The Manhattan Project II

[Five_X]

Ilse route? Ha ha ha, such a thig wouldn't happen even if you had the Holy Grail~!

[Mattias]

Why must you crush my dreams?

[Five_X]

;____;

also Chacho, I see you reading, and you'd better be posting one of your awesome, big comments. :<

[Highwayman]

Hey, for the record, I really enjoyed this last update. James and Caesar's relationship really needed to move forward.

You just have to try to validate and your so-called new identity by filling the void in your heart with sex and self-indulgence. It's as if you want to be Caesar, and you try to act like him, ignoring the fact that you aren't him and you don't even think you can match up to him…
He was a man who, rather than whoring himself out, was clever in his relationships, not blunt and self-obsessed. Everything he did was planned, smart, and ruthless.

James understands that his mores would have diverged substantially even from those of an accurately-summoned Julius Caesar. Roman views on extramarital affairs would have been alien to someone of James’ background, for instance, and Caesar’s ruthlessness (see the crucifixion of the pirates) might have struck James as extreme. But James is also pragmatic enough to work through these differences...provided that his Servant is someone he can respect. That last sentence reassures me that he isn’t naïve enough to reject Saber merely because she’s offended his own sensibilities.

Instead, he’s had a falling-out with her because she’s failed to measure up to Caesar from a strategic standpoint. She’s been erratic (erratically erotic?) during GD, thinking in terms of short-term gain instead of the bigger picture. Sending Monty to his doom, burning bridges with her master, distracting herself with Alexander…how do these actions fit into an endgame or a larger plan? James realized that there is no larger plan anymore; Saber’s directionless because she’s been papering over her self-doubt.
She’s been sort of like a cargo cult: by emulating the cloud of intrigue that surrounded the real Caesar, she hoped that Caesar-like achievements would also fall into place. That hasn’t happened, although she did raise some Temujin flags, so I guess there’s that.
As for where James and Saber go from here, I’m with Mattias: they seemed to have a decently productive (and fun to read!) dynamic going on until the end of the Assassin arc, but too much water might have passed under the bridge for their dysfunction to be solvable.

And about Johana…I should have finished reading that update earlier, because I nearly missed out on MysticEyes!Johana. Her magecraft is very Nasu-like in the way that she has to endure so much in order to make use of it, and Mattias is right about the aesthetic properties of ice magic.
Sometimes, though, I just don’t know what I should feel when reading about her. There is a lot of “wrongness” about her—moral outlook, pain tolerance, you name it—but I also find her weirdly alluring. MPII Crack Pairing of the Month: Johana x Lancer. I mean, the guy got to carry her back to the hotel…lucky!

[Five_X]

HNNNNNNG- Chacho post, yes please!

Here we have an excellent example of reader understanding. Chacho, what kind of heaven were you dropped from? I must know, so I can find more of you! ;__;

And Johana is Johana, yeah. She's supposed to be weird! Of course, it gets even weirder from here on out. Luckily I'll get to work on that next... I shouldn't have much trouble, since I just know it'll be a fun one to write, oh yes. :3

For the record, by the way, this latest chapter is probably the second last major Saber/James-oriented chapter for a long time. For the most part, the couple of arcs after GD, along with the end of GD itself, are going to majorly shift focus to other characters. One of which happens to be Johana, which should be fun, but still not Saber or James. They'll get to have the backseat for the longest time, with some chapters about them but not many. Most of their stuff is resolved, now, and the rest is going to be rather "long-term" compared to what's coming up. On the other hand, though, that means more fun Eleanor things! And Ilse, and Johana, and Enrico as well!

[Highwayman]

I definitely see your point about James and Saber being resolved for now. With advice from James and Hannibal, she has all the tools to move toward the transformation and atonement stages of the hero's journey. Or not. Part of what makes MPII so interesting is that a blonde Saber doesn't have to be the center of attention, since there are other characters to carry the load. Not that I dislike Saber--she's still the beloved face of the MPII franchise for me, sort of like how Nero sells a ton of Fate/Extra merchandise--but her victory is by no means a foregone conclusion.

I look forward to the upcoming Eleanor content, and I'm sure Kaiza feels the same way. And Enrico...wow, it seems like forever since we've seen him. Thanks for persevering with this fic, and for writing all that awesome stuff for/with Leo. I just wonder how you do it all and stay sane.

[Fancy Face the First]

Whelp, that was unexpected. I thought James would keep going a little longer, but I gave him too little credit.

Nice update, goodnight.

[Five_X]

Quick! Update before this falls off of the front page! Go go go!

Enjoy this, readers of mine, and also here's what I was talking about before. Now, it begins...

----------------------

Invocation the 13^th

The girl's feet dragged through the snow; the weight of the body was heavy in her arms and she had to pull it along, letting mud and frost cover it. It wasn't that she was weak, nor was it that the body had a lot of weight to it. Rather, all the events of that night piled on her like a lifetime. It seemed so minor at the time, but she would remember it forever.


Sometimes she asked herself: why? It was a single action, just one death, and no one really knew. They were alone together, forced to be out in the wilderness, and it was as if they gave the girl a route to her freedom. It was so simple, and took no effort at all.


Yet there she was, barely breathing as she carried the boy behind her, her skin just as pale as his. Lines of thin red showed in her eyes, and the few breaths she let out were sharp, cold, showing as white clouds in the air like smoke. Smoke, but not like the black fumes of the fire; it was a healthy white, a colour that she liked. It was a blank colour or even a lack thereof, with no meaning, no memory, no past, no importance. There was no emotion in the colour white, nothing but the emotions she associated with it. Perhaps to others white meant cold, or brightness, or heaven. To her, white was the most natural colour in the world; it was more true than the supposed green of the natural earth, and it was at the same time a confined space and a boundless field. It made her feel alone, but at the same time it made her feel secure in that solitude. Finally, within the colour white, there was a place where her will was absolute. Just as she could draw lines in the snow with the body she held, she could make impressions upon the colour white, reflecting her every emotion, her very soul.


There came a change, though, one she couldn't ignore. It tugged at her small heart at first, and then it tore.


Her limbs had little strength left in them, and she felt the ice seeping into her bones, the chill like the unforgiving chill of stone. She had to push with her whole body to make the boy slip into the stream, his tattered, burnt hairs hanging in shreds on his skull even as they were soaked through. His face was hollow, yet the look of peace never left him as he slowly floated off, caught by some reeds but being pushed away by the winter's current.


The girl caught one glimpse of him before looking away, but like so many others that one image burned into her mind, never to leave: she saw the blackened outline of his skin, seared at the edges, his black hair scorched to a colour like cold ash, even darker than before. Just like his hair, just like the holes in his skull where he once had eyes, the stream's waters were a deep black, darker than the smoke of the fire. Just like that smoke, the dark depth in front of her enveloped her, and she couldn't see anything but that blackness. It froze her skin, making her heart beat slower, slower, slower, her veins pumping ice, not blood. A searing pain like the hot fire surged in her body, telling her something urgent that she couldn't understand, but she was too enamoured of the black of the stream to care. She felt a connection to that colour, that darkest shade. She had to admit that, when the boy's skull lay in the crackling fire, she wanted to feel that heat on his skin, stretching it out, drying it, and making it flake off in black streaks of ash. She stroked his cheek as it was burnt away to leave a hollow impression of his face, and it made such a contrast to her pallid skin.


While the boundless, formless white was her home, her will, her mind and her realm, black was the outside, where everything was unknown and she had no control over it, unlike the white. Yet, it was her calling; the black seemed absolute and a stark unknown, but in truth she knew it all along. It was the part of her she hardly dared to touch, and it was the mind that truly controlled her. White only existed to parallel black, to serve its whims. The girl's whims, she'd known all along, had been for the basest of things, for pain and torment, for everything she could do to others without any guilt. White was the inside, and black was the outside. Black was a realm of its own, already created, where her actions could have effects, ripples, like the movement of the dark water of the stream, or the flowing smoke of the fire.


More than anything, both black and white were, in their own way, just empty voids, one full of nothing, the other full of everything.


The very paradox of her nature, then, was to empty the formless white while filling the absolute black, controlling the boundless and being controlled by its opposite. For a whole lifetime, she couldn't think of anything but this, and her whole mind was taken over by that, controlled and in control, boundless and absolute. Pain swelled in her as she tried to come to terms with this and understand the change, but in reality, she had to understand by not understanding. She didn't question breathing, or eating, or walking, or any of those basic elements of nature. Why should she be concerned about her own nature?


Her bed was the cold snow, and her body felt like it was burning up, the flames not even consumed by the blanket of water. The sky above was white, and she stared into it, not making a sound. She had changed, but at the same time she wondered if that change was recent, or if it had been there all along. Then, she remembered not to question it.


Her eyes closed and her body lit up with flame, buried in the wilderness, surrounded by the white and the black. The throbs of pain that ran through her nerves were welcomed, tearing her and making her bleed.

-- --

February 12^th, 1963


Panting, Johana awoke, the nightmare of her past tearing through her mind, sending aches through her skull and her heart. Her body hurt just to move, and she ignored that, tearing the blanket off of her body and standing up, rolling out of bed onto her feet. The pain threatened to rip her body and mind asunder, but she didn't care, and bore it anyways, letting her legs cry out in their agony as though they were burning from the inside out. The pain subsumed just as it reached its peak; there was a limit to it, and finally the sheer torture her whole body felt reached a point where it could no longer be felt.


Her body was numb, but Johana didn't mind. This wasn't the first time she'd woken with pain, and it was as usual as morning fatigue. Her coffee would heal it in an instant.


She steadied herself, walking without any clothing to hinder her, the hallway stretching on before her. With a groan she forced it to come to an end, and she reached the living room, where Lancer was laying on his back on the couch. He had the thinnest of blankets over his body, a sheet to offer only some warmth. Johana smirked, amused that her Servant finally needed some rest.


That smirk grew into a laugh, and she shook her head. He was so miserable, being summoned by a woman like her, and that only made her feel better, and more energized.


Wrapping her arms around herself, she knelt down beside the man, listening to his heartbeat.


He was healthy, strong, and dutiful. He did what he was told, sometimes even just like a slave with no mind of his own. He was an enigma, yet one that Johana was perpetually close to. She couldn't help but take an interest in him, and part of her felt as though she'd known him for a long, long time. Why should he be a stranger, anyhow? He was a man, like any other. She didn't need to bother caring. Her mind was fickle, and worked based on the vaguest whims. Of course she would listen to them.


Her panting heavier than before, as if a fever came over her, she felt suddenly cold, chilled to the bone, and she stroked her hand along Lancer's bare arm.


In a moment the sheet that covered him was no more, and Johana raised herself up onto the couch, onto Lancer.


His muscled, impressive figure was bare, and Johana was on her knees above him, their skin together. He was warm, unlike her, and his heart beat steadily. She grasped him, her arms caressing his back as they wrapped about his body; she raised his face to her chest, her skin as flushed as its pallor would allow, and she bit her lip to let blood flow down her chin, dripping onto Lancer.


She closed her eyes, the warmth of blood flowing more freely, a trickle down her lips, some flowing down her throat. She loved the taste, like the sweetest drink there was.


Her hand moved up to tousle Lancer's hair, but when it touched his skull, there was none at all, just ragged strands. Her heart beat faster and she gasped, her eyes opening up in a flash, her gaze turning down to Lancer.


His face was blank, the hollows of his face lacking eyes, the skin scorched and stretched across his blackened bones, visible under the thin sheet that was his flesh.


His jaw hung open as if in awe, the awe of death that couldn't be touched. Johana tried to understand it but couldn't; death was the only enigma left to her, and she embraced Lancer's burnt corpse, feeling his black heat impossibly close to her, one with her body. Her breathing was shallow, laboured, and she couldn't hold on to this any longer.


With her last breath, she touched a kiss to Lancer's thin, dead lips.

-- --

For the second time Johana woke up, covered in sweat, her skin more pale than usual. She curled her body up to feel if there was any pain. There was none, and she sighed. Nothing was unusual. She had to slip out of her bed carefully; she wasn't sure if this was a dream seeping into reality. Her vision was hazy, and she took that as a bad sign. To her, this was the worst kind of nightmare: the one that she couldn't escape, that trapped her in by overwriting her own reality.


She was clothed, at least, and the pain was gone. That made her believe in this reality more than before, but it wasn't enough to mitigate her distrust.


Then the hallway, when she stepped out into it, seemed no longer, no wider, no different than usual, and she kept herself steady as she walked to the living room. Her mind was her own; she wouldn't let her subconscious rule it in her stead.


To dream, then, was to surrender herself to forces she couldn't control. She could never allow that.


She looked forward, glancing left and right, keeping her mind more active than her body, the shell that held her soul. There was Lancer, but he wasn't sleeping. He was awake, lounging on the couch, watching the television while his gaze flicked occasionally to the hall. He was quick, and even clever, when it came to Johana's issues. That was more than a little dangerous, and she narrowed her eyes. Her senses could betray her, she knew. She couldn't trust even them.


Lancer sat up straight at the sight of his Master. “Good... morning, Master. You woke, and... without much difficulty?” Johana's suspicion didn't fade even as her Servant spoke to her.


“Lancer, let me see your arm.” Her pace didn't change, and soon she was standing right in front of Lancer, staring down at him with those merciless eyes of hers. He could only give in when she gave him that look, and he presented his arm as asked.


She nodded sternly. “Show me your wrist. This is important.”


With a concerned look he agreed, and she knelt down in front of him, holding his arm almost as if to worship it. She examined its contours, feeling Lancer's beating pulse, noting the heat of his skin, flushed with healthy colour. He was in perfect shape, ordinary as ever. He was Lancer, and no one else, yet Johana continued to stare at his body, and his arm.


A sneer showed on her thin, bloodless lips, and she tore her fingernails into Lancer's skin, a light shock of pain going through her.


But what she cared about more than that was the blood, and the feeling it gave her. She saw that bright, red, beautiful blood, relishing in the act and the wound she'd caused. She held her mouth under the dripping tear, letting the salty, metallic tang of the crimson juice flow into her mouth, pouring down her throat in drops that were far from enough. All the while her stared at her, not understanding what she was doing, but assuming it was necessary. Johana continued to enjoy the blood offered to her, but it wasn't that she wanted; she desired the sacrifice, the giving of blood and flesh to create pain. A thrill crawled its way down her body, and she let out a long sigh, laying on the couch beside Lancer when she was done.


He shook his head, and within a few minutes the deep gash on his wrist was no more, not even leaving a scar.


“You're acting strange, Lancer.” Johana tiled her head, leaning back on the cushions behind her. “Has something bothered you, lately? Beyond the slight bloodletting, of course.” A smile reached her lips, that usual glimmer of Johana herself. Normalcy was back, at least for a time.


“Your dreams. I... saw them, while I was at rest.” Lancer's words were softer than usual.


Curious, Johana turned to focus more keenly on her Servant. “I thought you avoided sleep? How could you dream, then?”


“I do avoid sleep, but... it was still a dream I saw, then.” He sighed, decrying his lack of eloquence. It was far from him to just sit and blurt out words as he was. It sounded to him, almost, that he was expressing his own worries, rather than concern he had for Johana's health specifically. “While you were in bed, and I was here meditating, there came to me a vision that I could hardly explain. None of it was clear to me, but events flashed in my mind: snow, a river, blood, a corpse, two lovers... and I pieced it together. This is about you somehow, of that I am certain.”


Hanging her head a little, Johana let out a resigned chuckle. “Well, it seems that you... 'got me,' perhaps. You saw my dreams? You saw my life, a piece of the past I can never let go. With every step I take, it feels as though I am in that field of snow again, dragging a body to the stream to discard. My first kill. Not my last. Many other lives were ended by my hand since then.”


Lancer tried to look into her eyes, but she glanced away, as if to avoid him. “Master, this is important! You are beset by your past, and you can never forget it. Are these failures of yours? If it is this vivid, and you still remember it, then there must have been an impact on you.”


“I am unsure of that myself.” she said with a light shrug. “I ask myself sometimes, whether I have been the same person since that one day, or if I was just so all along. I wonder... has life ever been worth anything to me? Or did it change that day?” Wistfully she stared up; even as she spoke, she was speaking more to herself, not to Lancer. He was just part of the scene that had been set, no different from a vision in her mind that she was speaking with.


He pressed a hand to his wrist, remembering the short pain, and Johana's apparent need for the wound. “How do you deal with the torture? You woke with agony, but you never screamed. Are these even... your desires, these things in the dream? Are these real?”


“Of course, it's all real!” She frowned, Lancer's worry too much for her to ignore. It brought her back into reality from her own realm. “It all happened, and it is all in the past, recalled to the present. The pain matters not to me, since it is an abstract sensation. It has no meaning, no solidarity. What should pain mean to anyone?”


“You can say that, but you clearly place some kind of importance on this dream of yours. It is both old, and recurring. I believe that, then, it must have changed you in some way.”


Johana scoffed at his hypothesis. “Lancer, do you know how I ignore the pain? I believe I was about to talk to about my philosophy some time ago, but I overruled it on the basis of us having little time for chatter.” Her eyes narrowed again, her voice low and callous.


His silence was enough of an assent.


“The body... is just a shell for the mind and the soul. What does pain matter, if it only affects the body? The mind and soul can never be harmed by mere cuts and beatings. Then, there comes a point, you know, when the pain subsides; the mind can only comprehend so much agony before it shuts down, and the pain is nothing any longer. If my leg is broken, my mind should still be able to function, to find a way to fix my leg, or to continue with the task at hand. A person who lets their mind be affected by physical wounds that are struck upon their body, then they are weak for succumbing to that pain, thinking it something more than just physical. That is why I enjoy suffering, as well: cries of agony show me that some have yet to master themselves and find the difference between the mind, the soul, and their shell – the body. Since pain means nothing to anything beyond the bodily shell, then only two things can truly change the mind and the soul: emotions, and death. Emotions are the wounds that strike deepest and wound the mind, and death touches the soul, separating it from the body and mind. Yet... if an emotional wound is deep enough, can it strike even to the soul, and change the nature of a person? That is one of the few questions that has piqued my curiosity enough for me to pursue it. Sometimes, I wonder if it is even meant to be pursued at all.”


She left her words open, her breaths small and quiet.


As before, there was little Lancer could say in response. As before, he couldn't come to any relation to her, not understanding the depths of her mind. He wondered if anyone could, and he remarked to himself that Johana, above all others in the world, was unlike any woman he had known. Her very existence was so far removed from his own experiences that he had to wonder if any others were like her in this era. Somehow, he felt that few were.


“...regardless, Master, you must stay here for the time being. You are hardly fit for going outside, and if you push yourself again, the results could be even worse than what I have only briefly seen.” The words came to him and he spoke them honestly.


She frowned, but nodded anyway. “For once, Lancer, I can agree wholeheartedly.”


----------------------

Yes, that's the start of Johana's more in-depth nightmares. Not quite as vivid as the one time by the river, but that was specific due to the events surrounding it. This time, well... you get more of a glimpse into Johana's mind, and just try understanding her mental ramblings. Sometimes even I don't even know what's going on in her head, and I'm the writer. Though, the stuff she says in her dreams, and even the content of the dreams themselves, of course isn't necessarily accurate to what really happened. Just as her dreams are seeping into reality, her recollections of the past are becoming vague, until some things occur and they become more vivid again... meaning nothing good for her own sanity.

I hope it was good, and I really wish this story had a TVTropes page or something so I could gloat, but I'm not arrogant enough to make one for my own story. :|

[Highwayman]

Her panting heavier than before, as if a fever came over her, she felt suddenly cold, chilled to the bone, and she stroked her hand along Lancer's bare arm.

Oh cool, a lemon! And not just any lemon. No, it's an impossible, never-to-be-repeated, once-in-a-million pairing that most people wouldn't want at all. Gotta bookmark this...

His face was blank, the hollows of his face lacking eyes...

I should have known.

In all seriousness, though, experiencing a dream within a dream must be terrifying. Any nightmare can give you the feeling that you've lost control over yourself, but "waking up" in the middle of a second nightmare makes it seem as though you've also lost touch with reality. No wonder Johana doesn't sleep.

I also enjoyed the white vs. black imagery you had Johana use to describe her own awakening. She knows that her interests tend toward the violent and disturbing, and then the act of putting those whims into practice makes it harder to ignore her dark side. It's fascinating to see a character arrive at a disconcerting piece of self-knowledge, then embrace it. Or at least decline to resist it. While I couldn't accurately compare Johana to any Nasu character, this dream reminded me of F/Z Kirei.

On the TVtropes thing, I'd caution you to be careful what you wish for. What happens if a page gets set up, but people seldom update it?

[Five_X]

Ah, TVTropes page. Well, it could be set up... but at least it'd be there, in existence! I mean, I guess it's like asking for a cookie, and then getting half of a cookie that's kind of stale, but it's a cookie nonetheless so you eat it.

[Fancy Face the First]

Good update, some nice exposition on Johana.

Also, I totally thought Johana was going to bone Lancer. Damnit Five, you tease.

[Five_X]

Aha, finally, another comment! I was wondering at the strangeness of so little commentary on this kind of update. If I were a corrupt TV executive, I would have ordered Johana and Lancer's story to be cancelled due to low ratings!

[Lycodrake]

Sorry for the late reply, Fivers. Had an essay and other class work to do and finish up on yesterday and something to work on this morning and afternoon, so I wasn't able to read or comment on this. On to the commentary!:

I'm starting to warm up to Johana. A little bit.
Her background reminds me a little bit of a specific anime character: Minene "9th" Uryuu. Who is a character I like quite a bit.~

All in all this update was qutie nice, Fivers, though Lancer's...lack-luster-"ness" in this instance hit me the most. Almost like dumping water on a bonfire, leaving only scattered patches of ember and flames.

[Five_X]

Hmm, he was lackluster? How so?

[Lycodrake]

Hmm, he was lackluster? How so?

I'm not entirely sure...maybe that he continues to try and understand Johana and change her, but at this point I feel sort of "lame"?
Not a criticism of your writing, to clarify, just that Lancer to have lost a bit of "spark".

My relation of Johana to Minene helps me a bit, now. Hadn't made that connection before, but, now that I have, I think I get a better sense of her character. ^^

[Five_X]

Well, Lancer (at this point in the story) is really subservient to Johana both in-story and out; she's pretty much the main character of this, and he's yet to have his own time. Sadly, though I'd like to go more in-depth with him, Johana has the focus, and the plot won't really allow for Lancer to come to the fore quite yet. The way his character works makes it... kinda difficult to delve into who he is, and again, the spotlight's on Johana. Lancer probably couldn't drive a plot if his life depended on it! So, he gets to be a foil to Johana for a while, before he plunges onto the stage himself.

Luckily, you'll have Ilse to fit in here as well to ease the burden on Johana's plot-shoulders.

Also TVTROPES PAGE, THERE MUST BE ONE :|

all the cool things have tvtropes pages and it helps popularity kinda

[Lycodrake]

Ah, alright; I understand that much. Thanks for clarifying (likely *again*) on that, Fivers.
...I'm reminded of my guess for who Lancer actually is. :'3

I have a TV Tropes account, but don't know how to start a page.
I'd certainly put it in the recommended F/SN fanfics, though. ^w^
...would have trouble not brining up certain Servants. Because ELEPHANTS and MOCTEE.
Also: FUCK YEAH ALAMO- yeah, that sort of thing. XD

[KAIZA]

Well, if it's a TV Tropes page that you want, I could help create one. However, considering how long MPII is, I'm gonna need help in order to get all the tropes. And that's not counting the YMMV ones, or if you want a Character page.

I can create the page, but we need people to read the whole story and omakes and whatnot to find the tropes so that I can add them to the page.
So...volunteers?

[Mattias]

You could always have just a few tropes to start with, mostly the insane or popular ones to act as a draw, and rely on the new readers to fill it in on their own. It's a lot less work.

[KAIZA]

True, but I'm still not very good a troper, so I'll still need some help to find some examples.
Also, I could ask Five to write a short summary to add to the page.