Work Text:
Bubbles tickle the palm of Furina’s hand, as she wills the river’s surface to take shape to her heart’s desires. Slowly, a thin string of water rises, curving once it reaches her eye-level, then cleanly landing inside Furina’s empty canteen.
“Want me to refill yours, too?” Furina asks with a lilt to her voice, tilting he head back to stare at Arlecchino, just in time to see her look up from the last missive she’s received from her colleagues. Arlecchino told her that she’s sent priests to collaborate with the Fontaine Research Institute, whose researchers are begrudgingly helping the foreign priests, in studying the demons in the areas closest to their Institute.
As it often happens, Arlecchino’s vacant stare offers Furina little to work with — she can’t really tell what is passing through Arlecchino’s mind, but she suspects that there are few news, if any, of demons sightings.
“Hm. Very well, thank you,” Arlecchino says, stretching her legs before sitting down next to Furina, much to the alarm of her Salon members, who stops playing by the riverbank to observe them more closely.
“You seem to be in a good mood,” Arlecchino says, not bothered in the least by the behavior of Furina’s summons — and is that a smile? Furina can’t tell — “it looks good on you.”
“Ah—why, of course!” Furina’s laugh sounds terribly shrill to her own ears. “Anyway, good news?”
“Not particularly,” she says, “with the exception of those swamp demons we took out three days ago, I haven’t picked up any new trace. Nor have I received any trustworthy new leads.”
Furina furrows her eyebrows. They haven’t stayed long in any village, since they got tangled up in cleaning that demon nest with Clorinde, now nearly a month ago. Furina doesn’t mind these relatively more tranquil days, but she can’t quite relax either.
Since that haunting night, it has become even more evident how Arlecchino’s night routine should be unsustainable for a human, even one blessed by Snezhnaya’s Tsaritsa. Even if not a priority, Furina hasn’t given up discovering how is it possible that Arlecchino doesn’t seem to need sleep, in particular since her more direct inquiries are always easily rebuked or dismissed. However, lately there has been another matter close to Furina’s heart.
She takes a deep breath, mentally preparing her very convincing proposition, before facing Arlecchino’s blank gaze. “I have a request, then!”
A twinkle of intrigue dances in Arlecchino’s eyes. “Oh? Color me intrigued.”
Furina smiles, hiding any sign of nervousness. “Since we’re far located from the nearest villages and main travelled roads, I was thinking… can you teach me how to use a sword?”
Arlecchino glances away, though not in dismissal. Furina can tell she’s considering her proposition. Arlecchino briefly glances over the Salon members, before her gaze trails up to the bundle where Furina keeps Erinnyes’ sword hidden in a thick mantle.
Eventually, Arlecchino sighs. “Admittedly, your idea has merit. Since you still have the sword I bought you,” she says, eyeing the Dull Blade laying next to Mademoiselle Crabaletta, by the riverbank, “we’ll practice with that.”
Furina beams, excited. “Thank you!”
“I’m not a gentle master, Miss Furina…” Arlecchino reminds her, bracing a hand against the patch of wet grass between the two of them to lean in. “Wait until the first lesson is over, before thanking me.”
Between their promise and the relative peace in the area, Furina is surprised to realize that Arlecchino has no intention to stop, or even just relent, with her patrols. However, she’s just as strict a teacher as Furina has come to expect, designing a workout routine to follow, even when Arlecchino isn’t around to witness it.
However, more often than not, even when Furina is devoting herself to improve her swordplay and follow Arlecchino’s instructions, she feels observed, not dissimilarly to prey being watched by a nearby predator.
“Your posture is sloppy,” Arlecchino says, appearing unannounced from behind Furina, bringing a squeak out of her as she casually traces Furina’s spine with her knuckles, before pushing her upper back forward. “Shoulders straight, droplet.”
“Yes!” Furina repositions herself, moving her body according to Arlecchino’s instructions, before raising her sword again and slashing the air down, repeating the motion over and over, until she can feel her arms heavy and her shoulders tense.
“You need to optimize your balance,” Arlecchino says, pensive. Then, she wraps one of her arms around Furina’s waist, to push against her abdomen with the flat of her palm. Furina swears she doesn’t let any more embarrassing sounds out of her lips.
“Try again.”
Furina can barely concentrate like this.
“You’re distracted,” Arlecchino points out, unhelpfully. “Are you tired?”
“U-uhh… it’s just… your hand…” Furina wants to bash her head in — since when are words, her greatest strength, failing her? She’d find it mortifying, if she weren’t too distracted to fully realize that.
“My hand?” A hint of amusement colors Arlecchino’s voice, causing Furina’s hand to tremble over the hilt of her sword.
“It’s very… warm. Warm!” Furina says, feeling heat pool over her cheeks. Arlecchino’s hands have always fascinated her, even if she’s never dared to bring up the topic — seeds of intrigue festering at the chance they are caused by a demon, just like the curse afflicting Furina.
“Little droplet,” Arlecchino’s words hook her, even if her tone can at best be described as blasé, “reign in your imagination, your mind is not in a fitting place for handling a sword.”
“Sorry.” — Not that Furina can be hurt, permanently at the very least, but she asked for Arlecchino’s help to learn and guide her, not whatever her imagination is doing — “Your hands just got me thinking…”
Arlecchino’s hands have always been warm, but now they’re fiery, scorching — their warmth eagerly gobbled up by Furina’s body, even with layers of clothes between them.
Before Furina can wish to eat her own foot at those foolish words and thoughts — at how easily Arlecchino’s presence renders her eloquence null —Arlecchino chuckles, soft breath tickling the shell of one of Furina’s ears. “Thrilling as it may be to discuss the depths of your desires, little droplet, I think it better to stay on track,” she says, raising the hand still splayed on Furina’s abdomen to neatly hook one of Furina’s curls behind her ear. “What do you say?”
With a steadying breath, Furina lowers her Dull Blade and turns around, quick on her feet, even as her heart pounds in her chest. She offers a cheeky grin to Arlecchino, who reciprocates it with one of her rare patient smile.
“Admittedly, I’ve been thinking about our whole deal,” she says, prompting Arlecchino to raise an eyebrow at her. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m so grateful and we’ve a common goal, but… you explained to me how you need a demon ally to forge a pact, a true demon. If—no, once we break my curse, how could I help you?”
“You think this deal is more in your favor than mine?” Arlecchino surmises, pensively. “Tell me, do you fear your power over all waters will disappear along with Focalors’ curse?”
Furina rolls her eyes. “We both know my elemental power isn’t anywhere near as strong as to encompass control over all waters.”
Arlecchino chuckles. “True. However, I don’t need a demon… the fact you aren’t one is good enough for me,” she says. “Of course, I’d keep my word to you.”
Furina nods, pushing down against the hesitation that has taken root in her chest. “Is that… because you already have a pact with a demon?”
Furina braces herself for any reaction, though rarely has she seen Arlecchino give in to any strong emotion.
Arlecchino simply tilts her head to the side, as if confused.
“Your hands,” Furina says, “aren’t they… uhm… demonic?”
To her surprise, Arlecchino’s reaction is a puff of laugher. She raises a hand, as if to show Furina its back, her knuckles mere inches away from Furina’s cheek. Yet, Furina can already feel the warmth of Arlecchino’s hand grazing her skin.
“They’re truly warmer than usual,” Furina mutters.
Arlecchino hums. “Sometimes it happens, no need to pay that too much attention.” — Furina begs to differ, but she’s certain her reasoning would sound too personal and silly — “One day, I’ll show you.”
“Let’s test your progress,” Arlecchino says, easily stealing the Dull Blade from Furina’s grip. “Take out your destined blade.”
Just as when Arlecchino limits herself to check over Furina’s training, it’s clear she’s a good teacher. Even with her past warning of how strict she could be, Furina hasn’t needed more than an exchange of blades to realize how careful Arlecchino is being during their practice match.
“You… you’re an amazing swordswoman!” Furina says, panting. Her legs are shaking and her arms and abdomen are hurting in any and more places that she can name. Yet, she steadies herself to smile up at Arlecchino.
“Hm? You sound surprised,” she says, teasingly.
Despite herself, Furina beams. “Well, I’ve never seen you fight with one. I thought you’d use a polearm or that scary-looking scythe you always pull out!”
Arlecchino raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Hm. I’ve no intention of cutting you to shreds, droplet,” she says, causing ripples of something Furina would prefer to keep unnamed to sing through her blood, “I used to practice with a sword, in the past.”
Curiosity piqued, Furina leans into Arlecchino’s personal space. She’s not pushed away, nor does Arlecchino step back.
“Then why did you switch up?”
Arlecchino looks away, gaze now fixed on her reflection across the blade of the sword in her hand.
“…An oath.”