Chapter Text
“Hey, salty maid.”
The addressed girl lets out a low grunt, not bothering to look up from her work. “And what does the mad dog want from me? A refill of her pet food?” A pillow flies in her general direction, but is swiftly sliced into two by her Excali-mop.
“Just saying, that was your pillow that you chopped up,” sneered the Berserker, who was now lying face-up on the bed. “C’mon maid, be thankful that I’m using my coffee break to talk to you.”
“You must be bored out of your already shriveled mind to bother starting a conversation with me, assault girl.” Artoria deadpans, the feathers from the now cleaved cushion fluttering about. If anything, the Rider looks more irritated at the thought that she had more things to vacuum up, rather than at the Berserker’s ever-impulsive actions.
“What is your deal anyway; using both a blade and a gun – yet you consider yourself a Rider?”
“Says the Berserker who names her katanas like a 10-year old boy.”
“At least I don’t name my sword after my own sister—”
The cool metal of a revolver digs onto her chin, which only deters the Berserker’s speech, yet she tries to keep her smirk intact. Unlike their earlier skirmishes, Artoria Alter is now a thousand-fold more careful at letting any hint of emotion slip out. She raises the Berserker Alter’s chin to her eye-level, icy-cold orbs sending shivers down the former’s spine as she is forced to stare up.
“Truly, when you think of Artoria, you think of this holy sword,” the maid’s free hand then materializes once more her signature weapon, a blackened mist creating an ominous aura enveloping it. “And when you think of this holy sword, you think of me. But as you can see,” she then drags Secace down Jeanne Alter’s jawline, until it muzzle rests at the depression between her collar bones. “I can use firearms as well.”
“So throwing grenades like a headless chicken surely makes you an expert,” Berserker bites back, now grasping the other Alter’s hand that is armed with the pistol. She then deftly knocks her wrist against Artoria’s clenched hand, attempting to disarm Secace. This is how Jeanne Alter finds out of Rider’s iron grip, and is rewarded with a crushing reversal of getting her arm twisted behind her. Her bare stomach connects with the bed’s foam, which dulls her landing only by a fraction. What shoots pain into her back is the bone-snapping strength in Artoria Alter’s hands on her now bruised wrists.
Scowling at her aggressor, Berserker was going to have to hope for a miracle, as her position of being sprawled face-first onto the white linen was far from her liking. By now, the King of Knight’s weapons had both dispersed; as the maid’s hands are more pre-occupied in keeping the former Avenger’s head and arms locked underneath her. Even with combat training during her off-times from making doujinshi, Jeanne Alter was no where near proficient in unarmed fights against an actual knight. Surely, Artoria would be much more destructive with her renowned sword, but this handicap does not deter how she further presses the other Alter down to the bed.
“Feel like giving up? If you plea like the pathetic country girl that you are, then even a king such as I can grant reprieve to someone of your status.”
“Yeah? Start pleading to this!” With every ounce of her leg-strength, she threw a backwards kick. When her shin connected to fabric, Jeanne Alter can only imagine – with a shit-eating grin – the wave of pain she had delivered to the unsuspecting maid. What did not prepare the captive manga artist was at how a sudden weight pushes down on her back and shoulders. A stilted groan tickles her ears, and even as her head and wrists are released by the Rider, the idea of freedom is now even further than ever.
Jeanne Alter now has to deal with a semi-conscious Artoria Alter, crushing her underneath while writhing from an unexpectedly powerful groin kick.
“You wretched…” she slurred off, causing the tiny hairs in Berserker’s ear to rise at an alarming rate with the assault of Rider’s ragged breathing. She tries to crawl out from under, only to receive a vice-grip on her shoulder from a royally pissed off maid Alter.
“Fuck, let go of me!” She could’ve sworn she heard the sound of a bone cracking under the hand digging quite violently on her skin. “Shit that’s my writing hand, you’re squeezing it too tightly—“
“Noisy peasant. Would you prefer I attack yours as well to return the favor?”
Even with her lower extremities paralyzed, Rider’s arms are still ever-capable in bounding a Berserker’s attempt to escape from a punishment that was honestly well-deserved. Haphazard struggling and movements akin to lazy wrestling can describe the plight both Alters were experiencing. Nothing else could possibly further their already stressful encounter, could it?
At least until Osakabehime sneezed from the door left ajar.
“Oakie! You were supposed to keep it down!” A chuckle then followed as the door further creaked opened. Musashi was grinning and flashed a thumbs up to both Alters. “You guys keep going, I told Oakie to come back later, but she insisted on dropping by here to ask about writing off some non-family friendly scenes of sorts,” it was unnerving to see the swordsman say these while happily staring at the two Alters on the bed.
“I-I thought I could get some advice on how to hurdle my artblock for the mature doujin pages but,” the bespectacled Assassin glanced at the way Artoria’s body was still flush against Jeanne’s. “I suppose the words you hurled at each other were more than enough inspiration on its own. For that, you have my gratitude, Alter-sensei.”
“IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK!” Jeanne Alter bleats out as she tries in vain again to pry herself off the king. She is only met with silence from both the duo of eavesdroppers, and the fallen Alter behind her. Her face has now taken a shade darker than the intruding Saber’s hair. When she dares to shoot a glare at the Rider behind her, she is only met with a blank face, brows slightly creased from the ebbs of pain earlier. “Say something, stupid maid!”
Artoria Alter lets her face return to its usual icy continence – and lightly brushes the front of her hips against the curve of Jeanne Alter’s round bottom.
“Alrighty~ You two play nice!” Musashi waves and wheels away a now passed-out Osakabehime. The door shuts close with a click, and the room is now deathly quiet.
“Do you still want to continue?” Rider Alter whispers to the Berserker’s ear. She doesn’t expect any replies, which prompts the maid to relax herself from straddling the other girl for a good half an hour. Jeanne doesn’t move a muscle; her face now turned away from the Rider’s direction.
“Somehow this is getting thoroughly tiresome,” Jeanne Alter groans, still unmoving. Now shoulder-to-shoulder and comfortably lying down, Artoria proceeds to scan the room to see if any more cleaning was needed. She was a bit behind schedule, as there were still shelves of paper and reference books that needed sorting, and the clutter of feathers from their earlier fight was still an issue to take care of. Not to mention, that only meant they were down by one pillow in their already dwindling supply of cushions.
But that was an issue for another day (or maybe an hour), as Artoria Alter feels an arm snake around hers. “If things are tiresome for you, then the logical thing to do is to rest. Even a Berserker can’t churn out quality work while running at barely 3 hours of sleep.”
“That’s not what I mean, idiot,” an endearing nickname both Alters had learned to accept from each other.
“Then what?” mutters the Rider, now resting the side of her head onto the crown of Berserker’s. “Make yourself clear; instead of feigning intimacy with how you’re pressing your body against my arm.”
“Ugh!” Jeanne Alter lets out a tired sigh, almost startling the girl next to her. “You’re such a goddamn busybody. Yet it annoys me so much how you’re actually good at the shit you’re doing. Cleaning, fighting, and even in that tournament… is there anything you’re actually bad at?” Artoria remains silent, actually surprised for this sudden confession of sorts.
“But what really gets on my nerves is how you’re using all your summer time on being a maid. Like, aren’t you supposed to be a king of sorts? What kind of train of logic did you derail when coming to a conclusion that vacation means wasting it all on housework?” Berserker pauses, seeing the stunned reaction still on the blackened King of Knights’ face. “And now you tell me to rest? When someone like you is working even twice harder than any effort I can muster? Even I’d feel like shit knowing that.”
The clock fills the room with its slow ticking. Jeanne Alter now stares at the ceiling, suddenly feeling the whole weight of the situation crash onto her brain – which is probably on overdrive and trying to retract her awfully cheesy statements.
“Is that your twisted, roundabout way of saying you care?” Artoria now leans closer to Jeanne’s side. The latter’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, as she stares right back at golden, inquisitive eyes. “Do you want another pillow thrown at you, dummy?”
“And is that your way of showing affection for your loyal servant?” A fist instead rams against an ever-ready palm of the Rider, effectively blocking the blushing Berserker’s attempt at getting back for Rider’s rather smooth lines.
“You really annoy me, you know that?” Jeanne Alter says between smirks.
“And I hate to admit, but you are catching up to my level when it comes to physical prowess.”
“Oho, was it because I was able to land a clean hit between your legs?”
“Do say that again, mad dog. I’m sure Osakabehime would truly appreciate using your words as another dialogue for her adult fantasies.”
“S-Shut up!” Jeanne Alter squeaks, then with that moment of weakness, Artoria reverses her palm and pulls the Berserker right onto her chest. Muffled protests are heard as the French maiden bats against the maid’s shoulders, but comfortingly cool fingertips run down Jeanne’s back.
“Truly, it feels strange that someone like you would actually think these. But for that, you do have some of my respect and gratitude, Jeanne Alter.”
“W-Who’s concerned about you? Idiot…” Then the Dragon Witch realizes that wasn’t even the word the former Saber had used.
“Hmph, besides, a combat maid like myself should be able to be on top of everything. It is no different from being a king tasked to protect his people. Should I not be in my best shape for assuring my master’s welfare, then I cannot claim to have completed either of my roles." The slow, rhythmic strokes on her long white hair now feel soothing, almost tempting her to sleep. "I may have long resigned myself the title as a ruler, but the act of service is a badge painted on me for time immemorial; and something I admittedly feel to as second nature. When I comes to my intuition, and the sharpness of my eyes, I cannot fall short to any of the Knights of Round – may it be as their former king, or as a mere maid.” As much as this confession does explain a lot to Jeanne Alter, she cannot help but feel relaxed at the sound of Artoria’s deep set voice.
And what ironically cuts her off is the sound of both their stomachs growling in unison.
Automatically, Jeanne Alter backs away from their awkward embrace (she will never admit to have engaged in one, however). There’s so much to take in, but what Jeanne chooses to notice is the pink dusting on Rider Alter’s cheeks. “W-Well hearing you say all that is quite a thing. But shouldn’t you cook something for us? It’s way past dinnertime already.”
“Actually, about that,” the maid starts, and fishes through her pocket for several BB Dollars and Mimi bills. “You did mention about my ability in servitude, for which I will take as a compliment,” Artoria Alter smirks as the blush returns to the other girl’s face. “But I digress; as much as I can make use of any weapon except for an ax, the same rule applies to my lack of skill in wielding a kitchen knife.”
“Oh.” Both Alters take a good minute to stare at each other. However, the Berserker just sits up and extends a hand to her companion.
“Well, there’s no helping it right?! I’ll have to school this maid to at least know how to make omurice and the like. Afterall, convenience store food can get tiring.”
She will never declare of her ulterior motive to wanting to taste the maid’s cooking. But by now, Artoria was quite used to a very dishonest Jeanne.
“No assurances that you won’t get burnt a second time with me in the kitchen,” retorts the Rider, but willingly accepts the Berserker’s outstretched hand. There’s an unusual tug at her heart, but Jeanne Alter chooses to focus instead at the hand now warmly enveloped in hers.