foothill began to rise up. Her cherry eyes gleaming, she waved at me with the same hand that held a newfangled device that looked slightly too big for her.
Ah`ha. So that's what she meant.
"Hey there. Looks like I'd make a terrible Oedipus," I greeted her in kind as I descended the road and made my way to the would-be sphinx, "Probably for the best- WHAT THE DEVIL?! – THAT'S BERSERKER!"
Obscured by the dividing wall until I got close enough – too close – stood Illya's monolith of a man of a Servant. He was garbed in an oversized, yet immaculately tailored, butler's uniform. It was trimly cut, kept close to flaunt his gargantuan muscular form, but loose enough to allow the full range of movement without a single broken seam or popped button.
And he just stood there. In broad daylight. In public. Looking at me.
"Yes," Illya said, "It's tough for you to recognize people when they dress differently, but this is Berserker."
His golden cufflinks shone. His bowtie was perfectly symmetrical. He blinked at me. It was an acknowledging sort of blink.
"There's no way I wouldn't recognize this guy!" I said, careful not to raise my voice too much in panic, "I'd know if it was him even from four kilometers away! No, five! Without reinforcement! The question is why is he here? He stands out like, well, he's Berserker, y'know?"
"Berserker is here for the same reason that we all are here," she said, "When I said that we were taking a break, I meant that we at the castle were taking a break. That meant all of us, him included."
I had been too distracted by the riddle-play earlier to seriously consider what Illya's words meant. Magi are stereotypically such busybodies that I cannot even imagine most of them would take a detour on the road to progress like that, especially a family as hyper-traditional in morals and objective as the Einzberns, and especially at a time like this.
"An actual break, as in a break, huh? Is the estate so high upkeep that you need to just collectively raise your hands and step back for a bit?"
Illya shook her head as she corrected my misperception. "There's lots of Einzbern land but most of it, practically speaking, is self-maintaining. Most of the forest is kept in a state of near equilibrium through the workings of the boundary fields woven throughout it. That combined with the forest's denizens assure that intruders aren't an issue. This is guaranteed to the point that the only ones who come to the forest are those who have business there to begin with. It's a system that more or less works as well as it can with our resources.
"The renovations, though? That's where all the real work is to be found. The forest is vast enough to surpass the Second Owner's territory, and there are structures hidden throughout that have fallen into squalor that must at least be gutted before it can be properly used. It's no matter of simply rearranging the furniture to foster good feng shui. I'd rather tear them all down and be done with it," she bitterly emphasized this, "but as of late I've found that I cannot even bring myself to throw out old toys and such. You remember when Rin destroyed a floor of the manor? The worst of the effects have been dealt with, but it's still not fixed.
"When you top that all with my other responsibilities as successor and the studies assigned to me by Sella, and all that she and Leysritt do as part of the regular upkeep, is it any wonder why I'd want to lift my hands up in the first place and call an Einzbern ceasefire, Shirou?"
"I can get that you're not much of a workaholic," I said, "and that Liz and Sella – supermaids that they may be – are just as human as the rest of us where it counts. If it was an order from you even they'd have to take five.
"But where does Berserker come in to all of this? There can't be much that requires a man of his, uh, talents, around the house."
"My servants don't ever stop being my servants," Illya clarified, "This is just a forced suspension of labor. Berserker, however, can never be relieved of his duty. We'll be bonded to the end. Along with heavy lifting and grabbing hard to reach objects, he's also proven his usefulness to no end in clearing out overgrown clusters of spirits, thus ensuring that the forest is not oversaturated. The guard dogs have their uses, but we're not a boarding house for any truly vengeful souls."
I was never taught much about the nuances or technicalities of spirits until my apprenticeship, but even I knew that if enough negativity came together in one place it'd reach a sort of critical mass and something like lemures could form. Nasty stuff involving the fifth element, curses in humanoid shape, an almost solid mass of grudges. The Einzbern's land was already exceptionally supernaturally charged due to ownership by a famed magus family. This and its strong associations with death by means of the repeated Holy Grail Wars made it irresistible to those in between lives. It was a problem when those had sound enough minds to come and go as they pleased. It shouldn't normally be an issue for a place as well defended as the Einzbern Castle, but if you have to worry about a sketchy neighborhood just past your doorstep I can see why Illya'd want to excise the most cancerous of the lot.
Give Fuyuki a decade or two of periodic murder and I'm sure that scar of a park will give Tohsaka no end of troubles.
"Kind of like maintaining a healthy balance of intestinal bacteria, right? To that end, Berserker pulls his considerable weight." I conceded.
Illya nodded sagely. "He certainly does, thank you very much."
"So if you're here on break," Which frankly wasn't all that different from her showing up on her own, anyway, "Then can I assume that you want to hang out with me?"
"No."
"No?"
"No."
Talk about harsh juxtapositions.
"So, no…"
"-means no. I don't want to hang out with you. You have to hang out with me."
"…I'm not clear on the differences in concept."
"Me, Sella, Leysritt, and Berserker, we have all earned this time off," Illya said, as if reciting from memory a legally binding document, "You, as the proprietor of the Emiya house-slash-holiday home, have exceeded expectations. But Shirou has nothing to his name for the new role that he and Illyasviel von Einzbern have agreed upon. Therefore, since they are each other's, now, during a time of availability, is a good time for him to satisfy those hours of requisite companionship."
"When did I become yours again?" I asked, chin to my hand, ready to give her another talk about the issues with people owning people.
"You didn't 'become mine,'" Illya said, her voice rose slightly with exasperation, "We became each others'! It was a magnificently mutually agreed upon verbal contract!"
"Oh yeah, that did happen," I said with a dawning recognition, "Well, I wouldn't describe it quite like that." Certainly I recall the words blissfully exchanged at a chlorine scented paradise in another time and place, set within the confines of the four days.
What was that about four days, now? Don't be silly. There was nothing about four days there.
"What we said doesn't matter, it's the intent it was said with." Illya asserted, but the more the conversation went in this direction and the more she spoke her authoritative words the more the blood rushed to her fair face. "You ought to be happy that my choice made on a whim means that you get to fulfill your role."
"Ah, I get it," I said, after giving it some more thought, "It's not that I need to put in the hours, it's that you want to play catch up."
"Yeah, so? Whatever, you ingot-head, I wanted to spend time with you, is that really so wrong?" Illya babbled furiously. Now she couldn't even look at me straight, and was red as a berry, to boot.
Nail on the head. Yet, still…
"I don't mind spending all day with you," I said, "but why does Berserker have to come along?"
The huge Servant's presence was unnerving at the very least, and at the possible worst nothing would remain but decimation. How could I be at ease with that sentinel watching over my every move? It was unlike Illya to casually bring him into town, and even more so to voluntarily take along someone when she deliberately sought out my company alone.
"For protection," she wistfully said to me with apologetic eyes. She said nothing of the sort.
"You are my escorts today! Sort of! The both of you get to be my bodyguards!" Illya proclaimed to the world, pleased as punch. She twirled, and her flowing white hair and skirt made her look like a dervish, "Now there are two big, strong men who'll gladly take an assassin's bullet for me or dispatch the perpetrator at my command!"
How do you even begin to respond to that?
"Additionally, it's not as if I could leave Berserker by himself to do whatever he wants. He's limited to a short leash one way or another, so we might as well take him along for the fun and games."
On that cue, Berserker moved. He grabbed me by the back of my shirt and tucked me under his arm like I was a football. His godly speed caught me completely off guard.
As I suspected, there was not a single thread out of place even after all that. Like I said, immaculately tailored.
"Hey, hey, hey! Put me down! I don't want to go like this! Knock it off!"
A sound like a detonated bomb resounded down the street. That was the telltale sound of a prana burst's discharge. The wind roared. This meant that the golden haired young woman in full, gleaming armor, a streak of silver and blue, sailing down the hill towards us could only be one person.
"Saber!" I cried, "Make her let me go!"
"Illyasviel!" Saber called out, "Have you finally seen fit to follow through with your vengefully minded schemes?! Whatever has tilted your favor in this direction, it need not come to such measures. Unhand Shirou at once. This is your only warning," Saber asserted.
"Don't mind Shirou's overly dramatic screeching, Saber," Illya said, unfazed and all smiles, "He is just making good on his word that he gave to me, and we're going to go off and have some fun. That's the truth, isn't it, Shirou?"
"That's…not wrong." I admitted. But a compromising position was still a compromising position. I would have liked for Saber to help me regain some of the dignity that was slowly being drained away like pus from an open wound the longer that Berserker held me the way he did before I felt completely deflated.
"Shirou," Saber's voice trailed as she looked at me, and I looked at her. Through our connection as Master and Servant, a bond not forged through magical contract but camaraderie, we convey our emotions and desires to each other. "Without honor, mankind would be far the more hollow for it. Your words and the meaning attached to them establish yourself as the sort of person that the world will see you for. Do not swear to anything so easily, and see to it that promises made are promises kept."
Curse her. The mere promise of matters of honor is enough to flip Saber's switch. How dare she used her upbringing against her! As expected of Einzbern (lack of) tactical integrity. Saber's instincts were phenomenally good, but if there was no ill will present then the person before her might as well be invisible to her protective nature.
"I thank you, your majesty; your wisdom is relevant and timeless," Illya courteously deferred.
"Oh come on!"
"It is as I say, Shirou" Saber said, "If you have made prior engagements with Illyasviel, then you should honor them."
"I guarantee you that this is pretty spur of the moment stuff," I replied. Illya threw me a dirty look. Don't give me that, I thought, Excuse me for not wanting to be manhandled on a casual outing.
"Well," Saber trailed off, as she evidently digested the finer details of the situation at hand. "That's hardly an excuse, isn't it? Despite the resurgence of the Holy Grail War no one seems particularly keen on returning to the battlefield. Did you not plan to do what you wished today, anyway? Your schedule is as empty as everyone else's."
Could you have twisted that dagger a little more? I couldn't quite feel it in my heart, yet.
"I know all of that! Just don't let me be carried like a picnic basket!"
"Shirou, you know that just as well as I that I cannot hope to overpower him in a contest that relies purely on strength," Saber explained as if things were out of her hands, "Furthermore, he does not even have a weapon."
"The Berserker Express will also save energy and bus fare!" Illya happily added.
"There is nothing but good feelings in the air, Shirou," Saber said, looking satisfied that there was no need for her to intervene, "I trust that you will soon be having fun." Her armor vanished, returned to being a memory of the past, and she turned to make her way back up the hill, to the house.
Just as a genius cannot understand the suffering of the average…
"It's not the destination that I'm worried about – it's the journey itself!"
…just as a king cannot understand the feelings of their subjects…
At some mental gesture of Illya's, Berserker bowed a single knee and hoisted his small Master up, where she sat herself comfortably atop shoulders broad enough to land a plane on, in the grandfather of all piggyback rides. If the concept of piggyback rides could be granted shape and locked away somewhere for safekeeping then this would be the greatest form kept in that vault. "We have blessings from the king herself," Illya said, her excitement levels past rising and already into full throttle, "so there'll be no more wasted time talking here. The streets await us, Onii-chan!"
…so does an individual sheltered from the world at large not understand basic mores of society.
"Wait, wait, wait, Illya! The cost of this will be too great! I left the phone off the hook! Think of the bill! At least close your mobile up! No, don't take a picture of me now! It'll end up blurry! Who would you even send it to?! See, what did I tell you?! Maybe if we took a car like normal people this wouldn't happen! And I wouldn't let you drive it, either! Mister Benz is too good for bad girls!"
Saber. I appreciate you. We've been through the thickest and the thinnest together. For all that's happened I will forever be indebted to you. Our relationship is true, and nothing can take that away from us. But don't think for a minute that I'll forget this, you King of NEETS.
.
- ] | [ -
.
If humanity is an emotionally sympathetic species, then times like these when the nature versus nurture argument reared its ugly head and I then had a hard time seeing Illyasviel von Einzbern and Berserker as human. If that's too harsh, then instead consider them superhuman. It has a nicer connotation than "monster," though those are just different words for the same thing. Don't worry – monsters are part of the human condition. They capture the imagination. We love them even more than heroes. Provided that there's at least one legend passed down through the ages' worth of buffering distance between us.
Regardless, after I tearfully bid farewell to my and Sakura's breakfast in the parking lot of the mall, the day began in earnest.
"Stop taking pictures and close the damn phone already!"
"Don't touch me with your barfy hands," Illya retorted as she elegantly dodged with a dancer's grace, "You also can't take photos and use the call function at the same time, so stop worrying, you luddite."
"Is that so?" While I knew the basics of various electronic equipment due to my nights upon nights of repair work, up to and including what a cell phone is capable of in theory, due to my inexperience with them outside of a handful of isolated events I didn't know how the various features interacted with each other.
"That's right. Your phone bill will only be half as bloated as you initially thought." Illya was pleased to announce.
A glancing blow will inflict a different sort of pain than a direct strike would. I might not have lost a finger in the exchange, but I still had a nail ripped off.
"Why you-!"
The number one deterrent to the continuation of the shenanigans was Berserker's domineering state of being. Just being around him not only encouraged self-regulation, it made it feel like the air you breathed was as thick as pudding. "Whatever. I can fight with a flesh wound, and if I put in overtime then next month's household budget should recover," I said, "and if not, I expect that you'll spot the digits needed to heal me up and ensure we're satisfied."
"I don't get this talk of flesh wounds, but that much can be expected." Illya said with an air of pride and reliability.
"The empty cup can always be filled anew so long as it does not break." I waxed at her, "Let's go."
The one thing sure to happen in any trip to the mall is shopping, so naturally it stood to reason that we went to go raid the stores. The first stop was a high profile, brand-name chain of international renown, the kind of which you could expect to see frequently, but not too often and were limited to window shopping and fantasies unless you belonged to the privileged upper crust of society. Its products were the sort that middle-class wage workers would put money aside in a special account for half of a year before they were even allowed to entertain the thought of walking through its doors. Of course Illya could walk into the place as if she not only belonged there, but that the entire franchise's continued well being depended on her patronage.
Less obvious, and more telling, was that it was a men's wear shop.
On the upper levels there were the branches of the chain devoted to women's boutiques and other more feminine services, but those could be directly accessed by simply going to the next floor. But she walked right in, like her natural position in the world was here, a world of undeniable style and glamour, but meant for the purveying of the masculine-minded. Last time I checked loafers, slacks, and cologne were not a part of her regular attire.
"What are you waiting for?" Illya asked, equal parts inquisitive and urging, "Come in, Shirou."
"Yeah, sure," I said, still somewhat awestruck, "Buying gifts for your Servant?"
She cocked her head. "You mean Berserker, right? No, you're the primary target in mind for this stop."
As soon as I crossed the storefronts threshold I fully realized what she said. A lesser man would've tripped over himself in shock.
"Seriously? That's-" A drop in the bucket compared to the vast capital and expenses of the Einzberns. Someone – like Shinji – would freak out if he knew I was to be treated to something like this. "I don't even need to mention how generous this is."
"Why ever would we come all the way out into town just to buy for me? Illya said, "Your role here is integral. Now, let's go make Shirou's wardrobe less dull!"
Excuse me?
"Dull, huh." I said as I took note of my outfit.
"Mhmm," Illya affirmed, innocently heedless of the impact her words might have, "Oh, definitely. Your outfit choices are too – redundant. There is nothing wrong with being consistent; but there's a line between consistency and boring that has long since been crossed. It's always raglan sleeves or that brown thing. Either or, either or. Whenever I think about it I fall into a haze."
…excuse me?
"Are you really allowed to talk like that when you wear the same clothes every time I see you, too?"
Oh crap.
With the gods of haute-couture and womanly pride as my witnesses I had sinned cardinally. No mercy would be found here. Small, explosive, liable to pulp me if I gave a false move. Emiya Shirou had just stepped on a landmine, and it was made in Germany. Illya shrilly lambasted me, and if it wasn't for the insulating factor of Berserker's massive presence to ward people off, bystanders would have stared at the spectacle. "You IMBECILE! I'm wearing silk right now! See?" Illya was so close she could have slapped me right in my ignorant face, but instead she opted to furiously semi-twirl on the spot to instead draw attention to her clothes. "Last time it was cashmere! Before that it was velvet! Before that it was Egyptian cotton spun thin and fine! The day prior to that was a tyrian-dye linen and lace skirt ensemble! On that one chilly day we had, I wore angora wool as a change of pace from the usual ermine fur-lined coat I had recently taken to wearing! I bet that you cannot even tell the difference between a Gucci and a Pucci, huh? Why, to you I bet that Chanel is what a television station uses to host its programming, and would wonder what chocolate has to do with it! Do I have to dress in tanned leather and iron to be noticed?" Illya said, miffed as she could possibly be, "And unless we wish to be here all morning let's not even begin to start on the sheer variety of all of my underthings."
"You're right. Let's not," I said in the lull, and hopefully had preempted an even worse tirade. That was painful. The spotlit world of fashion was ruthless, and I had inadvertently offended one of its nobles. "I'm really, really sorry; I'm a know-nothing; I had no idea your closet's contents could be so varied. Please forgive me for not noticing the details, and from here on I'll bow to your superior knowledge."
Frugal as I may have been, I wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Unless that horse was an old mare bearing wasteful junk. Which was most of the time. Besides, I really had to make peace with her as soon as I could.
After she considered my apology for a few tense seconds she accepted it and lightly poked me on the nose. "Well, I suppose it's not your fault that you don't understand fashion at all, since all the clothes you wear are either uniforms or whatever hand-me downs Taiga, in all of her boundless grace, deigns fit to gift you with. Really, you're blameless here. It still made me mad, but I understand where you came from. Now I really must mend your broken ways, Shirou!"
"I wouldn't have said 'no' in the first place. Feel free to mend me into something you think is better while we're here – I just might be surprised by your tastes."
"Leave it to me, Onii-chan. You're in my domain now." Illya said confidently with a little salute.
We hadn't gone a few steps into the store before I was besieged with a pressing thought. "Can I ask you a question?"
"What is it?"
"You have so many different clothes," I noted, "so why do they all look alike?"
"I like them like that."
"I like my clothes like this, too!"
"You don't like them; you're used to them."
.
- ] | [ -
.
Two things to note about my image makeover.
One: I had evidently erased the trauma of it from my mind because I had forgotten just how much of a trial it was to go on a shopping trip of this nature with women.
Two: Her tastes did surprise me. In the same way that you could curse someone by wishing them an interesting life.
"Absolutely no red on black," I told her as I made my way through the pile of clothes that had been procured for me and I spied the offending outfits.
"What? Why not?"
"It's not me."
"You're a young man in his prime," Illya said, "You don't give yourself enough credit. "
"That's not it." I said, "Red's a great color. Black is a good one, too. There's lots of history and tradition behind them." Heroes and villains alike throughout history and fiction have donned those hues. Those were cool colors. Really cool colors. The colors of ripe fruit and blood, the night and the origin of all things. The clothes were expensive, but I could tell at a glance that that was because a customer well and truly got what they paid for. I wanted to wear these. I wanted to look dashing and full of virility. I wanted to please Illya.
"…it's…just not happening."
That could not change the fact that this color combination was ruined for me. Every time I thought of it on me I thought of his ugly mug and I wanted to punch a wall.
"I disagree," She replied adamantly, "These colors suit you."
"They do, I replied to her reply, "Just not together."
"What about black on red?"
"Were you even- that's hardly different."
"There's enough of a difference. Remember, you don't understand fashion at all."
Berserker took no sides outwardly, but I knew without a doubt where his loyalties lay. He merely groaned subvocally in my general direction.
I sighed, still not swayed. "Doesn't mean I'm colorblind."
"It does too look different. When you try it on you'll see that and you won't even remember the fuss you were making about the two colors together. It'll be like self-hypnosis."
From behind the curtain I stepped forth, ready to be judged or admired as the would-be fashionista princess saw fit. Slacks and vest, of complementary sky blue and slate grey tones, with rubber soled lace-up leather dress shoes were what I had on this time. "Yup! A balance of versatility and style is what you need, and that's certainly something you can fight with and look good doing so in." The inspection checked out and Illya simultaneously paid me a compliment and patted herself on the back.
A normal person probably would've spared a smart remark about her choice of words, but with the both of us being magi we knew that what she said in seemingly mindless jest was steeped in reality.
"They're a little stiff," I said, moving my arms around, shifting in place in the folds of the fabric, "but that's only because they haven't been actually worn yet. Give them time and I'm sure they'll be comfortable to move around in."
"On that note, you ought to learn how to store magic in your clothes, especially in what you adopt as your battle outfit," Illya brought up, "Even just how to store reserves of energy would be an asset if you suddenly found yourself in a tight spot."
"Forget that probably not being possible with my skillset: wouldn't that mean they'd need to soak in all sorts of materials required for the rituals? That'd definitely leave stains, wouldn't it?"
"Wear dark colors?" Illya suggested after mulling it over for a couple of seconds, "Like black. Or red."
"Again with the black and red."
"I assure you I'm not doing it on purpose. It just keeps coming to mind," she said with an utterly straight face.
Illya was honest. Maybe a little too honest sometimes. I just gave her a look that said everything I couldn't put into words then. It was downright zenlike like that. "On to the next one?" Ready to move on and no longer linger on that line of thought, I asked. She nodded. I proceeded once more back into the changing room to face off against the daunting pile of outfits. Just when I almost thought that this experience was getting fun the next piece caught my eye. Illya had banned me from making my own selection, and I did not recognize it as something that she had picked out for me. It must have gotten caught up in the mix, though whether it was intentional or just a casual-wear casualty of the hectic gathering I did not know. "Hey, Illya. Something weird got into here. Should I still try it on?"
"When you put it that way you know I have to see it." She replied, her tone eager, full of expectation. I heard the click of a camera phone snap open and primed.
"You sure about that?" Trepidation in my voice, I warned her, "I'm not exactly kidding around."
"I'll lodge a complaint to the manager about their employees being too proactive if that would make you feel better. Right now I wanna see, wanna see, wanna see, wanna see, wanna-!"
I obliged her. She froze on the spot.
It was just a jacket, worn on top of what I already had on. Full sleeves, long, forked hem, constructed with gabardine fibers – it was meant to be worn in all elements. In the desert it kept grit out as long as it was closed up. It could blend into forest undergrowth as easily as it could shadowy alleyways. On a snowy field the wearer would stand out like a blackhead on a porcelain-white face, and would be swallowed up into a raging blizzard just as easily as anything else in the world.
We knew this for what it was. We both knew exactly who this called to mind. Years later we still remembered.
This was a wound shared between the two of us.
This was something so very much like what our father would have worn.
She had been so obnoxiously vocal, yet so happy, and now her mood had so shifted that I couldn't even look at her straight. I'd rather spend the rest of my days staring at the ceiling, familiarizing myself with it. I didn't even want to know what Berserker made of this infringement on Illya's feelings.
"Terrible. Undoubtedly terrible. You don't look good in it at all." Illya berated my appearance with all the bluntness of a sledgehammer, but she continued to just look on at me, hand to her chin, miles away in thought.
"I…can take this o–"
Her eyes met mine. They were dilated.
" –or keep it on. "
There were no tantrums. There were no tears. There was only introspection and undiverted attention. For a few more decidedly awkward to the point of being physically uncomfortable moments, I stood there, playing dress up for Illya.
If it is true, if humans are an emotionally sympathetic species, then it only makes sense that we would evolve a way to hide our feelings away from the rest of the world, for what we perceive to be our own sakes. It boils down to fight or flight: we can confront, or we can run away. Sometimes it's easier to run. Other times you wish you could be able to run.
To that end, the eyes certainly are the window to the soul.
Sorry, Kiritsugu. Looks like I inherited your will a little too well.
.
- ] | [ -
.
The weight of the world was on my shoulders, but in reality it was just my twenty-odd outfits in who-knows-how-many shopping bags that I was laden with.
After she purchased everything, Illya had made Berserker and I wait outside the store while she went back in for something unspecified. It felt less like we were two men waiting together and more like he was a warden sent to watch over me. There was no doubt that for the time being Illya had laid claim to the store, that Berserker was its gatekeeper. Yet for some reason his mismatched eyes, so panopticon-like in the ambiguity of their gaze, seemed trained on me and no one else.
"What's with the dirty look?"
Berserker did not respond.
"What happened back there wasn't entirely my fault, you know. It wasn't pleasant, but you could argue that it happened for the best."
Deep breaths were the only reply.
"You have to have seen something in her dreams. Even you should be able to understand that this goes both ways."
His chest only rose and fell with each inhale. It was then that I realized that I was attempting to have a conversation with Berserker. Berserker.
"At the very least could you share some of the load?" I offered some of my bags to him.
Nothing.
Typical.
Times like those I was thankful for all of my endurance that daily workouts had granted me. If the life of a magus was one of risk then it made sense for them to train their body as they would their mind. Since magecraft uses the physical body as well as the spiritual, even the bookworms would do well to make sure they are in peak condition for the development and progression of their work outside of the purely academic. Tohsaka, of all people, had a home gym in her workshop. Granted, that might be because her base of operations had more or less shifted to the Clock Tower and she now had the advantage of selectively choosing how to compartmentalize her property, but she still knew the importance of health. Sakura was not much of a magus, but she too paid attention to her body, but for, uh, "purely fitness-minded reasons," even though I told her again and again that I thought she looked fine.
I wondered what Illya herself did. She obviously couldn't bench press her own weight, but you'd need to be fit in order to swim as adeptly as she did. Did she spare time to go jogging in the woods? Did she make laps around the castle's floor plan – there had to be at least a mile's-worth of hallway? Did she even have to deal with upkeep for her temple in the first place on account of…?
My mind wasn't allowed to wander that far because she had returned with a buy of her own.
"You spend all that time in there and that's all you buy? Seriously?"
"Yup!"
"That's all? Nothing else?"
"Really."
"That's just glasses. Do you even need glasses?"
Sure enough, there was a stylish pair of spectacles nestled gently on Illya's soft face. What was the word for it? Chic? They were definitely chic. Right? The way she used her fingertips to push up and adjust the lens frame was…I didn't even know. It didn't look out of place. It looked right.
"Sella's got me reading these old family books – grimoires, really – about alchemy and whatnot and I can swear that the script keeps getting smaller and smaller. My old pair of readers wouldn't cut it anymore."
Those fit her spookily well. Way too well.
"Would you believe that those Flamellians sometimes actually inserted text into text for better safekeeping of knowledge? It's so annoying. These aren't prescription; these are magnifying lenses. They're also useful for fine print kanji."
The more seconds that passed that she wore it the more my perception of her was altered. It was perfect. It was so perfect that the very perfection of it threatened to consume her. The Illya I knew would vanish, to be taken by this new perception that had appeared before me, that had evidently always been there but never for me to see until now. She and I would be irreversibly changed, and nothing could be done to fix that. Something stirred here in that moment on that day that shouldn't have.
"So, Shirou" Illya trailed off. Her feet shifted idly as she made to say what she wanted to, "how are they?"
"You look like a mini-Tohsaka with those on."
Outside of a Noble Phantasm I had never seen something hurtled so hard and fast before. For one brief, shining moment Illya had reached the potential of a combat-model's specs. Somewhere an Einzbern coining engineer was both shocked and proud. One second the pair of glasses was on her face, and the next millisecond a tinkling crash could be heard in the distance. A much closer gagging sound retched its way forth from Illya's throat.
"Wow, wasteful!" I blurted on impulse.
I could feel Berserker's glare. No ambiguity there as to whether or not he was actually looking at me, then. I had saved us all from the otherworldly pull, but at the sacrifice of what?
"I'll have you know I'm going to get you for that." Breathing heavily, her body quivering from the sudden exertion, Illya balefully promised this.
.
- ] | [ -
.
"Strike when unexpected! Strike when unexpected! Revenge is a dish best served force fed!" the small girl cackled with triumphant delight.
Following that disastrous aforementioned lunch – with even more full shopping bags from other stores – I never thought that I'd be so happy to return to that toy store until now, but whatever it took to get Illya to not continue to misquote Sun Tzu at me, to not let Berserker stalk so closely behind me like that impenetrable, absolute wall in Super Mario Bros. that doesn't let you backtrack, and divert her attention elsewhere I would cheerfully leap at that chance. Illya, as it turned out, had incidentally decided to pursue stuffed animal collection as a formal hobby, and not just the escape mechanism the lonely would resort to.
"Oh yeah, yeah. Monkey plushies of all shapes 'n sizes 're right down thattaway. We got a special on mandrills today."
Hey.
"No runnin' in the aisles, you'll scrape your knees! Only smilin' faces are allowed here! Tears need not apply!"
I knew that guy.
There was no mistaking the one Servant in town who chronically could not hold down a steady day job for anyone else.
"Heya, Lancer," I said with the closest I could manage to a wave to Ireland's friendly neighborhood Child of Light, "Working here now?"
"Nice duds, kid-" He turned to greet me in kind, but when he saw my company the young man went rigid. "Well if it isn't the Mad Fae herself," Lancer snarled warily.
That was definitely not a pet name.
Gone was the amiable apron-wearing employee who had cheerfully assisted children. In his place was a testier individual, a bog-standard example of "once bitten, twice shy" taken to the extremes. Considering Lancer's easy-going personality, it had to have taken out a big chunk to affect him like that.
I looked at Illya. Her expression was stiff, her lips pursed, but her eyes were wide, and in the next moment narrowed until they looked like glistening, bloody slits carved above her smooth cheekbones. Berserker's muscles grew taut. Somehow I had gotten caught up in an unforeseen crossfire, and both sides were rife with predatory edge.
What the hell kind of a past did these two have?
"Illya, what's going on here?" I cautiously asked, careful how I tread.
"Kid, if it's answers you want then you gotta ask the victim. And I'll tell that this lass here's been raisin' hell every time I'd seen her!" Lancer pointed precisely at Illya with a declarative statement. He had taken a step back when I hadn't noticed. Still as fleet on his feet as he ever was.
"Wait, she has?"
"Aibell sans the strings, she is!" Lancer barked, "It's this one's singing that prophesies doom – namely mine own! At least that one had the good graces to mostly stick to her own craig. Whereas she sought me out whenever she had herself a rotten day!
"I'd get off work, and if I was really unlucky we'd run into each other. Every time, always whinin' about something, woman problems, I don't know. Then she'd snap and sic her pet monster on me! Sayin' all the while 'I'll make larks' tongues in aspic with you as the key protein!' or 'I'll stuff you like a trophy!' and other things to that effect."
"She what, now?"
"Aye," he whuffed, "Ever since I'd done stuck the jolly grey giant here way back when my options of attack-based defense have been limited. These days we'd tussled so much once an opening presented itself runnin' was all I got. It's embarrassin', right?"
"Hold on," I said, "Then that means that the rumors of the mysterious Midnight Demolition Team…"
"-is one mystery solved. Modern work's tough enough for me, but if there was one good reason why I was between jobs more than keeping 'em, she'd be up there!" Lancer yelped accusatorily.
Seriously? Illya was bullying Lancer? The thought was laughable as it was disconcerting. Had I really known so little about her? I looked at the two accused. Illya had a rabbitlike, timid expression; Berserker was as stone-faced as he usually was; and me, standing there I felt like a guardian who'd been called by the school principal's office. Now, why would she do that? What did Lancer do to deserve this? Sure, he stabbed me in the chest once, but I didn't hold that against him. While Illya also had a predisposition towards getting even I had my doubts that she kept a grudge against him for the harm he inflicted on me what seemed like an eternity ago.
I mean, it's not like he did something that serious like burn her house down or anything.
"Illya, would you explain this to me?" I said sternly, "I'm clear on the hows, but the whys I'm not so sure of."
"I'd…rather I didn't." her expression was unusually mortified.
"Come on, Illya. He's pretty adamant that you've wronged him. I need to hear it from your side as well."
"That…was a while ago," she said, completely ashamed, "I…didn't have any good reasons." She confessed when prompted, but explained nothing. This was a step in the right direction, but her motives were still in the dark.
"Illya…"
"Well, um, that is, to say, I- "
"Okay now, I think that's far enough," Lancer snorted.
"What?" Illya and I replied in synchronicity. It was anyone's guess which one of us was more surprised.
"I didn't mean to tattle, but sometimes a little ventin's good and all, I guess. But this was no place for it. Just about pissed on my contract with that. This right here is anti-thesis to what teddies stand for, dig? I can tell that your disapproval alone makes for a harsh enough punishment. Bet you don't even have an idea how much of a good thing that is. No need to have to give her the third degree on my behalf."
"Illya, Lancer's my friend," I said, "Don't you think you should at least apologize to the guy?"
"It's alright. I don't need no little girls to swallow their pride for me. Especially when it concerns matters of their maidenly hearts. She had her reasons, and I don't care to know what they are. I just help myself to the ladies. I don't try to understand them. All that us men need to know is that we need to keep them happy as we can.
"I'll be straight – the last fight was a while ago. I don't know what you've done to get her head full of the pink clouds and sweets, but whatever it is keep to it." Something that I did not long ago placated her? What fit that criterion again?
Then he whipped Gáe Bolg out and the negotiations were on the verge of another breakdown.
"That said, if sprout and live oak here ever feel like they really wanna scuffle, I'm game to finish things once and for all. You get that, big galoot?! I've been strategizing, so don't imagine for an instant that I've run out of tricks!" Lancer flew into a veritable cocker rage.
Too bad for him that Berserker wasn't a very imaginative person.
"Lancer! Do you even remember what the hell you literally just said?!"
"What're you talkin' about? I know what I said, I'm keepin' my word," he growled with bated breath, "Battles fought with misty eyes are the worst. See? I'm grinnin' ear to ear."
"You keep good on your word and follow through with your vengeance, Cú Chulainn, and I swear that I'll turn you into my new Berserker." Illya declared. Her guilty shyness from before was gone, replaced with an expression I had first glimpsed on a fateful night months ago.
"That'd be a godsend, in truth. You cannot possibly be worse than my current Master, and to not have to think for myself for once would be great."
"Yes, yes. I'll strip you bare of all mental faculties. You shall be reduced to a rabid beast, tugging at his short chain, slobbering at the promise of blood. When I give you orders, it will hurt to follow them, yet you will obey every single one."
"Oh yeah, you'll make it hurt real good, won't you?" he panted, "You'll bleed me to the last drop, I bet."
"I would. You shall be so bound to me that even when I am long gone and your current container crumbled to dust you will remain in servitude to my descendants forevermore."
"From one rock to another, huh?"
"In death as in life, again and again destiny cannot be circumvented."
I tried to picture in my mind what an Illya-Lancer team would be like. I didn't want to. I didn't want to imagine an amorphous, mutated figure, all distorted, corded muscle, soaked with runes of woad, mouth full of dagger-canines, blazing with the earth's heat, the only factor of constancy that it possessed a thousand-barbed blood red spear of bone and steel that extended its inhuman reach. I didn't want to imagine a monstrous scarlet-eyed duo that stalked the town's empty streets or the overgrown animal paths of that haunted forest. I didn't want to imagine it as the thing that had gutted me back in winter. I didn't want to imagine it as the thing that had threatened my companions with shame and death. I did so anyway.
I had forgotten just how fucking terrifying Illya could be.
"Speaking of work," I said, my voice cracking ever so slightly, "why don't we have Lancer help us find you the next cute and cuddly addition to your collection? That's right, keep cute and cuddly on the mind. Please."
"Oh yes," Illya replied as if she had snapped back to reality. With that the knife-thick tension in the air was gone. "I wanted a bird this time. Or a doggy."
I shot her a flabbergasted kind of sneer of disapproval.
"I assure you that my choices are unaffected by my exchange with Lancer," she said with an utterly straight face.
Bull. Let it be known to the world that Illyasviel von Einzbern was a name synonymous with greed.
"Well, you heard the little lady," Lancer said with all but a tail wag, "Right this way is where we'll find what you're lookin' for."
"Come on, Onii-chan, don't lag behind!" Illya called out to me, butler Berserker and employee Lancer at her sides. If my reflexes weren't up to par I'd be left behind in this diabetes-sweet, plush environment to fend for myself without a second thought.
To make a long story short, I tried to do my part to help out with the selection process.
"No wolves, no wolves, got it got it gotitgotitgotit!"
That was until Berserker gripped my head in a death vise when I offered to Illya an innocent-enough looking toy Canis lupus. Then I didn't help so much.
For the record, Illya finally chose a downy, bean-filled grouse and a cotton-stuffed affenpinscher to be her next new friends.
.
- ] | [ -
.
"Maskheads! Switch to solid ammo!"
"Already on it!"
The enemy approached in a tight knit, highly mobile squad.
Too bad for them that they went up against an army. An army of two.
Fired without hesitation, molten streams of metal and tracer light streaked down the hallway. If the men had really wanted to feel the bite of their foes, then that wish was granted. Pink-red mist splashed into the air from where the rounds impacted into their bodies, geysers in miniature that lasted for a fraction of a second before splattering on the walls. Good timing equals good endings.
"It's a wave of Fourth-Dimensional Skitterbugs!"
"These have three eyes and are blue-green. Intervals of alternating two and three-shot bursts will interfere with their regeneration best and take them down fast."
This advice was followed, and happened as it was said.
"Androids over there! Use Destroy Decompose!"
Infinitesimally small fragments of anti-matter greeted the robotic aggressors in kind. Each of the shots had to count. If the automatons were allowed a chance to retaliate, then it'd be all over.
"That's right! Run right to me! Come here, you pigs! It's time to die!"
For some, the rush of combat, the pleasure that could only be provided by rapid slaughter was an intoxication. What they experienced wasn't the thrill of the visceral struggle for survival, but the joy that came from nearly one-sided slaughter. It was indulgence in dominance.
"Shirou, stop slowing down and focus!"
"I'm keeping up fine, your standards are just too fast-paced!"
I spared a knowing glance at Berserker. Small wonder that he ended up as her Servant.
With every trigger pulled the HUDs were stained with lovingly rendered pixilated gore, and the more the game progressed the more exhilarated Illya became. Our light guns drew beads all over the screen wherever an enemy NPC dared to show itself, and they were then usually swiftly disposed of.
The painted white plastic toy she held wasn't exactly scaled down to her size. If it was a real gun it might have been too cumbersome for her, but somehow I knew that wouldn't be the case. For someone else, probably. But I had a lot of first-hand experience with battles, both mock and the real deal, and I recognized good form when I saw it. It hadn't been there at the start of the shooting game, but now she held the nearly oversized thing with consideration, regard. Her aim could have been as loose or as locked-in as she'd have liked without the risk of kickback, yet that action was still there.
Part of me wondered where that had come from. Did she have prior experiences with hunting like I did? The Einzbern properties in Asia and the old world were both expansive enough for the family to directly acquire venison and fur from their own backyards, so I could believe that. A rifle, however, is different from a pistol, especially one that large that looked like it belonged in a Hollywood action movie. Illya didn't display any intimate familiarity with this purely imagined model, but she was certainly not shy with the feel of it. Did she instead pick up on my own movements through a sort of osmotic psynergy? She always did have a natural sense of rhythm. None of the above?
That was a question for later.
"Look alive! Chevalier-class Magisuit!"
"Don't let it get close! That's all it needs!"
I aimed my black light gun at the next virtual target and fired. Illya followed suit and her rate of fire overtook mine, which naturally meant that she claimed the power-up it dropped upon defeat as spoils.
"Multi-Rocket?! Girl would of course wind up with the overpowered weapon like that."
"HAHA! I AM INVINCIBLE!"
A line of explosions lit up the area where the digital shootout was taking place. 3D models broke into smaller 3D models with each blast. Numbers flashed on the screen with each successfully eliminated bad guy.
"-and now you're dead."
"That was a lucky shot, and I was low on health!" she yapped, "Provide backup, I need tokens now!"
"Don't waste time to exchange money at the front; there's some left in my pocket." I calmly explained to her as I took point, now one man against an entire virtual world bent on our failure. The difficulty curve had wracked up all the way to maximum levels, and a distraction at this point could mean the difference between progress and disappointing defeat. It was the time for me to take up the arms of reliability.
From their hiding places the storm troopers swarmed, and the laser rifle I had in-game met them in kind. Aim. Shoot. Stomp on the pedal to dive for cover. Find a gap in the beat of the tune that their gunfire made. Don't get hit. To take one shot would mean to take all the shots. The task was difficult. Bullets filled the screen. But it wasn't impossible. I'd done this dance before. If I imagined the many black-costumed AIs in the form of moving hound corpses the skirmish took on a disturbing sense of familiarity.
Me doing my thing in front of a crowd all by myself had never worked out before. I had the moves. But I couldn't, did not want to dance alone. If loss was inevitable, then might as well call it on your own terms if you at least want to end it with satisfaction.
Belief is a powerful thing.
My heart rate increased. I bought time. With my strategy I downed four of the . All headshots, all critical hits, all messy. They'd stay down. Deep in the throes of that high-stress environment that felt good. No, what also felt good was–––––
"Watch where you're grabbing," I snapped as another went down and the points went up, "You want the coins, not something else!"
"Don't squirm so much when things are heating up and maybe no accidents shall happen, Onii-chan!"
"What? You want me to stand still and get wrecked?"
"None of that talk. We're finishing this," she popped the much-needed credits into the machine and laid the extras on the shelf of the arcade cabinet, "I'm back in already. Let's go!"
Reinforcements. The cavalry had arrived. What was half was whole again, and we were together once more.
"Oh look, there's a tiger tank now."
"If you've got time to admire details in the heat of battle, then hush up and gimme your gun so I can do the work!" My companion commandeered my light gun right out of my hand and added it to her own arsenal, before she proceeded to go to town on the midboss that had arrived on the scene. Grenades and incendiary rounds alike pounded into the vehicle's armored exterior, whittling down HP and penetrating into exposed vulnerabilities. Bursting with manic bliss, her monochromatic weapons clicking furiously like the overworked toys that they were, Illya meant to win this round with overwhelming force.
"Knock it off," I groused, "I'm the one with the monopoly on dual-wielding around these parts."
"You never did, and certainly don't now~!"
Yes indeed, Berserker. You two were peas in a pod.
"Admit it – you just wanted to pump something named 'tiger' full of holes. What are you trying to do here, use sympathetic magic?"
"Don't be silly. The ogre has accumulated so much age and mystery that what pain there is will only anger her."
" 'Don't be silly?' YOU'LL DESTROY US ALL!"
"Your gun privileges have been reinstated. I hope you do not disappoint me."
"Whatever you say, teammate."
Gameplay continued for a pulse-pounding hour, interrupted periodically by over the top cutscenes that told the story we fought our way through. The big twist of the game was that the events were all a ploy by the Thule Society to achieve some obtuse goal like impose the concept of destiny on a directionless, coincidence-driven world, or something to that degree. What it lacked in comprehensibility it made up for it by being emotionally stirring.
'Sorry, partner. Looks like when you play with fire, you shouldn't be surprised when it burns you up.'
It all culminated in an emotional climax where the villains revealed that not only had the character I played as had a bomb surgically implanted inside of them during the prologue, it was psychically attuned to the brainwaves of Illya's character. The latter had gone the whole game knowing this; the former was in the dark, blissfully unaware, always eager to do the part the situation called for. The bad guys' objective may have been confusing, but the game's message was crystal clear: Player 1 died, not through a Game Over and an inability to continue, but through the bond shared with Player 2.
The two of them could have left well enough alone. They could have stayed out of the Society's way. The device would have been deactivated following the success of the organization's plan. They could have continued to live together if they had decided on that. They did not. They fought tooth and nail, sound and fury, not to preserve the status quo, but to have a play at life and leave their marks on the world. Because they played their hand, inevitable change in their lives occurred at the expense of one half of the pair.
But, it didn't feel like the consequence of selfishness, because they were able to support each other to the very end. It felt very…human.
I thought it was a good ending. Illya, on the other hand, seemed distant. She didn't watch the credits roll. She impassively looked at the white controller in her hand with what amounted to zero trigger discipline. "Hey, don't point that at your face," I told her, "There's a laser or something in there."
"Right now I wish this gun was real," Illya intoned. It was pointed vaguely in the direction of the machine.
"Don't say stuff like that," I automatically replied after the moment it took to process that she had really just said that, "It's not right to destroy what's not yours." These words of mine did not come out with as much authoritative confidence as I would've liked for them to. It wasn't just what she had said. It was how she said it. "It's alright. I'm not Abe Steamer McMann, and you're not Ricarda Acaricia. Life's not a game. I'm still here, and you're not alone."
If that was a fact, then why did Illya look at me as if I had tried to convince her that Santa Claus was real?
"You're right, Shirou. We're nowhere nearly done, yet. There's still fun to be had." She stood on tiptoes and ruffled my hair. Illya chose then to smile at me. Warm as a sunbeam, it was absolutely radiant, and shined all the brighter for the contrast. It was as if what happened before was a spell that had been broken. Or, rather, a spell had then been cast.
"Even after all we've done today you still want more?" I said, wholeheartedly amused by her renewed sincerity.
Illya nodded enthusiastically. "I even know of something that Berserker can do!"
As if the last game wasn't intense enough, Illya somehow got it into her head that it would be a GREAT idea to test Berserker's might with a strength-measuring machine. To keep things interesting, and keep the machine from being instantly reduced to scrap by a few hundred kilos of Greek demigod, he was to only use his pinky finger in the big challenge.
Illya could exert great control over the man if she so chose to, but the mad Servant class wasn't exactly known for its finesse. It was like in those movies where the protagonist has to cut a certain wire in a bomb to prevent it from going off, only the results of failure were not as cataclysmic at the caveat of the difficulty being increased by a factor of one thousand.
A pinky like pieces of rebar strung together pressed surprisingly delicately into the palm of the artificial arm's hand. It nudged it. Sweat was on my brow. Berserker was steady. Illya's eyes were closed in concentration. Her forehead wrinkled. Her jaw was clenched. The muscles in her face pulled tighter and tighter.
Berserker growled a low rumble. The machine clicked slowly as the pressure moved it. His body moved inexorably, almost imperceptibly. Fractions of seconds seemed to stretch for hours to our adrenaline-addled perceptions. I was rooted to the spot; a statue trapped within his own body. The strain Illya was feeling was apparent. Lines of moisture beaded down her flushed face. Her balled hands were held firmly at her sides.
A single red drop fell from between her clenched knuckles and fell to the tile floor.
Clank.
"NEW HIGH SCORE!" The announcer voice in the game jubilantly announced, as its programming dictated.
"YOU DID IT!"
"YEAH! WE DID IT!"
We rejoiced. There were high-fives and hugs all around.
Then someone came along and beat it.
For a multitude of complex reasons (and plausible but entirely groundless rumors of game machines sailing through the air) we promptly banished ourselves from the arcade when that happened.
I will note that any and all possible damages would have later been graciously spotted from the coffers of an illustrious family of European hermits. Had there been any. Which I cannot claim to be privy to or aware of in any form outside of the possibility of being possible.
.
- ] | [ -
.
It was when the day finally began to grow late that everything came to a head.
"Oh! It's Konnie and company." Illya said as she spied some figures in the thinning crowd, the product of the tail end of the afternoon customers and before the evening usuals had arrived in full to enjoy the night life.
As it turned out Illya was referring to the trio of Homurabara's track team girls.
" 'Konnie?' "
"Yes, Konnie. "
"…'Konnie.' "
I paused.
"Do you mean Himuro Kane?"
"The young woman with the glasses and horizontal bangs? Yes, Kane is Konnie. She's Konnie."
If it was any other non-native speaker I would have chalked this up to a case of mispronunciation. This was Illya. She'd come a long way from garbling my name together. This was totally deliberate.
"…'Konnie?' Seriously?"
"Yes," Illya said with a tinge of annoyance, " 'Konnie,' as in konservendose."
"Now I see. You should've said that the first time," I said. At that moment I suddenly remembered what little rudimentary German that I knew from exposure to Tohsaka and this girl and put two and two together, "Wait. Why on Earth would you call her 'tin can?' "
"Because she's tough like a billy goat." What. Right on the money. This was completely dumbfounding.
I've said this once, and I'll say it again: What the hell kind of a past did these two have?
"So you two know each other. How did that happen?" I asked, "I don't remember ever introducing you guys."
"Her father is the most prominent politician in this city. That makes her the closest thing to nobility present that Fuyuki has, no? To at least make contact with her is to be expected. An acquaintanceship was a matter of course."
"So, how long have you been friends?"
"That'd be since March."
"That long?!" The whole day seemed to have been some kind of continuous reminder of how little I actually knew of Illya's life. It was oddly sobering. "That's definitely long enough for someone to acquire a, huh, nickname. How'd that happen, anyway?"
"This and that have led to the formation of true camaraderie. If I went into the details of any one event now we'd be here well past sunset. Suffice to say that's how the billy goat came to be. By the way, she calls me 'Snow Bunny' sometimes!" Illya swelled with pride.
"One: You can't say that much and just not go into the details. Two: That nickname is way too cute. You're a small, furry creature and she's used to preserve food. How fair is that?"
"What are you talking about? 'Konnie' is adorable, and nuanced. She does too like it. I would not call her something otherwise."
"Don't you call Tohsaka a cat sometimes? That's not a term of endearment, coming from you."
"Rin has problems. Himuro pleases me," Illya said, "That's why one is one hundred percent my friend and the other just gets her occasional moments of good grace."
I still had trouble processing the oddness of this information. It made sense that we knew Illya. She was a Master like us. It made sense for a handful of non-magi to know of her as well, for they were part of my immediate social circle and bound to meet her sooner or later. For Illyasviel von Einzbern to know Himuro Kane, who I also knew, but was comparatively less close with, through means completely independent of me being a factor, was about as amazing as convergent evolution. It connected my world in a way that I didn't even imagine was possible.
"Ice and snow, huh? A pair of elegant young women enjoying each other's company." I said to myself. I imagined that their outings would be calming, intellectual affairs. Barring the undisclosed events that led to Himuro earning her gruff alias, that is.
Another question came to mind. "Hey, Illya. If you know Himuro then obviously you must be familiar with her friends. They're rarely ever apart."
"I would," Illya said, "but I've never interacted with any of them personally – only observed them, at most."
"Huh," I noted, "So you've only ever hung out with her when she was by herself? Are you that mysterious friend who always shows up when you're not with your other friends? Is that why she calls you that? Because you turn cottontail and scamper away when people are around?"
"Snow Bunny" jerked her head to the side to avert my gaze.
"Why is that? Are you just shy?"
Ever so aloofly Illya shook her head. "I'm friends with Konnie because I wanted to be. The others don't matter."
"Illya, that's mean."
"I have the freedom to choose my people. That's my decision," she stated adamantly,
"I'm not saying you don't have that right. Choice is important. But if you write the other girls off as inconsequential without even saying why…"
"It's not like I do it without rhyme or reason," Illya admitted, "Yukika is harmless enough. Makidera, though… I know in my heart that I do not have the patience for that uppity one. Taiga is enough of a handful all by herself. The company of her doppelganger would be, as they say, 'too much of a good thing.' Or should it perhaps be shadow clone, since they're both Japanese?" Illya pondered this last bit aloud with a surprising amount of consideration.
Makidera did have a very energetic identity. Her antics livened things up even for me at my own expense. I couldn't really blame Illya if she wanted a change of pace for not wanting to deal with her. "I understand, Illya. There's no way I can hold that against you." For empathetic emphasis I patted her head in condolence. "Even so, you still somehow became friends with our sword swinging maniac. Doesn't everyone deserve a chance? Especially since they're Himuro's friends?"
"If it was anyone else I'd insist that they mind their own business," Illya conceded, "I guess I can give it a try sometime later."
"Why put it off? They're right there."
"Seriously? I said I had the freedom of choice, didn't I? Are you so quick to forget that it's our time together right now? I don't want to give you up just yet so I can make nice with new to-be girl friends.
"That and things are about to become complicated," Illya made an oracular remark.
Wasn't that the truth of it? Himuro knew Illya. Himuro's friends did not know Illya, nor did they know that she knew her. Himuro and friends also knew me, but likewise did not know that I knew Illya, unless Illya had let slip that information. Which I had no reason to believe had.
"Have you told her anything about me?"
"Nothing that would concretely confirm your identity. Just that I know a boy in town. The exact details beyond that are worth more than you could ever pay."
"Got it." You could keep your secrets. That told me what I needed to know. So Himuro definitely did not know about my relation with Illya. Which of course would be treated like earth-shaking information by a select member of the posse if it came to light even in the best case scenario. I'd probably survive the encounter, but the rest of the day would be ruined by extension, and the trauma on my psyche would remain. It'd make for a funny war story down the line, but the immediate results would not be what either Illya or I would want to be the note that ends the evening on. There was a time and place for everything, right?
"Man, girls have the most complicated relationships, don't they?" I duly noted.
"Actually, it's mostly because if you speak of the devil then she'll show herself."
I heard her before I even had to ask who she had referred to.
"–And that's why, girls, I'll continue to act as advisor for both the archery and track clubs! The sake of Ms. Rumiko's extended pregnancy leave depends on it! Of course I'd do the job! It's important for a mother to be there for her child! It's also equally important for the state's people to be fruitful and multiply! Stagnation is not a good thing! As that is a task for a married woman, so is mine a task meant for the available, single lady! Just because this hen lacks a rooster doesn't mean you should look down on my role! If you're just in it for the eggs then you don't need them in the first place! Otherwise you'd be getting little half-formed chicks whenever you crack open the shells and who wants that that'd totally ruin breakfast and it's not like I'm jealous or anything per se but who does she think she is, getting knocked up when Nationals are looming right on the horizon?! I'm supposed to show two teams the way to victory on top of everything else? Of course I'd get it done, and congratulations, bu
t if she and that country hick she got together with are laughing about being more 'realized' than me behind my back then they can laugh 'til they turn blue and choke!"
What was she doing here?
What was Taiga doing here?
Fuji-nee sneezed.
Then she exploded into action, with an enraged warcry.
"Don't caalll meeeee TIIIIIIIIIIIIIGER! I am not a single number or an armored attack vehicle, I am a person!"
"Ms. Fujimura, please calm yourself!" an aghast Yukika pleaded with the older woman, "No one said anything of the sort!"
That was a big, fat, hairy lie.
"There's nothing wrong with being a beast, but damn tootin' you're a human being!" the female leader of the track club enthusiastically agreed.
"Yeah," I said, "there'd be hell to pay." Makidera Kaede, with Fujimura's influence? The results would be thermonuclear.
To the side, and completing the trio, Himuro Kane looked as serene as a yogi seated atop a bed of nails.
Definitely. There was definitely a time and place for everything, and now wasn't it.
"Okay, then," I said to Illya, "I guess we'll have to get out of here without being noticed. It'll be difficult, with how much Berserker stands out and these zillions of shopping bags that I've been pack mule-ing around all day for some reason, but we've changed our clothes from what we had on this morning so it should be easier to move undetected."
Upon hearing my plan she looked incredulous. "You really are the type of person who doesn't recognize his friends when they wear different clothes!"
"When you put it that way it just sounds dumb."
"We're far too distinctive looking for our own good," Illya said with a flourish of her white hair, "They wouldn't see 'Someone Who is Not Shirou,' they would see 'Shirou in Uncharacteristically Good-Looking Clothes.' There would just be a discrepancy for a quarter of a second, at most. Needless to say that I'd be recognized right on the spot for who I am."
"There has to be some way, right? If they don't split up then that simplifies things. If that's the case then we just need to wait for an opening to slip on by them."
"It is a plan that could be accomplished," Illya said, "if it wasn't for the fact that things are about to become even more complicated."
"ILLYASVIEL!" At the behest of another one of Illya's prophetic-sounding statements, a soprano roar resounded through the shopping mall by sheer volume. A bobbing flaxen head weaved from store to store, in hot pursuit of its intended quarry. It went without saying who the person in question was. What said person was doing here, however, certainly merited a question or a few.
"What did you do to her, Illya?"
"Nothing! I swear! I've been with you all day, remember?" Illya said defensively, but genuinely.
"True," I acknowledged her innocence this time, but I knew the look of a scorned woman when I saw it, "Though, Saber doesn't do things randomly. She really sounds like she's on the warpath right now."
"The answer to that should be crystal clear."
"ILLYASVIEL! Though your word may have been good, your intentions were devious! I erred in accepting your proposal! As Rider enlightened me, it was not Philia that was in the atmosphere back there, but Eros! Regardless of what he owed you it is a crime against nature for the Fair Folk to exploit humanity!"
"So if the order is reversed, that makes it acceptable? My intentions were just fine," Illya harshly whispered. "Truly spoken like a Guardian."
"That's it, huh?" I said, "The night's over, and it all ends on a sour note."
"Our personal green-eyed monster on one end with the stars of the zoo at the other…"
"…And us, conspicuous as anything and loaded to bear. There's definitely no way we can sneak out like this."
Just to be clear, our lives were not at stake from this.
I directly met Illya's gaze. There was something weary about her gemlike eyes, but they were not without a steadily rekindling invigoration.
There would be no final end for losing at this.
I looked at Berserker. He still took in everything with his unfettered sight. For this moment I felt no fear of him as we directly looked at each other. There was only a silent request, a plea for us.
It'd just be a foolish anecdote in a silly book that told of our halcyon days.
He turned his head to look to his small Master. He got the same look, the same message.
But that was no reason to allow ourselves to get caught. Some things are good because they're shared between two people.
–––Things like emotions.
I was trained as a magus, not a ninja. Obviously that former, like the latter, entailed a lifestyle based on secrecy, even for a heretic as myself. But, I was never into the subterfuge and basement labs. Illya also wore her heart on her sleeve, so much so to the point that I sometimes wished she'd put it back into her chest. She didn't always explain the fine details, but you always knew what she was feeling and how much of it she felt. At the end of the day we were both pure. At the end of the day, subtlety just wasn't our thing.
If we couldn't sneak out, then the only answer would be to overwhelm the competition.
That suited us just fine.
"GRRAAAAURRGYAAHHHHH––––!!!!!!" The department stores shook from the bellow as Greece's Strongest Chaperone – I mean, Hero – voluntarily created the biggest goddamn distraction that Shinto had ever seen this side of 1994.
"Alright Snow Bunny, let's bounce!" I yelled as I dropped all umpteen bags and scooped Illya up. Berserker exploded forth with all his might in one direction, and me and the most precious cargo of all dashed away in the other.
I left behind my partner to face the most dangerous foes of the night. Against the might of the alliance of Saber, Fujimura Taiga and Makidera Kaede, the likes of which has never been seen in our humble city not even we were sure who would ultimately come out on top. All we knew was that the stories would still be told for long since after. Nothing less could be expected from Illya's true Servant.
"Hey, Illya?"
That was fine by me. I'd settle for a less prominent role.
One that was just as meaningful.
"What is it?" she giggled. You could forget the shooting game – this was a real adrenaline rush, and she felt it as much as I did.
"You know what I think? Even if it gets dangerous after dark, Fuyuki is our city. Let's burn the midnight oil and keep going together."
"Yeah! Full speed ahead!" she pumped a fist in agreement and urged me onwards.
The sun had finally set. I looked at a store window as we ran past and my reflection wolfishly grinned back.
As I've said before, Illya's tastes surprised me.
Red and black really were my colors.
.
- ] | [ -
.
Enclosed within the prison cell that was his own mind, Herakles looked through the distorted porthole of his perception at the boy and the girl. Since his confinement within the system he has been robbed of his higher thoughts. No longer would epicurean or spiritual pleasures sustain his mental stability. In the deepest throes of insanity everything now was categorized into either-or absolutes. Destroy this, destroy that. That was an order, follow it; there was no order, do whatever you can as you struggle to grasp that freedom denied to you. Servants are weapons meant to be wielded by magi against enemy Masters, but for those who are wrapped in the shell of madness this is what they are reduced to in the most literal and fundamental way.
There are no thoughts. Thoughts are out of place in an engine of destruction. Who in their right mind would ask for an existentially inclined weapon?
The contradiction exists. The thoughts are gone, but the emotions remain. The emotions remaining are a festering cluster that drives the berserker, which turn it into an instinctually functional monstrosity.
Emotions, no matter how twisted they may be, make a person, and a person has an indomitable will to act on them.
So when Berserker looks at the pair, though he cannot think much of them, he sees his children. His long departed, ill-fated children's faces stare back at him.
Before his story began, he had a bright-eyed, eager son like the young man before him.
Before his legend was set in motion, he had a daughter who was equally as lovely and charming, who was the subject of the puppy-loves and jealousies of all the other village's boys and girls.
He had begat them and many others like them, and in his great body he had enough love to spare for all.
The Herakleidae. His children. They were the first of his progeny. His divine blood flowed in all of their veins. A better pedigree could not be asked for. Each and every one of them had the potential to become heroes, to have songs of their deeds sung throughout all of time. All of his children had the means and ability to become something a parent could take true pride in.
For all of their potential, a child is powerless against the strength of their parent.
The boy with the bright eyes and the kind face; he broke his neck and emasculated the corpse without a conscious thought as to why.
With a single blow he caved her head in, and no one would admire her pretty little face again.
By the whims of the envious Hera, no child escaped the hands of their father.
His wife had rushed to the source of the agonized, cut-short cries of her children. For her timely effort she was granted the peace of not having to witness a single one die before her eyes.
She had no words for her husband, the filicidal butcher. She could only wail and curse her life and his alike.
The deity thought her most annoying of all. It did not end with one hit. He destroyed her body from the inside out, and Megara was reduced to a bloody soup.
Though it was the machinations of the goddess that drove him to madness, it lay solely in the fault of Herakles that he possessed the capacity for and carried out such mindless rage in the first place. This was nothing unusual. That feeling continues to exist within all of mankind now just as it did then. Even the most ardent of pacifists will call for blood if they are pushed enough.
Thus was the crime of Herakles, the greatest betrayal that any human can possibly commit.
That was the prologue of his tale. That was the first step on his road to redemption, to embody human triumph and overcome the worst of life. People everywhere could find guidance in his story.
But his mark still remained. Through his wit and power he became an example and friend to many, but deep inside he could never be rid of that feeling. It served as his very foundation, after all. Humans one and all remain sinful beings, and he ranked up there with the worst of them.
In death as in life: the emotion that he had spent his story running away from became the only one he could experience. He was pulled from his rest in mankind's memory to a cold land and bound to a girl as beautiful as his daughter had once been in a form that could neither share wisdom nor offer any guidance and warnings. He was deliberately denied these freedoms. Unable to be absolved of his sin, he was doomed to drown forever in its black waters.
That is why he would help her, any way she wanted. His time was long past. The only one who could make decisions was she. He was her vehicle, to do with as she saw fit. But since it is a human trait to grow attached to material possessions, to attach sentiment to that which cannot feel anything, she used him with care, only when she had need for his power.
A weapon meant to be even more weapon-like than others she had treated with respect, a childlike sort that turns toys into champions of justice and the most understanding of confidantes.
That was why he stood here. In the deepest depths he had no control. Like this, he could do more. Not much more, but it was the small things that made all the difference to people. As he was an unstoppable force, so he was equally an immovable object. He would not allow one of her enemies to pass, to interrupt her moment of small happiness.
The Black Panther. The Tiger. The Lion-Drake. They were the Wildcats of the Winter City.
"Whoa! This guy is HUGE!"
"It's rude to ask, but do you think he has gigantism?"
"I suppose that would indeed be rather upfront to ask about."
"Oops. I don't wish to be rude."
"Seriously? Those muscles, and that fine, immaculately tailored suit? This guy is, like, Mister Universe or something, right? Hey, what's your personal best? Can you bench press all of us at the same time? How many protein shakes do you need to down to maintain that peak form?"
"Your biceps are as big as my head! I bet you could crack walnuts with them!"
"Stand aside, Berserker. Illyasviel's wrongdoing must be undone."
"Saber?! You know this tall drink of water?!"
"Taiga!? Um, I actually do."
"With a foreigner '-er' name like that that should've been clear as a bell! Oh how careless of me! So spill it, what sort of past do you have? Are you all part of some exclusive brotherhood? Is Fuyuki the site of your current base of operations? IS BIG FIRE INVOLVED SOMEHOW? THE FRIENDSHIP PARTY? GRASSHOPPER MEN ON MOTORCYCLES?! Do you just get together to chant in Pig Latin and eat brunch every other Sunday?"
"Uhh, none of the above?"
"…Illyasviel?"
"Really, as a fellow athletics enthusiast you absolutely must give me some of your award-winning insights!"
"M-Makidera, was it? I regret to inform you that he's not much for, um, talking or other aspects of normal socialization."
"Whaddya mean? Guy's mute?"
"No, it's obviously because he's such a savant that his craft and the society are his only life. For a genius such as him to be out in public like this, interacting with us, is a rare occasion of the highest magnitude! The man is living, breathing performance art, wherever he goes!"
"That is amazing. I feel so privileged now. Thank you for your efforts, Mr. Berserker, sir. It's an honor to be part of whatever it is you're doing."
"There's definitely no other explanation for that. No. Certainly not."
"Berserker, do you intend to do nothing until the dawn breaks?! This is unbecoming of you! Give me a reason to take you! DO SOMETHING!"
He was Herakles. This was his Thirteenth Trial.
.
- ] | [ -
.
After all that talk about being together she ditches me as soon as we enter a music shop on the streets. That's a free spirit for you. You couldn't catch and keep a snowflake even if you wanted to, so anything that resembles an attempt to reign in Illya when she doesn't feel like it is not going to happen. It's actually no big deal. If I scan every aisle I'll spy her sooner or later.
"Look at that, I'm all by myself."
Kind of a dumb, obvious thing to notice then, but that's what happens. She just comes as she goes. I sort of always thought of myself as someone who had to keep watch over her. That much was true, but at the same time not even close to the whole truth. She got along just fine. She didn't need me to live life. She wanted me there to enrich it. She didn't have to go out of her way to come to my house, nor did I have to for her. We do it because we like to do it.
So that loneliness? So temporal that it doesn't even bear noticing. If life's good it won't last. You can't be with everyone all the time. That's not how it works. A human is but one body. It starts out that way, and it ends that way. It's not a big deal. Even together we're essentially always alone.
So if you can't be with everyone all of the time, and know this on a deeply intrinsic level, but still feel aches when separated from someone? Well, what that is is an answer so obvious I won't dignify that with a response.
Hint, though: It rhymes with "dove."
I finally find her buried away in the Hip Hop/R&B aisle. I see, with a pair of headphones over her ears, Illya gently move from side to side, one hand on one phone, the other hanging at her side, loosely moving in tune to the song she's listening to.
I tap her on the shoulder. "You finally made it, Shirou!" she notices, with wide eyes and an eager smile.
"That I did. Even if his role is minor a gotta be there for his . Like what you're listening to?"
"Yeah! It's really good. Would you like to hear it, too?"
"Music's life, so I'll gladly accept," I say.
"Great. There's an extra pair of headphones right there. I'll start it over from the beginning once you put it on."
"If you'd please."
I do so. With a nod Illya presses a button and I am more or less immediately serenaded by a soulful, jazz-blues inspired tune. The English is a little beyond me, but the lyrical feel of it all is easy going yet sensual, casual but heartfelt. Illya points me in the direction of the lyrics scrolling past on the screen, helpfully displayed in languages that we can both read with ease. With the proper context in my grasp, the voices of American angels caress my eardrums. She's right. This is good.
"I like this. What are we listening to?" I take a closer look at the display so as to elucidate the identity of our mystery songstresses.
"Let's see here.'Killing Time' by.........'Destiny's Child.' "
You have to be shitting me. I actually laugh at that, so loudly that it catches Illya's attention even with the headphones. I'm not the sharpest guy around – no one's perfect – but even I can spot a sign this obvious.
"What's up, Shirou?" she lifts off a single phone as she asks.
I stifle continued guffawing and zero in my focus. "Nothing's wrong here. All is well, Illya."
I take Illya's hand and the solo she moves herself to becomes a duet.
.
- ] | [ -
.
Ignorance is bliss.
"Take a break? How could we possibly do such a thing?! –And at a time like this, when our lady surely needs us more than ever before!?"
Case in point: Sella's and Leysritt's state of being as they stood at the outskirts of the Einzbern forest, uncharacteristically in plainclothes as per their mistress' mandated day off. Sella was the veritable cover girl of directionless dread, held together only by the seams of her own crippling anxiety. The memory of her on-duty purpose, her one and only lot in life, kept her sustained in this time of need.
"Easy, Sella. Stop working."
Leysritt, being possessed of far fewer mental faculties than her fellow maid, was significantly less concerned, and had taken on an airier quality than her usual self.
"I do not appreciate your use of wit in times as trying as these," Sella said, "This is a mistake and you know it."
"Why?"
"Our lady is selfish, and her judgment poor," Sella brusquely explained, "For all her seniority and superiority over us she willfully disregards the big picture and is rash to a tee. The company she keeps– you know this already!"
"Sella. Your mouth gets big when Illya not around."
"Our lady has heard my grievances before and takes insufficient measures to alleviate them and keep watch over herself. When will she realize that I do not tell her these things simply because I enjoy talking, or that I hate that man she chooses to associate with?"
"You do not hate Shirou? I am shocked."
"I did not ask you to linger on that particular point! Hate is a strong word, reserved for the foulest of enemies. Let me be direct: Master Emiya is not the enemy of the Einzberns. Something else is, however, and that in addition to the abandonment of our posts, however temporary, is what I take issue with."
"Berserker there, nothing bad happen," Leysritt said, "Shirou there, nothing bad happen, either."
"You don't understand anything." Sella said, looking like she wanted to howl her troubles at the moon so much she would do it even in the mid-morning with minimal visibility.
"I understand Illya's happy. She wants this. Homunculi born complete. Children grow up fast. Downtime important."
Sella let out a groaned emotionally charged with vehement disapproval and begrudging acceptance.
"Are you the lovely ladies for whom transportation was called?"
The tension in the area increased tenfold. Sella yelped with alarm, in recognition of the deep, familiar voice. If sound possessed color, and truly, to some in the world it does, that voice would be so black, so glossy that it would reflect back to listeners a view of an image of themselves as seen through a twisted funhouse mirror of contradictorily disturbing clarity. "Kotomine?!"
"A case of mistaken identity? I'm afraid that I'm no acquaintance of any of yours," a mere taxi driver replied, swagger and self-assurance evident in his tone, "At least, not yet." He accentuated this wily retort with a disarmingly charming wink.
Their adventures are a story to be told maybe some other time.
Program Plagiarism --- end
----------------------
Table of Contents:
----------------------
The Thirteenth Trial
The 13.5th Trial
Special thanks to Aiden for being my patient, occasional sounding board, Bdoom for the actual beta heavy lifting, I3uster and Break for clarifying the German translation, and Jacktheinfinite101 for this post.
Reply With Quote
Originally Posted by Lycodrake
NA
JP
