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1.
The room, Maria realizes, is almost completely silent. It makes the only sounds she can hear immensely loud by comparison.
The ticking of that ridiculous cat-shaped clock, for example. It would be terrible on its own, but it's nothing compared to the other sounds.
Like the squeaking of couch as she tries, and fails, not to fidget. It's only been a few minutes, but Maria is already convinced that pleather upholstery is a direct consequence of the Curse of Balal, and possibly the reason God no longer talks to humanity.
And then there's the sound of the psychiatrist's pen as he scribbles in his notebook.
The scritching is the worst of all.
The session hasn't even started and he's already scritching away.
"Um, doctor," Maria begins, then flushes as the psychiatrist holds up one finger imperiously, requesting, nay, demanding silence.
In spite of herself, she subsides. And the psychiatrist returns to his scribbling.
She wishes she could see his face, but for all she knows that's how all psychiatrists do things, bury their faces in their notebooks while their patients get more and more uncomfortable. Maria has never been to a psychiatrist until today. The last few minutes have convinced her that she was right to avoid them.
You never know with medical types.
After a several more interminable minutes of scritching, the doctor coughs and sets his pen aside. He's still intently poring over his notes, however.
"So," he says. He flips back to the start of his notebook, scanning the pages. "Miss... Maria Cadenzanva Eve. What seems to be the problem?"
Please don't tell me he had to look up my name, she thinks to herself. Out loud, she says "Honestly, Doctor. I-I'm not sure it even is a problem."
She gets the vague impression that he's laughing at her, although how she knows with him hiding behind his notebook is anyone's guess.
"If you're here, you think it is a problem, Maria." This time he gives out a definite chuckle. "Can I call you Maria?"
"No, thank you," she says, as primly as is possible when you're lying nearly flat on your back in a strange man's office.
"Very well then," says the doctor. "Miss Maria."
"That's not any better," she mutters.
The doctor retrieves his pen, flips to a blank page, and starts to scribble. "You'll have to speak up! The fundamental basis of healing is C-O-M-M-U-N-I-C-A-T-I-O-N."
And god help her, he actually spells it out letter by letter.
Maria grits her teeth. "Okay. Communication," she says. The only thing keeping her from getting to her feet and walking out the door is the knowledge that the noise she makes standing up from that couch will probably kill her with its squeaky intensity. And also she's not sure where the door is.
There's a clucking of teeth. It takes a while before she realizes it's coming from behind that notebook. She gets look at the notebook for the first time. There are stickers on it.
"You seem to be having trouble getting it out," says the doctor. "I hope you don't mind if I prompt you."
Maria almost mutters another dire imprecation before the memory of C-O-M-M-U-N-I-C-A-T-I-O-N stops her.
The doctor chuckles again. "So. Miss Maria. According to my case files, you're here today because your Mom, this "Professor Nastassja", thinks you may be suffering from, and I quote, 'an acute case of the gay'."
Maria freezes mid-fidget. "T-The WHAT?"
"The 'WHAT' indeed," says the doctor. Maria realizes there is an absolute limit to her tolerance for smug and this man is pushing it. "After your last encounter with this... 'Kazanari Tsubasa' (I assume that is a... JAPANESE name, yes?) you apparently collapsed, stricken by, well, a whole host of, shall we say, physical symptoms."
Maria does her best to restrain herself. This amounts to winding a strand of her long hair around her wrist and tugging it absentmindedly. She stops when she becomes aware that this has just prompted the doctor to start scribbling again.
"And then you woke up, raving, about her shapely buttocks, the subtle, yet alluring way her breasts filled out her Gear, the way her beautiful purple eyes betrayed a hint of sorrow masked by strength and determination-"
"I don't remember saying ANYTHING like that," Maria chokes out.
"Hm." The doctor flips to another section of his notebook. "No, it's clearly recorded here in the case file. Do you want me to read it out-"
"NO."
"I'm paid to ask the hard questions here, Miss Maria," says the doctor thoughtfully. "So I hope you don't take it personally when I ask... do you consider yourself... a 'homophobe'?"
Maria thumps the arm of her couch. It squeaks in protest. "I am an AMERICAN CITIZEN."
The doctor lets out another of those irritating chuckles. "That answers much less than you think. In fact, it simply raises more questions! Very well, let's move on. You see, the issue with these... traumatic breaks is that they leave the sufferer with a very unclear picture of what happened, while the trauma and emotion from the event itself remain embedded in the sufferer's psyche."
The doctor reaches around behind him, pulls out a flask full of something green and viscous, and takes a sip.
"Ah, delicious. The resulting disconnect between the sufferer's conscious self and unconscious self creates a sort of... lesion, in the soul. Or the mind, if you prefer. The soulmind. The only cure for such lesions is, of course, C-O-M-M-U-N-I-C-A-T-I-O-N."
As he spells the word out again, Maria becomes increasingly suspect of this man's credentials. And sanity.
Or possibly her own sanity.
She realizes something else. She still can't see the man's face, but neither can she see his left hand, the hand he's using to hold the notebook.
It looks like C-O-M- communication is the only way out.
The man continues. "So, Miss Maria, in your own words, I'd like you to describe this 'Kazanari Tsubasa'."
Maria sighs. "Very well. How do I begin? Tsubasa Kazanari. The Japanese Government's sentinel. Their sword. My enemy."
Her throat is suddenly dry. She thinks of asking for a drink, but from what little she's learned of this man over the course of their thankfully extremely brief relationship, he's either going to take it as an opportunity to start scribbling or hand her that awful looking stuff he was drinking. She's not sure which would be worse.
She clears her throat and continues, resolved to tough things out until she can find a water cooler, or some semblance of normalcy. "We first met before the concert."
"Ah," says the doctor. "Is this 'THAT' concert?"
"Yes, 'THAT' concert."
"Continue," he says, pen poised to write. Again Maria wonders why she can't see the hand holding the notebook.
"I barged into her dressing room, trying to impress on her my superiority as a singer and an idol. She was there. Her manager, Mr. Ogawa, was there too, I think."
The doctor scritches briefly. "I see."
"Which, you understand, was just a prelude to my impressing upon her my superiority in battle."
"Of course." More scritching.
"I simply could not wait to cross swords with her."
No words. Just furious scritching.
The doctor sets his pen aside, thoroughly scritched out for the moment "So what happened?"
This time Maria can feel the flush coming. "What? The concert happened. We revealed our master plan. I fought Tsubasa. Her friends showed up. We got away."
"Just that? 'You fought'?"
Maria sighs, prompting more scribbling. "When we fought, for the first part of it, I was in my Gear. She wasn't."
"She was very good. Even more than I expected from a girl who trained herself to be a sword. She fought me evenly using just a microphone stand as a weapon. She was amazing. No, she was perfection."
"Certainly," says the doctor. Maria notices that his writing hand is moving so fast it's almost blurring now.
"It wasn't enough, of course. She wasn't in her Gear. I managed to land a kick that sent her flying through the air..."
The doctor leans forward, as far as is possible when your face is hidden squarely behind a notebook.
"Time, time seemed to freeze. There was nothing in that moment but the two of us, me, poised to triumph, her, hurtling through the air, her skirt flapping around those long, elegant legs, her hair wrapped around her like dark, beautiful wings, a look of serenity on her obnoxiously pretty face, and I..."
"Yes?"
"I saw up her skirt."
Scritch scritch scritch.
"I didn't mean to, though! It was just... the intensity of my battle focus!"
"Very intense," says the doctor. "And what did you see?"
"What kind of question is that?" Maria says, sitting up as far as possible. The couch gives up its squeaks for a full-fledged groan.
"Why, it's one of the hard questions, Miss Maria. One that gets to the truth of the matter. Answer this question from your heart, and we will cure the LESIONS that have formed on your SOUL! Mind."
The doctor's free hand is gesticulating wildly now. At some point his pen leaves his fingers and lodges itself firmly in the ceiling.
Maria reflects that perhaps there is a kind God.
Or not. The doctor immediately produces a new one from his breast pocket, thus proving that God is a jerk.
"... striped panties," Maria murmurs. "She was wearing striped panties. Blue and white. I could actually see the outline of her buttocks, in that moment. I suppose the intensity of the fight lodged them up there?"
"A breakthrough!" cries the doctor. "Now we're getting somwhere!"
"And I think that was the first time she became a person to me. Not an enemy. Not a sword. Not a sentinel. But a girl a little younger than me, who wore striped panties in her favourite colour to a concert."
"I'm curious as to know how you know that was her favourite colour. I see we have come to the root of the problem."
Maria continues as though the doctor hasn't said anything. "She managed to transform, and things got crazy. Her friends showed up. The childr- Kirika and Shirabe showed up. There were explosions. I think we ruined that nice concert hall." She sighs. It really had been a nice one.
The doctor scribbles for a full ten minutes. "That wasn't the only time you fought, of course?"
"No," says Maria. "There was the submarine fight."
"I decided I couldn't beat her without securing an advantage first. All's fair in l- war, correct? I took the opportunity to strike her before she saw me, and retrieved the Nephilim. And then I pulled out my spear, Gungnir. The first clash of Gungnir against her Ame-no-Habakiri was electric. It went through my whole body. It was a feeling I never knew I could have."
"I barely managed to keep the Nephilim out of her ridiculously perfect hands. The intitial strike told, her knee couldn't hold up."
"She was amazing. Again. She was holding back that whole time, you see. And even with her injured knee, even with my element of surprise, even holding back, she managed to hit me as hard as I hit her."
"We locked eyes. I saw the strength of her determination. Her will. Her warrior spirit, full of deep sadness and immense strength. I realized that in a lot of ways, she was like me."
"We got away again, of course."
"I'm sensing a secret pattern here," says the doctor thoughtfully.
"What secret pattern?"
"Nothing," he says, running a hand through what Maria assumes is his hair. "Tell me about your final encounter."
Maria frowns. "Final encounter?"
"Yes," says the doctor. "Remember?"
"I-I don't recall fighting her again after that." Maria starts to fidget again. "In fact, I don't remember how I got here."
Maria stops short. "How did I get here? Where is 'HERE'?"
"Well," says the doctor. His voice is icy, and so far past the point of absolute smugness that Maria's blood freezes in her veins. "Let me fill in the blanks."
"It's quite simple!" says the doctor. "You had your third encounter with Tsubasa on the Frontier, where you finally defeated her once and for all and took her Gear away. It was then that she accepted you for who you are, a worthy opponent, with no self esteem issues, and then you made her truly yours, with all that entails. And then the two of you joined hands and saved the world, according to the ideals of Professor Nastassja. A world which you now rule!"
Maria stares at him blankly. "I what."
"Yes, Maria!" cries the doctor. "It all happened, thanks to the secret pattern. That secret. IS LOVE!"
The doctor gets to his feet, flings his notebook away, and poses dramatically, white hair streaming out around his face. His long coat flutters in the air conditioner's breeze, held only in place by his throbbing, mutated right hand. "And it is I," he proclaims triumphantly to the ceiling, "DOCTOR VER! who have helped you discover this principle. With the power of LOVE, Symphogear wielders can be invincible in battle! Indeed, LOVE is at the heart of the Symphogear system!"
Aghast, Maria hurls herself off the couch. "All I did was see up her skirt and slap her sword with my spear once or twice!"
"LOVE!" Doctor Ver hollers, flinging away his glasses. They hit the wall with an anticlimactic clink.
Maria backs away frantically, only stopping when she hits the wall. "I don't even know what her favourite food is!"
"LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE!" In default of anything else to fling, Doctor Ver tosses his coat into the air. It promptly wraps itself around his face.
As it settles across his shoulders, Maria becomes starkly aware that the only thing he was wearing under the coat is a pair of blue and white women's underwear.
He lurches in her approximate direction, modesty inadequately preserved by that single scrap of striped cotton.
"And now I, DOCTOR VER, will possess that secret!" Doctor Ver begins to reach for her with that horrible red hand of his, the madness on his face barely concealed by the green junk he's been chugging leaking from his eyes and mouth and nose and and and
and Maria screams.
And screams.
2.
And wakes up.
Something is shaking her.
She jerks and kicks around until her vision comes back into focus.
She's home.
She's safe.
Kirika is snoring nearby, wrapped snugly in the futon she normally shares with Shirabe and Maria.
Shirabe, however, is wide awake, crouched over Maria with a look of concern on her face and her delicate hand on Maria's shoulder. For some reason, she has the glasses she wears when she's trying to be covert perched on her face.
It's only when Maria notices the cold of the floor against the back of her head that she realizes she has somehow kicked the covers off and flailed all the way to the far wall of the little room she shares with the girls.
"Shirabe?" she says. "Oh, thank goodness."
Maria pulls Shirabe into a hug. After all, she reflects, they never mind when I hold them.
"You were having a bad dream," Shirabe says, with her usual talent for understatement. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Normally, she wouldn't. Normally she would pretend to be unflappable, strong, big sis Maria. But this dream wasn't normal.
"You're squeezing me too tight," Shirabe says.
Maria doesn't hear her. She breathes for a second. "It was terrible. I was in an office, with Doctor Ver. Only he wasn't Doctor Ver. He was pumped up on something I think was LiNKER, and he'd done something to his hand. And he was wearing..."
Maria briefly considers telling Shirabe about the underwear. She tosses the thought aside as soon as it enters her mind. In the direst extremity, she might share that horrible tidbit with Mom. But not with her. Not with Shirabe. And to think she might tell Kirika about it too! The sheer indecency of the thought.
"Never mind. But it was awful. He was pretending to be a psychiatrist. I'm not sure if the real Doctor Ver has an actual medical degree. And he was asking all sorts of strange questions. And acting crazy."
She pauses for a moment, thinks.
"Well, crazier."
Shirabe stares at her for a second.
"I heard the real Doctor Ver say something about nightmares once," she says.
Maria laughs lightly, still unwilling to relinquish her hold on Shirabe. "I'm sure it was something weird."
"No," says Shirabe, cocking her head to one side. There's a strange look in her eyes. "It was important. It was about the secret to dealing with nightmares."
Maria tenses. "Did you say secret?"
Shirabe's hand on her shoulder no longer feels light and frail.
It's heavy.
And hot.
Maria looks down.
Shirabe's hand is pulsing with a dim red light.
She looks back at Shirabe's face. Only it's not Shirabe's face anymore. It's twisting, and lengthening. Her hair is turning white and ragged. Her pretty red glasses frames have morphed into a slick, dull grey.
The monstrous fusion of her dear Shirabe and the detestable Doctor Ver looms over her.
Maria realizes that it's wearing nothing other than a pair of blue and white striped panties.
Maria tries to move. She can't. She's paralyzed with utter terror.
"The secret to dealing with nightmares," whispers Doctor Verabe. "Is looooove."
Maria screams.
And screams.
3.
And wakes up.
And this time she knows exactly where she is. The dressing room. Backstage. London. Right before her second big concert with Tsubasa. Their first concert as partners. Doctor Ver is gone, in a place he can never hurt anyone or wear inapproriate clothing ever again. Kirika and Shirabe are an ocean away, in a sleepover with their friends, waiting to watch the concert on live broadcast. The Frontier incident is months long past.
Somehow she fell asleep while waiting for the caterers to show up.
But even though she knows where she is, she knows something even more important.
She's not home.
She's not safe.
Not as long as this goes on.
And there's only one way she can think of to stop it.
Maria stalks down the backstage halls like something out of hell itself, jaw set with grim purpose. The interns and crew see something dark in her eyes. They instinctively clear out of the way.
"Ah! Maria-san!"
A more clear-headed Maria might have recognized Shinji Ogawa. This Maria does not. This Maria only sees a pair of odious glasses on the face of a man. Maria lashes out.
With the lightning reflexes of his venerable ninja clan, Ogawa whips his glasses off, takes the punch directly in the nose, and replaces the glasses on his face, none the worse for wear. The glasses, that is. His nose will need looking at by professionals.
Maria has very little time to deal with him just now. She charges off without answering his mumbled questions.
She finally finds her target. Tsubasa's dressing room.
She plants her foot firmly into the door. It rebounds, and the heel snaps off her shoe. She curses. She tries punching it.
The door is made out of sturdier stuff than the Noise.
Maria winds up for a massive, wood shattering kick, and lets loose- just as the door swings open.
"Oh, Mari-aAHH!"
Tsubasa barely dodges Maria's foot, lunges to the side, counters with a capture and leg sweep. It's a perfectly executed move. Commander Kazanari couldn't have been prouder. But skirts are not made for martial arts.
They tumble together in a spill of stage outfits.
"Maria!" Tsubasa says, rapidly turning bright red. Maria can't tell if it's anger or embarrassment. "What's gotten into you?"
Maria doesn't answer her directly.
Instead she gets to her feet, dusts herself off. She sets her skirts fluttering with a gesture of absolute control, tosses her long hair to one side with a casual flick of her hand.
In a flash, she's no longer the Maria who has bad dreams, who's unsure of herself, who uses the two children she loves as comfort pillows.
She's Maria the warrior, one-time wielder of the black Gungnir, Maria the American top artist, motherly big sis to Kirika and Shirabe, saviour of the world. Or at least that's how she hopes she looks.
"M-Maria?" Tsubasa stammers.
"Tsubasa!" Maria says. "Right now. You and me. Let's have sex. Lesbian sex."
To be fair, she just woke up. That line sounded a lot more coherent in her head.
"The concert is in an hour!" Tsubasa says.
"Which makes this even more important," Maria says, pulling Tsubasa to her feet.
Tsubasa's blue and white striped panties hit the floor.
And Tsubasa writhes
And moans
And and
and
4.
And wakes up.