Chapter Text
“Baobhan, I need you to work with me here.”
Baobhan Sith, Gifted Name Tam Lin Tristan, sneers at her so-called Master, folding her arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
They’re in the combat simulator; alone, at Baobhan’s request. (Well, demand, but ‘request’ sounds more proper as a Servant.) She’s tired of watching her Master with all the others - it's about time she got some dedicated training in. And as usual, Mother has better things to do than hover around and pick up after their Master’s slack all the time.
The weakling looks frustrated. Heh. Good. It’s a good look for her.
“I need…” She sucks in a breath, then lets it out. “Baobhan. You know I’m not as good at summons as my brother -”
“That just sounds like you’re not trying hard enough, frankly.”
“I am - no. Nope, I’m not,” Rika shakes her head, “I’m not doing this. Why won’t you let me summon your weapons?”
Baobhan Sith raises a brow. “If you think your filthy hands are getting anywhere near Failnaught -”
“You’re still the one holding it, you’ve seen me do this,” Rika very rudely interrupts. “But it doesn’t - partial summons don’t work if the Servant doesn’t agree.”
The weakling flails around a bit… oh, alright, credit where it’s due. She goes through the motions of wielding various weapons; EMIYA’s arms draw and fire his bow, Cursed Arm’s cursed arm flicks out daggers, Sanson’s blade falls like a guillotine, Carmilla’s mace swings out - Rika spins and thrusts and Liz’s spear stabs viciously through the air; her spin continues and Liz’s tail whips out from behind her.
She’s not… that awful. Baobhan Sith can admit that much.
“See,” the other redhead says, panting slightly. “You wouldn’t have answered my summons if you didn’t want to be here and this isn’t a problem with anyone else so why -”
“If you’re going to call upon me,” Baobhan Sith says, curling her lip, “and you should be honoured that I respond at all, but I’m not just a pair of hands and feet for you to pull out whenever you feel like it.” Her grip on her arms tightens.
Like hell she’s just going to let this bitch pull off her limbs too.
“You summon me properly or not at all.”
Rika’s face screws up. “I can’t - what if I need to have your bow or - or your stilettos out immediately and there’s no time to summon your Shadow?”
“Just keep me summoned, then,” Baobhan says with a shrug. “I don’t see the problem here.” She can also admit that Rika isn’t… that awful at issuing commands; they’ve trained enough together that she has a decent handle on Baobhan’s capabilities. Plus, that way she can be around Mother more, even when she’s out on missions.
“That’s not feasible and you know it,” Rika says angrily. Temper, temper. “Combat summons aren’t as strenuous as maintaining a full Servant, but they’re still taxing, and the time limit -”
“That wouldn’t be an issue for a ‘top-level’ magus, now, would it?”
“Yes it -” Rika sucks in a breath and presses her hands together. “… I am trying, okay? You’ve seen me studying, I am hitting the books and practising my magecraft and training with everyone every day, but it takes time and effort and magical energy isn’t something you can just - just boost your stores of because you feel like it. Not.” She frowns down at her arms. “Not safely, anyway.”
“I happen to think I’m worth the risk,” Baobhan says, flipping her hair. “You know full well I’m the only one worth a damn on your payroll, aside from Mother.”
Rika rolls her eyes. “Pretty sure EMIYA would kick your ass up and down the simulator any day of the week, Carmilla’s an anti-female specialist, and Liz has the class advantage, but okay.”
Baobhan’s eye twitches. “I’m only as strong as your investment in me, Master.” To her frustration. It’s been… annoying, getting used to her diminished abilities.
“… you know what,” Rika says, “I think we could use a break.” She rolls her shoulder and calls up the simulator controls. “I’m going to get some water or something. Do you want anything?”
“Some blood would be fantastic,” Baobhan says with a grin. “Promise I won’t drain you too much.”
“Fine, nothing for you, then.” The door appears next to Rika, and she walks through, shoulders slumped. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Baobhan snorts and studies her nails. Just like a worthless human to give up so easily. Mother would… Mother would do anything she had to to achieve her goals. Not that she could ever be lacking, with her power and skill, even as heavily restricted as she is now by their useless -
“Baobhan Sith.”
Baobhan blinks up as… as Mother walks in through the door. She looks incredible, as usual; she’s in her second Saint Graph outfit, the one with the travelling cloak. It seems to be her preferred one even after Rika put her through the ‘special Ascension’ thing that Chaldea finally got working two weeks ago, a week after Baobhan’s summoning.
“Mother!” Baobhan dips into a curtsey. “Um, what brings you here? I thought you were busy with other things.”
“The candidate extraction is done for today,” Mother says with a nod. “I had a bit of time left to watch over your training with my wife.”
Ah, right. That. Well… Rika seems to amuse Mother for whatever reason, so Baobhan doesn’t care that much. Though that… does mean… “I’m sorry you had to see our little… disagreement.”
Mother shakes her head. “Each Servant’s relationship with their Master is different. That said…” Her brow furrows… slightly. Uh oh. “The contract does require a certain level of… trust. And understanding. Which you seem… hesitant to extend.”
“It’s not that big an ask,” Baobhan says, crossing her arms. “I’m sure you could do it even now, even as much as she’s holding you back -”
“FATE is ‘holding me back,’” Mother corrects, and Baobhan… swallows. “And Rika is not and will never be as generally gifted as I am. But she works hard - harder than anyone save perhaps her brother.” She reaches out, and Baobhan suppresses a flinch as the hand… settles on her head.
This… all this is new. This… gentler touch. Or… it feels like it, at least. New, yet… vaguely familiar.
“Fujimaru Rika is no fae,” Mother says. “She would not take advantage of your weakness, or selfishly work you to death. If you honestly shared your concerns…”
“I have,” Baobhan insists, “that’s what I did.” Mother shakes her head.
“Your true concerns.”
Baobhan sucks in a breath and clenches her shoulders.
“You know as well as I that she would immediately drop the matter if you told her why the thought of her partial summons disturbs you so,” Mother says, her voice… from anyone else, Baobhan would call it disgustingly gentle. A sign of weakness to exploit. From Mother…
It’s… it’s nice. Maybe it’s just that they’re not in Brit - Faerie Britain any more, or… maybe it’s Rika's weakness bleeding through their bond, but… Mother is allowed to be a little weak. She has more than enough power and skill to cover for it.
“I,” Baobhan starts, and then turns away, “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have to. Isn’t she supposed to be a halfway decent Master or something? She should know I have a good reason for - no, that doesn’t matter.” She scowls. “If I don’t want to be used like a cheap whore and thrown aside when she’s done with me, I shouldn’t have to explain myself!”
Mother’s mouth tilts up at the corners, and she runs a hand through Baobhan’s hair.
“You know that is not what she is doing,” she says. Slowly, Baobhan’s shoulders loosen. “Regardless, if you are adamant about this, at least phrase your request in a way that does not imply my wife is lacking or incapable of meeting your standards. Do you think mine low?”
“What? No!” Baobhan shakes her head rapidly. “No, never, I would never imply -”
“Yet you have, and you do,” Mother says, “with the way that you treat my Master.”
Baobhan’s shoulders droop.
Mother doesn’t even… sound upset. Just slightly disappointed. Which is… honestly so much worse.
“I will not tell you how to handle your contract,” Mother says, pulling her hand back. “But I will say it will be much easier if you give her a chance.” She shrugs a shoulder as she turns. “Perhaps she will surprise you.”
Baobhan stares out over the simulated field as Mother leaves.
… that’s right. She didn’t consider how her actions would reflect on Mother. She… that was the same problem she had in Faerie Britain. The one thing she dreaded was Mother’s disappointment, and yet… because of her, because she couldn’t just - represent her properly…
Baobhan Sith - Tam Lin Tristan didn’t give a rat’s ass what any of the fucking fae thought of her. She… she didn’t. Because she knew she was stronger and she was better and Mother chose her and trained her for a reason.
And yet… she can still vividly remember the whispers of the people, on the stage in Gloucester, when she lost… to Altria Caster, that upstart (and even so, she doesn’t hate her, not really, not even now, she’s… fine) and when she lost her Gifted Name.
Baobhan Sith, Baobhan Sith. Baobhan Sith, the gutter trash, who has to feed on human blood. Who flooded the streets of Darlington with the walking dead. Never mind that she was told to do it. No one cared about that, of course. They never saw anything good that she did, it was always ‘Baobhan Sith is so weak,’ ‘Baobhan Sith is so dangerous,’ ‘Baobhan Sith is such a disgrace,’ ‘Baobhan Sith, what is Queen Morgan thinking -’
Nngh.
Baobhan blinks down at the blood dripping down her arms. She… loosens her hold on them and drops her hands, considering her nails.
… at least she didn’t mess them up.
Ugh. How long is that wea… is Rika going to take? She said she would be back in ten minutes, hasn’t it been that long? How fucking hard is it to get a bottle of fucking -
“I’m back,” Rika announces. Baobhan scowls at the other redhead as she walks through the door.
“About time,” she says with a sneer. “What, did you get lost on your way to the vending machine? You know I have better things to do than -”
“Here,” Rika interrupts, the bitch, and… shoves something into her hands. Baobhan blinks down at it.
It’s a… blood bag. Like they use for transfusions.
“I thought about it,” Rika says, rubbing her arm, “and you might have been talking shit like normal, but you also, um. I know you haven’t had any blood since you manifested, and Morgan mentioned that you need that to survive. Or, um, the type of fae you are does, at least. I had to drop by the infirmary to get my blood drawn - it’s kind of cool, actually, they have a spell that lets them…”
Baobhan tunes out whatever Rika’s going on about, turning the bag over in her hands. Hm. She raises it to her lips and sinks her fangs into it.
Vibrant, thick with life and mana. Fresh.
Loud and excitable. Always pushing itself along.
… hm.
“I don’t,” oh, she’s still talking. “I don’t know why you don’t want to be partially summoned, but I guess it doesn’t matter. Um, I talked to Morgan, and she had an idea to make keeping your Shadow summoned feasible if that’s really what you -”
“It tastes like shit,” Baobhan interrupts. Rika’s face screws up.
“Look, if you don’t want it, that’s fine, I can -”
Baobhan slaps her hand away and relishes her indignant squawk, then drains the rest of the bag in one go. She licks the last droplet off her fang and savours it.
“I just wanted you to know your blood tastes like shit, that’s all,” she says, enjoying her Master’s furrowed brow. “But I suppose it’s better than nothing.” She tosses the empty bag over her shoulder. “Don’t think you can get out of supplying me now, Master. It’s your duty to see to your Servants’ needs, after all~”
Rika purses her lips.
“… so you are a shit eater,” she says. Baobhan scowls. “Or a shit drinker, I guess?”
“And you’re clearly not very attached to your head where it rests on your shoulders,” Baobhan snarls.
Rika shrugs. “Hey, you said it, not me.” She holds her hands up. “Sorry. Sorry. I don’t wanna fight. Can we just… not? Please.”
Baobhan clicks her tongue. The flavour of Rika is still heavy on it.
“… fine,” she says, folding her arms. “You said you asked Mother for help?”
“Oh, yeah, well, basically, there is a loophole she said we can use…”