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Warm, delicious food on the table, close, dear friends at the table.
Usually, that is a winning combination to slowly lower the tension and start a friendly conversation, but, despite an abundance of Halovian Winged Burgers, Miss Saber and Miss Note do not seem to let up on the hostility. Robin’s wings tingle and tremble from the combined aura of the Heroic Spirits and her own struggles to contain it from spilling out beyond the Harmony bubble she’s created. A warm, vibrant melody joins her own, and the singer shoots Stelle a quiet, grateful smile.
“Saber, please. Robin picked up the tab for us.” Stelle’s tone has just a little bit of admonishment in it, but the rest is pure calm. It is enchanting just how soothing she can make her voice sound.
Miss Saber cocks her head, her gaze searching and probing. She looks a little lost and tense as if waiting for something else, something different. Yet, after a moment of hesitation, she relaxes and nods her head in that royal manner of hers. Her aura stops pushing against Miss Note’s, but keeps protectively swirling around Stelle.
“Miss Note.” Robin directs her smile at the platinum-haired lady beside her. The green eyes of her companion try to desperately convince her to stop these talks and run away, but Robin’s smile just grows brighter. After glancing at the protective web woven by the joint efforts of Masters (what a distasteful word), Miss Note huffs and follows Miss Saber’s example.
An improvement. Marginal though it may be, it is an improvement. The talks begin anew, with Miss Saber dutifully sharing information about the Holy Grail Wars she had been summoned to participate in and Miss Note reluctantly sharing a word or two on the circumstances of the Penacony’s version of the ritual. The handsome swordswoman uses unfamiliar terms with no pause or hesitation, and Robin struggles to keep up. Yet, just like back on Epsilon, she dons the role of a complete novice and asks for clarifications and explanations, testing her understanding of the matter against Miss Saber’s knowledge. The bond between Stelle and her helps, with her dear lover helpfully conveying what she’s quizzed Miss Saber on before coming to the Dreamflux Reef.
The picture forming in Robin’s mind is a dreadful one. A ritual that pits seven people against one another and puts leashes on the very heroes that have turned Penacony into a land of dreams from a prison world? All for the sake of the winner’s dream? Why, even Lady Bonajade’s deals sound reasonable compared to such a sickening “war”.
Stelle’s calming melody reaches her through their bond, and Robin looks up to find a steady reassurance in the gleaming gold of her eyes. Miss Note’s concerned gaze is answered by a small smile that fails to reassure the Penacony’s heroine one bit. ‘Saber’s concerned about the publicity of the event,’ Stele’s voice resounds in her mind. ‘The War is supposed to be a secret between the magi, not a reality show.’
‘Thank you, ma chérie.’ Robin’s smile brightens, and Stelle’s cheeks grow the slightest bit pink in delight. Miss Note frowns prettily, finally catching onto the existence of the Harmonic connection, but she holds her tongue.
What has Miss Saber confounded, Robin finds much easier to understand. Not the underlying principles, perhaps, but the motivation of Old Oti. Ever since Sunday’s arrest – Robin closes her eyes for a moment to centre herself – the ancient relic from the time long gone has been obsessed with turning Penacony into a money-printing machine. A land of dreams, an ultimate resort, a utopia. A place to spend and to indulge, to ensure money will flow from the visitors’ pockets to sate the Alfalfas’ bottomless greed.
A rotten paradise that cannot exist without bombastic advertisement campaigns of false hopes and empty promises.
And the bright neon sign to guide the bedazzled people to it is the Holy Grail War in its current iteration.
‘What’s the small ball’s plan to broadcast the ritual then?’ Stelle’s voice is a pleasant, comforting distraction from the depressive train of thought. ‘He shouldn’t be able to reach us in the Dreamflux.’
‘Under normal conditions, no.’ Robin hums softly, her wings trembling ever so slightly. She’s been feeling prickles of attention that she would normally be inclined to dismiss, but in a ritual that can summon an Assassin… Perhaps, it is prudent to be more vigilant. Besides, Miss Note’s reluctance to calm down may also be caused by the table being under observation of an unknown party. Yet, Robin can use such tricks for her own purposes. ‘Indulge me for a moment, ma chérie.’
Stelle’s eyes fly open at Robin’s words, and her gloved fingers freeze under her mouth. Slowly, ever so slowly, Robin reaches out to glide her own fingers over the soft lips, enjoying the warm breath against the gloved fingertips. Her palm gently travels across the flushed cheek, slides the grey hair behind the ticklish ear and pulls a stunned Stelle into a sweet kiss. A moment later one gloved palm slams against the table, and another finds Robin’s wing and rubs it, making her groan into the kiss. She feels her cheeks ignite and ignores it. She feels Miss Saber and Miss Note’s stares and ignores them.
For a singular moment, there’s only Stelle and Robin, just two girls in love, freed from titles and obligations. For a singular moment, the world is just right, just perfect.
The perfect world tastes like a Halovian Winged Burger and a can of Sousa Juice.
With a playful, satisfied smile lingering on Robin’s lips, she pulls away. She’s greeted by a delightful pout on Stelle’s face that gets swiftly covered up by a hat. A surprised gasp from someone at the table is noted and filed away while all of Robin is focussed on Stelle.
“Just one?”
“Just a taste of what’s to come.” Robin drinks in the full-body shudder her whisper elicits from Stelle. “For now, we have things to do, ma chérie. Things that we’ll need your motto for.”
To Robin’s endless adoration, Stelle doesn’t try and search for hidden cameras. No, she twirls on the spot, striking a pose. “Rules are made to be broken!”
“Quite so.” Robin briskly rounds the table and takes an offered hand, enjoying the wide grin that lights up Stelle’s gold eyes. “We’ll play by our own rules.”
And with Stelle by her side, she is sure to thwart whatever dirty plans Old Oti concocted this time.
“Guinevere and Lancelot are siblings… My Master sounds like Morgan…”
“Is she gay because of the hat or is the hat with her because she is gay?”
…Whenever their respective Heroic Spirits recover from their stupor, that is.