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“Little dragon pancakes, huh.”
Brynhildr fidgeted in place as the white haired man stared at the plated food’s rather intricate design. Seeing that she wasn’t going to speak up, Emiya chuckled. This was the first time the girl had asked advice on how to prepare this kind of breakfast. And for a beginner, she had quite the skill and knack for decoration.
“I’m sure she’ll love them,” he gave a thumbs up to the girl, signaling that all was well. “You go to her, and she might be hungry already.”
She probably is, it was already past eight in the morning.
That aside, Archer could have sworn that a ghost of a smile played at Lancer’s lips. He hadn’t the time to double check, as she already bounded for the Servants’ quarters upstairs.
“Ah, Lancer.” A monotonous voice called from behind. She turned and saw the Saber approach her. The Valkyrie’s eyes narrowed as Artoria Alter neared her. They were both at the third floor of the compound, only a few more doors down the Dragon Witch’s room.
“Are you looking for the mad dog?”
“I don’t remember Onee-sama having such an unflattering nickname.” She showed the tray to the stoic Saber. “If you know where she is, would you kindly let me know?”
“Hmph, dragons?” She eyed the pancakes, but dismissed the thought at how well-made they looked. “I’m about to wake Miss Edgy Saint up. Master has a mission for us two again.” The Lancer remained silent, but Alter continued. “Well, it’s a good thing I saw you, I might need the extra help in forcing her out—“
“Stay still, Alter!”
Saber flinched at the sudden shout. Their attention was now drawn to the door on the very end of the hallway. “Am I hearing things right?” a smirk found its way on the Britain king. Both Servants paced towards the source that bit on their curiosity. Although Brynhildr herself looked unfazed, she started to question why Jeanne d’Arc was in her Alter’s room in the first place.
As the two neared the Avenger’s quarters, more audible murmurs can be heard.
“I said: let go of me.”
“That’s not how you address your older sister!” A thud.
"So French Vanilla is really in there," Saber mumbled, but Lancer cautioned her to keep quiet as they listened. A few moments passed before the Valkyrie tried the door. "Locked?" her eyebrows quirked, but it wasn’t rare for the Dragon Witch to bolt her quarters. However, it was very unlike of her to lock the room when there was a visitor – much less her own original self.
"Ruler… Don’t press down so hard," a plea was heard from within.
Brynhildr was shocked – which was an understatement. “Oi, Lancer you’re looking pale,” the Valkyrie jerked when she felt the knight poke her arm. Artoria shrugged, but chose to not bother the taller girl any further. She knew all too well that those dilated lilac eyes and heavy breathing only spelt danger.
"Let me just tie you down then," came a teasing voice from inside, which the two could only assume was Jeanne’s. The sound of cloth getting rummaged, and furniture getting knocked over spilled through the corridor. "Now Alter, you better follow what I say unless you want another mess here." As much as her voice was pleasant and warm, there was no mistaking the laced hidden threats.
“These are things we probably should not be hearing,” Saber Alter thought. She dared to check on the Valkyrie. “Hang on, Lancer.” She noted the taller girl’s trembling fists, balled into her black dress. Artoria was unsure if Brynhildr was smiling or frowning – all she knew was the Valkyrie was not taking the events very well.
“What if someone enters?!”
“Don’t worry, Alter. I made sure to lock it beforehand.” There goes that honey-dripped voice of the saint. “So even if you scream for help, they would have to break the door down.”
“I’m really going to burn you.”
“That’s alright, I also imbued the walls with my holy protection. Only Servants with a high enough caliber of Noble Phantasm can make a dent here.”
“Isn’t that abuse of power, Rule—rfffmmhhm!” the sound of something being stuffed in the Avenger’s mouth could be heard.
"I don’t want to do this, but you’re being too naughty.” An almost distinct purr came from the saint. “Now, we'll go slowly so that you won't get hurt, okay?" Jeanne said softly, tone sickly sweet.
The only reply was a stilted gasp. Several muffled groans and whines could now be heard from the room, and Artoria Alter really thought she shouldn't be hearing all of this. Thanks to her internal plight, she failed to notice the smell of burning pancakes, nor the blue flames engulfing said meal.
"Please stop resisting. We're already late for breakfast, plus we still have to clean up." Jeanne mumbled between grunts.
"B-but... it hurts... AAAGH! RULER!"
The Avenger's heavy panting then permeated the supposed empty hallway. Alter was beginning to feel something trickle down her nose, wiping it off right away. She paid no mind to how there was blood smeared on her sleeve, as she was much more engrossed at the clandestine things happening behind these walls.
“Even girls do this all the time with each other,” Jeanne voiced out. “You should be all the more comfortable, since it’s your sister who’s doing it for you.”
“P-please.”
“Please, what?” A gentle hum.
“It hurts so much…” begging and Jeanne Alter never went in the same phrase.
“You have to spell it out for your sister~”
“… Just finish it already, Onee-chan.” That was the final nail in the coffin.
“Summon your sword,” a cold whisper. Artoria Alter had to strain her ears to hear the Lancer properly. It seems that her fixation had distracted her from noticing the deadly spear now in Brynhildr’s hands. “I need to kill her.” The knight did not want to ask who she was about to maim, but complied by calling forth her blackened Excalibur.
“I honestly don’t want to see anything unholy,” muttered Artoria. “Then again, these two saints are probably doing the purest of activities,” sneered the knight, mana pulsing through her veins. A boiling mix of love and hate coursed through the Lancer, spear now the length of the corridor.
“Excalibur Morgan—“
“Brynhildr Romantia—“
Even a Ruler’s protection can only contain so much of a Valkyrie’s madness – with a side order of a Britain king’s amusement.
The facts;
First, both females were fully clothed inside the room.
Second, Jeanne Alter was sprawled flat on the floor, whilst Jeanne was standing on top of her. She was pulling on Alter's long white hair and in turn, forcing the latter’s head up.
Last, there was a myriad of rubber bands bunched up in Ruler's free hand.
Both Jeannes stared at them, one with the remnant of being shocked; while the other’s face was flushed in embarrassment. Jeanne Alter glared at them through blurry eyes, trying to conceal hints of sobs and whines.
Alter’s room looked relatively normal. No unusual items, save for a few cloth hair-ties and stray snapped rubber bands littered all over the floor. A chair had fallen over, probably from earlier; but everything else was upright and in place.
"Let go. My scalp and neck really hurt!" Avenger gave an annoyed snarl to the Ruler, who just chuckled. “A pleasant surprise, Artoria Alter and Brynhildr.” Saber was still in the middle of processing the events that had transpired. Lancer, however, had strode to the blonde saint.
“I want explanations,” stern voice matched with a glacial gaze.
“Oh!” Jeanne met Brynhildr’s calculating gaze. “I may not be an expert at it, but I can gladly explain the basics in braiding a person’s hair.”
“…”
An uncharacteristic peal of laugher erupted from the blackened King of Knights. “My good gods, you two are really country bumpkins,” she managed to wheeze out between laughs. She finally composed herself, as she wanted to have mercy on the already fuming, flattened Dragon Witch. “I actually thought you two were f—“
"Would you two use more appropriate words?”
A deep voice came from behind the Saber. “These two eavesdroppers have been imagining things other than you braiding Jeanne Alter’s hair." Emiya stepped in and commented. The Archer was still at the kitchen when he overheard those questionable sounds from Avenger’s room. He was well within hearing range.
… And probably everyone within a 2-floor radius.
Needless to say, even Jeanne Alter had her limits of being the butt of any joke. The day was only starting, but Ritsuka had to desperately resummon several Servants caught in the Avenger’s hellfire. Although no other physical harm had been incurred, surely the Dragon Witch’s ego had been shattered into bite-sized pieces.
The two saints spent the next few days explaining how difficult it was to braid a girl’s hair.