Parish of Saint Aloysius de Gonzaga (Rooftop)
Day 04
Afternoon Phase -03
Sheer cold (-29°C/-20°F)
(BGM)
It is a tense silence, albeit most of the tension comes from the Herald of Fimbulwinter, held back from the obvious imperative to protect her current master. The master in question looks almost annoyed by the whole situation, despite being held by the collar of her uniform by a woman even stronger than her most feared predecessor.
“Why are you talking like some tragic heroine?” she jeers. “Are you trying to build drama or something? Get fucking real.”
Senta pushes one the grabbing hands aside, and Maria is not quite there enough to prevent it.
“Who died and decided you have to save the world? I don’t know shit about your personal beef with the Nazis, but, I mean, are you even twenty? You are barely an adult.”
Just as easily, Senta pushes away the other hand.
“I look at you and I don’t see a super hero, nor a messiah, nor a fucking martyr. Sorry, but you are just a girl.”
Suddenly, it is as if Senta is the one looking down on the other girl. As if the one-year-old girl were the elder in this exchange.”
“So spare me the bullshit about being ready to die or whatever. You wouldn’t have that look on your face if you were ready to die.”
Her hands rest on Maria’s shoulders and a little bit of pressure is enough to push the blonde girl down until her bum rests on the roof tiles.
“And don’t fucking ask me what to say. Why the hell should I tell you what to do or say? Give me a fucking break.”
Senta is not a comforting or encouraging presence. The last person anybody would expect to give a pep talk, and indeed she does nothing of the sort. Maria grits her teeth, seemingly torn between exploding in rage or misery. The Herald behind Senta remains a bundle of tension, ready to burst into motion the moment she sees, hears or smells anything remotely threatening.
The wind stills, as if the world itself awaited Maria’s words. However, it is not easy to express oneself, especially not so when there is a presence inside you that cares not for human feelings. Ṣāltum simmers inside, embodiment of strife that she is, pushing her vessel towards the next battlefield. The thing true to Saver would be to reject Senta’s words, if only for the sake of perpetuating their conflict.
However, that is just too heartbreaking. What Ṣāltum understands yet does not understand is that human hearts, just like their bodies, have a breaking point.
(BGM STOP)
“I just…”
There is nothing more to it. This is not such a grand story.
“I don’t want to die…”
The pathetically ordinary wish of a brilliantly ordinary young girl.
*** ***
(BGM)
…and that is the scene I find on the rooftop.
I cannot interrupt such a thing, so the moment I reached the top of the bell tower I ducked like some sort of furtive stalker. They are close enough for their voices to reach up here. Not that there is much to hear right now but a girl burying her face on the bosom of the most unexpected person to cry on.
I can easily imagine Senta rolling her eyes before she next speaks.
“And now why are you crying?” she sounds as exasperated as her words imply. “Anything that lives wants to stay alive; that’s fucking obvious. Even the most thoughtless animal out there will do its darnedest to live as long as it can. No big deal.”
Maria only sobs louder.
“Really, I’m not saying anything weird or transcendental here: being alive is better than being dead. Couldn’t be more fucking obvious. That’s why I don’t get you, girl. Why the fuck are you acting like you’re doing something wrong here? Like you’re guilty of the sin of not wanting to die?”
“But, how am I supposed to fight if I don’t accept—uwah-wah-wah!”
Maria’s sudden outcries urge me to pull myself back up to take a look at what’s happening on that rooftop. Senta has pulled Maria away by her shoulders and is now shaking her as if trying to draw lots or something.
“At least try to make sense, for fuck’s sake! Are you trying to be a blonde stereotype?”
Wow, she is merciless. I mean, Maria has Servant strength, right, but that just looks harsh.
“How the fuck do you intend to fight without the wish to survive!? You think making a last stand means you’re ready to die? Are you a fucking Viking!? Get real! There’s no fucking Valhalla waiting for you afterwards!”
“There used to be, though...”
“You be quiet, puppy,” snarls Senta without even bothering to look at the Hound of Hel behind her.
“I’m not a puppy…”
“Whatever!” Senta cries to the heavens before focusing her heated gaze on Maria once more. “You! Blondie! Do you not fucking realize how fucking unfair—no, how fucking stupid you are!? You of all people, after making it this far! Why the hell are you now acting…like, like…god, what’s the word!?”
The word you are looking for is “resignation”, Senta.
“Resignation,” says the hound of the realm of the dead, who probably has seen a lot of that.
“Yeah! That! Good puppy.”
“I’m not a—aah, whatever,” mutters the pouty Servant to the side.
“Resignation! Are you really giving up by this point, just because you think you already know how it’s gonna end? You’re like a loser who gets bored as soon as he outlines his plot and never sits down to actually write the damn book! Don’t you dare come at me with that bullshit about ‘accepting your fate’ or whatever! If I wanted to puke I’d shove a finger down my throat! Gods, I want to punch you! Actually, I’m gonna punch you!”
“Wha—bugh!”
Let it be said that, when Senta said she is going to do something, she means it.
“You fucking punched me!” cries Maria in an unusually high-pitched tone.
“What, wasn’t I clear enough? I wasn’t speaking fucking Enochian.”
“You fucking punched me!”
Senta definitely is rolling her eyes right about now.
“Oh, come on, like you even felt that, Servant face!”
“Fuck you!”
“Sorry, but I want cock in my plate of fuck.”
I almost choke on my breath. Goddammit, Senta!
“Ortrud would probably be all for it, if only to try something different.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
I almost rush down there when Maria pretty much tackles Senta down on the tiles—I wonder if the guys at the parish house heard that. What stops me is what also stops the goddamn Helhound: Senta’s hand, as firm as the eyes glaring up at the girl pinning her down.
“The fuck do you know!? The fuck does a Nazi puppet know! You’re not even human!”
“…that’s right. Not human. A fucking homunculus of all things is lecturing you here. I would be embarrassed if I were you.”
“Shut up!”
“No.”
Rarely does a single word carry so much weight in it. It is not just me; I swear I heard the Herald holding her breath right there.
“You asked what I know, so I’m telling you,” Senta counters. “What I know is that humans are nothing special. Dogs, homunculi, humans—we all just want to stay alive for as long as we can.”
Again, Senta closes her hands around the wrists pinning her down, ready to mete her strength against a Servant if she must.
“I know that giving up is the same as admitting your defeat. I know that it isn’t over until it’s over, and I don’t know about you, but I’m not gonna waste a single breath lamenting my inevitable death. I know that if I have to die, I’d rather it be under my terms. That if I have to leave the stage, I’d rather do it with all guns blazing, like a fucking badass.”
A single fist, firm yet nonviolent, pushes against the center of Maria’s chest.
“I know that wishing to live can never be wrong. Goddammit, I have to believe that. Because, if the alternative is true, if it is possible that only some are allowed to want to live, that the wish to live can be a sin…”
That fist then falls to the side, as if defeated.
“…then what the hell can I hope for myself?”
I cannot see Maria’s face from here. What is she thinking? Has she realized? Is she thinking what I’m thinking?
Human beings…we…really do take a lot of things for granted. It’s only natural then, that we falter and break when we realized things are not that simple. That the very act of waking up in the morning, alive and healthy, is in itself a miracle.
“…goddammit,” Maria utters before letting her face fall, forehead pressed against Senta’s chest.
“Don’t get too comfortable, blondie.”
“Just…shut up for a moment, will ya?” Maria retorts in a voice more pleading than anything else. “Fuck, I want to cry, but I’ve already embarrassed myself enough in front of you, Nazi girl.”
“Alright, that’s it.”
“Uwah!”
Maria was not prepared for being shoved aside by Senta as she rises to her feet. The Herald watches with a measure of worry as her Master walks to the edge of the rooftop.
“This is the last time I say it. Next time, I swear to whatever god you pray to, I’ll let my fists talk for me.”
With that, she reaches for the sole spot of color in her otherwise black attire: the red and white armband with the baleful black swastika. Ripping it off her arm, she flings it away with a roar. As if acknowledging the meaning of her action, the wind picks up and pulls it away, the light piece of cloth flying beyond our sight, disappearing in the irregular layout of Valparaíso’s streets.
“Name’s Senta,” she then declares, glaring down at the other girl. “Not ‘Nazi girl’.”
“…you’re still wearing the uniform.”
“I’m not taking off the uniform,” retorts Senta, eyes wide and nostrils flaring as if she had just heard the most preposterous thing. “The uniform is fucking awesome.”
Her voice and expression dare somebody to say otherwise.
Maria…just sighs and falls back down on the tiles.
“Aaah, I fucking hate this. I got told off by a total weirdo.”
“Says the one with some sort of crazy demon spirit thing inside her,” retorts Senta as she walks over and plops herself back down next to Maria. The smiling Herald promptly plants herself on the other side.
“You know what I hate even more?” Maria continues, right before rising her voice at least threefold. “Fucking idiots who think they can hide from me!”
…well shit.
“Get the fuck out here, Javier! I can smell the stench of your divinity, ya know!?”
“Oh,” murmurs Senta before glaring at her Servant. “You didn’t tell me he was here.”
The Herald, who must have sniffed me out from the very beginning, shrugs.
“You didn’t tell me I had to tell you.”
Senta narrows her already narrow eyes even further.
“…we are having a talk later.”
“So?” Maria threatens me with her eyes as I approach. “Got anything to say?”
“Hmm.” I can only shrug. “Wanted to check up on you, but I found you two in the middle of something and didn’t seem like I should interrupt—ow.”
The hell did she throw at me? Did she…flick her aura thing at me?
“The right answer is ‘sorry’, you thoughtless moron,” she grouchily mumbles back at me.
“Huh. Sorry.”
“Uwaaah…this person’s not sorry at all…” mutters Maria to the side. Look, I couldn’t help it, right? How was I supposed to know I was walking into that?
“Javier, you have something to say to this idiot, right?”
“I have a name, ya know?” Maria complains, only to invoke Senta’s half-hearted glare (which is already nasty enough).
“Reflect about what you just said, you fucking idiot.”
Senta does have a point; I cannot just listen to that and set it aside now that I am here. Besides…well, I do have opinions and thoughts and feelings of my own.
“Well, If you’re asking me, as you guys were talking—no, for a while already, I’ve been thinking of what to do, but everything I come up with feels like wishful thinking. I mean, I guess we won’t be able to end this without a fight.”
Maria almost chuckles.
“I don’t think Saver knows another way to do things, and I don’t think we have what it takes in smarts to talk her out of whatever the hell she is trying to do.”
That is right. It is impossible to establish a true dialog with her if she does not consider us anything remotely close to her equals.
“There is no way around it,” Maria declares. She wears a smile I just cannot stand on her.
“Whether it is tonight or tomorrow or the day after tomorrow, I’ll have to fight her. And I won’t be able to beat her if Saver and I don’t go all out. And regardless of the result of that fight, I’ll be dead when it’s over—ow!”
Maria glares up at the girl who has bonked her on the head with her knuckles.
“But…?” Senta asks with the insistence of a teacher that’s lost her patience—the glasses really help with that. Maria snorts at, I believe, the same mental image.
“…yeah, yeah. I mean, I know, right? Even if it’s set in stone, that’s no reason to stop trying.”
“Right,” Senta adds, seemingly satisfied.
“It’s like Senta said,” I then say while taking the spot to Maria’s right. “Nobody wants to die. And nobody wants you to die, Maria.”
The girl who has been fighting Servants these past few days looks almost depressingly small by my side. It is not as if she is that short, even. Maria should never hunch her shoulders like this.
“Shit, I know I sound like a complete ignorant like this, but there’s gotta be a way, here of all places. I mean, we have stuff like divine powers and the fucking Holy Grail here.”
“Uh, no, Javier; your enthusiasm’s cute and all, but a wish-granting device doesn’t really work like a genie’s lamp, you know?” Senta comments with her usual crooked smile.
“Hell if I know! But you know, right? And that Marco probably knows stuff, too. And Sakura, and Nomikata after we find him, and Fiore looks like she knows more than the rest of us together. If it takes a miracle to save you, then here’s the place to pull it off.”
It’s not that I’ve abruptly become a bright optimist. It’s that we haven’t even tried anything in the first place.
“After all, Maria, it’s not as if you came to this city expecting to die here. The girl who ate my chili con carne was not a girl with her own death in mind.”
Maria shudders.
“I’m sure you have things you want to do in the future; I mean, you’re at that age, and I’m just making myself sound old as fuck. Anyway, I guess it’s easy to forget about those things with all the shit that’s happened, but there’s still a world out there, Maria. A world we’re supposed to return to.”
“Not me, though,” Senta idly comments to the side, and the Herald laughs weakly.
“So yeah. If a miracle is what it takes, then we should aim for a miracle, Maria—?”
My voice is halted by the Maria’s weight on my side.
“Stop it already,” she all but whispers in a voice that betrays the face she is hiding in my clothes. “This corny shit doesn’t suit ya.”
“Crying doesn’t suit you either.”
(BGM STOP)
Something half-snort, half-sob bursts on my winter jacket. I pat her shoulder and I know it looks awfully lame, but I’m not really the hugging type—
“So…I guess now you guys gonna fuck.”
(BGM)
Maria goes rigid on my left flank. She looks up with slightly swollen eyes on a perfectly flat expression.
“…Javier, please explain her.”
“I really can’t. I think she’s just a moron.”
“I’m gonna sic Puppy on you two, alright?”
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Master…”
Regardless of the idiocy, it does get Maria to pull herself off me to address Senta’s ridiculousness instead.
“You watched way too many soap operas.”
“Well it’s not like I had much of a social live down there, you know?” Senta firmly responds to Maria’s somewhat-disgusted-sounding voice. “I thought it was a human thing, that whatever-you-call-it…suspension bridge effect.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Senta…”
Maria could not roll her eyes any harder, even with a Servant’s strength.
“Girl, Javier’s cool in my book, but there’s a bit of a gap between ‘we get along’ and ‘I want’im to take me on a one-way trip to Jizzrael’.”
Goddammit, Maria.
“Meh, you guys are just boring.”
“Aren’t you the one who is a little too thirsty?” counters Maria.
“It’s the principle of the thing!”
“There is no principle, and the thing only exists in your sheltered homunculus head!”
Fortunately for my sanity, that conversation ends right there. Instead, Maria starts some standard stretches.
“Remind me not to sleep on a rooftop ever again.”
“It’s called common sense, idiot.”
“You’re really going to town on me now, aren’t ya!?”
Senta is fearless, holy shit.
“Rather than the rooftop, it’s just fucking cold out here,” I complain. “Are you girls really okay?”
“I’m fine!”
“Well of fucking course you’re right,” retorts Senta to her Servant’s enthusiasm. “You dig this kind of weather. As for me, my Mother’s a bitch, but I can be grateful she made me able to handle this chill.”
“Heh, ‘it’s fucking cold’, says Volcano Man,” Maria retorts, to my utter lack of amusement.
“Hey, it’s not like I can do that all the time. And I thought you didn’t like my powers.”
(BGM STOP)
“I don’t,” Maria confirms. “I really don’t. I think it’s utter shit that you have that flame inside you.”
(BGM)
“It’s way more trouble than it’s worth,” says Senta, and Maria nods.
“Like Nazi Girl said.”
“Oh, go fuck yourself, blondie.”
Maria ignore the other girl to regard me with a firm and rather intense look.
“I’ll go ahead and say something you probably won’t like, Javier: that flame doesn’t make you a strong mage. Hell, it doesn’t make you a mage at all. Now that you’ve seen all sorts of magic bullshit, I bet you’re all hyped about the world of mages or whatever. Well I think you should get away from that crap while you can.”
I honestly don’t know what to say to that. I…haven’t really put that much thought into it. I talked about Maria’s future just earlier, but I haven’t really pondered what I’m gonna do after this whole weirdness is over.
“My grandma always said it. ‘To be a mage is to walk with death.’ At first, I thought she was just trying to sound scary to get me to stop pestering her for lessons. Then I thought she meant the intrinsic danger in using magecraft. Like, you can get yourself killed if you mess up and stuff.”
Maria shakes her head.
“Now I know she meant the world of mages as a whole. It’s all about secrets, you see? Magecraft is in decline, no matter how you look at it, so those who still have it desperately hold to what little they still have, and they’re willing to do anything to protect it. It’s nasty place, that world. I’ve only seen a glimpse of it, and it’s hard to believe there’s anything good in there.”
She looks like she is remembering something particularly unpleasant. Senta, too, glances at the girl with what I take is her expression of deep interest.
“Hey. Idiot girl.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, not you too.”
“I may be going on a wild guess here, but I take it that grandma of yours has something to do with the reason you’re here. So I’m asking again: what’s your deal?”
Maria stretches her arms and her back muscles one last time, joints cracking at the exertion, before meeting Senta’s shifty eyes with a half-smile of her own, despondent and in no way expressing joy or any other positive feeling.
“…yeah, maybe you know something I don’t. Grandma’s maiden name was Maria Oršic.”
The name means nothing to me, but it obviously means something to Senta.
“Maria Oršic? From the Vril Society?”
“Yup.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
“Nope.”
Senta stares at Maria long enough to convince herself. At that point, her face morphs, its usual natural nastiness melting away into a mask of nothing but worry.
“Well fuck.”
“I know.”
“No.” Senta pointedly shakes her head. “You have no fucking idea, girl.”
And that is when Maria starts to look worried. The Herald and I, detached from this exchange, can only look at each other and then back at then with vague expressions of empathy. Before Maria can ask for the details, however, Senta jumps back to her feet, taking slow steps away from us and back to the edge of the rooftop. She stops just before falling off the edge, letting a hand rest on her hip while making vague “thinking noises”.
“Haa…aaah, whatever. I’ve decided.”
She turns to look at us, her crooked grin back in full force.
“You know, I still had the option to kill you,” she admits. Maria raises an eyebrow. I might have as well. “Even if I can’t return to the Fourth Reich, I could still try to make it on my own for as long as I can in whatever world Mother wants to make. But I think I’ll cast my lot on you silly people.”
“My, what an honor.” I didn’t even know Maria could be this sarcastic.
“Oh, shut the fuck up and count your blessings; I’m pitying you here. Now, let me tell you what I’ve been thinking—no, rather let me ask you a question.”
She vaguely points towards the Herald.
“From what Puppy told me, she was summoned by the Grail, but she arrived without any instructions. She wasn’t summoned to serve the Fourth Reich, nor was she summoned to fight against it. She was just, you know, summoned.”
“Um,” acknowledges the hound with a nod.
“And you,” continues Senta, now pointing towards Maria. “Well, the Servant inside you; she is the defensive countermeasure against Mother sent by the World, right?”
“Yeah, that sounds about right.”
Senta nods and crosses her arms in front of her chest in no way lacking.
“Alright, so here comes the real question: why are we all assuming she was the only one?”
I blink. Maria does not. If anything, she looks calm. She is finally smiling; I guess that’s good. Senta purses her lips, but then smiles along.
“You’re not surprised. Figures.”
Maria shrugs.
“I hate to admit it, but I took too long to accept it, when I should have gone for the most obvious evidence. Heck, Saver all but screamed it in my head: you can fool Ishtar, but there is no fucking way a modern mage can fool the Ornament of Heaven.”
“Right?”
These two keep talking like I am not even here. Am I supposed to be getting all of this? What about the Herald, does she feel ignored—nah, this easygoing dog doesn’t give a shit.
“If that stupid Maid said he’s the Holy Tyrant, then he is the fucking Holy Tyrant, no matter how absurd it may seem.”
“Yeah, I still need to know how that works. What kind of interpretation creates such a weird-ass Servant? And who was the original host? Isolde?”
“The Maid said as much,” Maria says idly. I nod, because that much I remember.
“Fuck, I’d think I’d have noticed it if Isolde had a goddamn Servant inside.”
“Not if he has Presence Concealment.”
“…well fuck.”
“Yeah.”
Senta’s face takes a turn in the direction of utter repugnance.
“…sheesh, don’t even wanna think what was going in that Servant’s mind every night the Sovereign was fucking Isolde’s ass.”
…what?
“What?”
Thank you, Maria.
*** ***
END OF THE AFTERNOON PHASE
*** ***
Warning!
This is a Locked Save Point.
If your quest reaches a Dead End, it may only resume from this point.
Originally Posted by Arashi_Leonhart
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A wise and beautiful woman who exudes an aura of grace. She is a sly, cunning, manipulative person who always gets what she wants, whether through trickery or ruthlessness. Her own fighting abilities are low, but she should not be trifled with. What does she ride? Men, of course!
