Archive of Our Own

Tumeric. Marzipan. Tomato sauce.

"Uhhh... An awful desert recipe!"

She took the three items and put them on the nearby kitchen table. The table was painted blue, which had always confused Marisa, since trees were a fine color all on their own.

She tried another three from the bag.

Nut-cracker. Envelopes. A single plum.

"Um... A either a really GOOD night in, or a really BAD night in!"

She couldn't help but crack up. That one worked on basically anything.

"Okay, okay, fer real tho... Uh... A badly squished plum and you kinda, uh, use that ink to write the letter, and it's really smooshy and romantic or something?" She plunked the plum down next to its collaborators. That must be it. She sighed and allowed herself a brief moment of relief from the game.

She didn't HAVE to play this way, strictly speaking. Bad karma seemed to find her one way or another after she stole a bag with this much in it. Nevertheless, it seemed to all be kindling in the same fire; she was a MAGICIAN, not a thief. It just so often happened that people paid little or no attention to what they actually had. In a way she was helping them, something about blah blah blah the pain of material possessions and such. Wasn't that right?

Besides besides which, the old man didn't even notice he'd lost his bag until long after he reached home, and his coinpurse was so full there was no way he wouldn't be able to just go right back to town and get replacements. Marisa briefly considered going to pilfer from the man on his second trip, but reasoned she already had enough for the next few days anyway. A plum could last over a week if prepared properly... Wasn't that right?

"So," Marisa said to herself. She liked talking to herself more than she liked talking to most other people, magicians, humans, yokai, and all other category of phenomenal beings. Animals were okay. So was Reimu, sometimes. But mostly no one around knew as much about magic as Marisa did, so she was the only one she ever asked about it. And since magic was her favorite thing to talk about, A and B just equalled C, didn't they?

Still. Normally her coliquys were more lively than this, with thoughts that exploded into reality via her mouth like multicolored shooting stars being somehow squeezed from the base of The Source itself. The last few days things had felt... Dry. Unseasonably so, given it wasn't even spring yet. This time of year everyone should be curled up in front of the fireplace with--oh.

There it was again.

That panging.

Normally she could get rid of it by thinking of Alice and how miserable any conversation with the doll maker almost instantly became. Being wanted was one thing, but being worshipped AND slung insults by a proverbial brat was anyone's idea of hell, and Marisa's in particular. She could think of no Tartarus worse than the Hel she had already known... Right?

Okay, so that possibility was out. Still. She could always...

"...meet someone?" She asked out loud. She glared at the plum as though blaming it for this meager dose of insight. The plum ogled back at her with intimidating resolve.

 

"Well, sure," Marisa said. "It's always just that easy, isn't it. Meet someone, say hello, buy them drinks, y'know, and then they turn out to be a ten-thousand and one year long dead yokai who only wants to pretend to like you so she can steal your soul later while you're sleeping. That's always fun, isn't it?"

Reimu had once told Marisa that way of talking to herself out loud, in addition to being supposedly extremely obnoxious for anyone else nearby, was called something like 'rhetorical monologue'. Marisa had laughed and said that sounded like the name of an old woman's medication, and Reimu had given her that look which always meant 'continue this and I will absolve you of your train of thought with immense severity'. So Marisa had stopped, at least for then.

Maybe even Reimu... No. No, she'd never live down even the notion of a request.

That meant submitting herself to... Outside.

Marisa shivered. She wished she'd kept her hat on so she didn't have to go through the loathsome routine of remembering where she'd put it.

Yes, there were always taverns. Yes, there were always other magic users, and yes, at least one of them would qualify as 'bearable'... But was that good enough? She wanted her head clear, yes, but there might be the morning after, and the night itself as well...

Marisa sighed enormously. There was no away around it. She was... Lonely.

"Well, shucks," she said out loud to no one.

No one replied without a sound.

"That's at least a good joke," Marisa said. I like where it's going, y'know?"

And where are you going, no one said.

"Well, me," Marisa said, spinning on her heel and summoning the rest of her magician outfit in a shower of sparks. Her broom trailed behind on dragging starlight lasers and blooming rainbows. Her hat fell into place from somewhere else entirely.

"Where am I going, was it?"

No one replied.

Marisa smirked.

"I'm going to get a date, obviously."

The front door of her cabin flew open like a bolt thrown by a storm god from a foreign land had knocked it away.

"Pretty good, huh?"

***

Getting a date was, like all things, a measurement of the theoretical versus the practical. Being that modern magic was ninety percent theory and ten percent firing homing lasers directly at your target, Marisa felt somewhat underequipped for the task she would hereby refer to as 'seduction'. That sounded less pathetic, didn't it?

So she had gone to the tavern, and there were lots of everyone there, and she had left. Just for a bit. She'd gone on a short flight to dull her nerves and then blasted the faeries that got in her way, which made the whole thing feel worthwhile. She was still pent up and lonely and ultimately confused, but she felt like she was doing the right thing, and that was what mattered, wasn't it?

"You can do this," she said out loud to herself. She'd managed to will herself up to the tavern door before breaking into a nearby alley to practice her introductions. Several other folk in various stages of drunkenness seemed to be doing the same, but none of them had very loud voices and so were easily drowned out by Marisa's semi perpetual self singing that seemed to come out especially boisterously whenever the prospect of romantic attachment manifest itself. That was the hard part after all, wasn't it? Taking up the entire night, giving herself completely to someone else, then storing the whole experience in a little vial and putting it on a shelf to be never remembered again. Theoretically she had a shelf full of hundreds of such vials waiting at home... But if the substitute was as good as the real thing then she'd never leave the house.

"All it takes is a good opening line, doesn't it?" The faded wall of the alleyway proved just as useless a talking companion as any other inanimate object. That was the space between speech and the other half of her brain taking over. Shoot.

"How about... 'Hi, I'm Marisa; nice ta meetcha!'?"

That was... Functional if nothing else. Bland. Ultimately superfluous. Surely the number of Gensokyo occupants who had never heard of Marisa were countable on two sufficiently digit supplied appendages... That didn't mean it was BAD, per se. Just that it needed some work.

How about...

"Hey, hot stuff!"

Marisa did a rapid pivot and almost crashed into the wall when the voice tumbled into her ears. Yes, that was the secret let someone else...

Oh.

The human who'd shouted was kissing a yokai girl only feet away. She had long spiralling horns and seemed to kick up a little deer like leg the moment her companion drew near. Then they kissed. Hmmph.

It was pretty difficult not to be resentful when she was feeling this way. If her fingers and a sufficient spell were always enough there'd be no magic left in the world. But words were strange and soupy and felt like building a ten foot shrine out of toothpicks. If someone would approach HER, that would be the biggest part of the problem dealt with immediately... Wouldn't it?

Marisa shook her head.

This was ridiculous. All she had to do was walk inside. The rest would organize itself spontaneously, as it always did.

"Okay," Marisa said, taking a big breath in. "I got this... Don't I?"

She skirted to the double doors, pushed them open, and slipped inside before anyone had time to photograph her triumphant entry pose. Then she made her way to a tiny table in the back barely lit by the nearby lamps. She could wait there and survey the scene while dreading the prospect of ordering a drink. Even the tavern attendants unnerved her slightly when she was like this... Could they smell desperation or something?

"Maybe I should have worn some perfume..." Marisa sighed and leaned back in her chair. She could go from general hyper tense vigilance into completely complacent in the blink of a passing sparrow, and that was important. What kind of magician would people think you were if you went around exuding desperation constantly?

Maybe THAT was the worst part. You could tell yourself you weren't desperate, but if you WERE... Then it was really there, like a flickering light in a waiting room only you could notice.

Marisa scanned the tavern. For all she knew everyone in Gensokyo here; the faces she could recognize through the sloshy watercolor of passing forms and reflections seemed unfamiliar at best and unfriendly at worst. She tried a hapless smile at a few potential passerby only to be answered with either glares or feigned ignorance. Surely no one could IGNORE the fact that the BEST magician in Gensokyo had just walked in... So they must just be pretending. That was alright, wasn't it?

Sigh. Magic was so little fun by yourself.

"This seat doesn't seem taken," said a voice next to her ear, quiet enough that it was barely audible above the background din. Simple, flat, almost monotone, not even a question, but an observation.

Marisa blinked. She straightened her chair and turned her head to the owner of the voice.

"Oh... It's you," she said.

"Yes," Patchouli said. "It is me."

Marisa let out another long sigh.

Oh, of course... That one.

She'd tried, y'know. In the past. To make friends. Patchouli was like a poster child for every insufferable ailment a fellow magician could theoretically have befall them. Even now, as the ghostly and pale girl waited for Marisa to continue the conversation, Marisa could just make out her wheezy breathing. A life spent in a library inhaling knowledge (and dust) from ancient tomes would obviously leave your lungs with some problems, and so Patchouli had to carry around a tiny homemade incense jar to push her lungs open if the threat of a bad asthma attack loomed close. She was heavy breathing incarnate.

On top of that, she was so... BORING. Marisa would never say it out loud, but it seemed to her there were two types of magician in the world, and those weren't the born or trained; it was the boring and the boreless. Marisa was naturally one of the latter, which made Miss Patchouli one of the former. What was so great about old books? Anyway, everytime Marisa had attempted to start a conversation about books she got drowned in reference tables and indexes and footnotes and did you know this funny printing error and gave up after around five minutes. There was no way to make this girl interesting.

Then again...

"Does that mean you wanna sit there?" Marisa asked. She didn't have to read minds to sense first intent, and sensing first intent wasn't even magic anyway. Practically anyone in Gensokyo could do it with the right jhana. Empty chair, ergo, sit. Simple as.

Patchouli nodded. She didn't say anything else. Then, after an uncomfortably long pause in which it became evident something more was necessary, just said "Yes."

Dull. Flat. Boring.

"Not as boring as a night with myself again," Marisa said out loud, then caught herself and slapped both hands over her mouth.

Patchouli stared at her. She seemed not to have heard.

"I mean, yeah, sure... Sit down." Marisa gestuted to the chair across the table.

Patchouli sat down. She didn't say anything.

Marisa sighed.

The tavern was loud.

Patchouli didn't say anything.

"So," Marisa said.

Patchouli said nothing.

Marisa sighed again.

"You're awful at this. Did you know that?"

"Yes," Patchouli said. "I am aware."

A moment split itself into infinite kalpa, all of which drowned in the awkward silence somehow held over noise.

"I want to get better," Patchouli said.

"Better at what?" Marisa asked. She was comfortable enough to order a drink now. A wave let one of the tavern servers know she'd take anything with alcohol in it, and somehow two drinks showed up at the table almost unprompted. Marisa threw away the tiny cherry in hers and then got ready to down it in one go.

Patchouli looked at her drink, then at Marissa. Her face was blank and utterly unassuming.

"Better at sex," she said. "And seduction," she added after a few more instants.

Marisa almost spit out her drink for effect, but it was really good, so she swallowed it instead. Still...

"Are you serious?! You can't just say stuff like that out loud. Everyone will hear you!"

Patchouli seemed to consider this.

"Everyone is busy drinking and talking. It seems unlikely they would listen in to our conversation."

"Geez, you are really something else!" Marisa finished her drink. It tasted like cherries. Obviously. This night could only go down the spiral slower at every pivot point...

There was the strange, paused feeling of being in the eye of a tornado again.

It felt like conversation would only move if bulldozed heavily by alcohol. Or at least the implication of alcohol.

"So," Marisa said after half empying her second drink "what are you REALLY doing here? Tell me the truth."

Patchouli's gaze moved for the first time since she'd sat down. It moved to Marisa's hand on the table, and then stayed there so long Marisa could feel a tiny bit of blush coming to her skin, localized specifically to the hand she'd left on the table.

"I told you," Patchouli said. Her eyes looked even more glum than usual. "I am here to learn about seduction."

"Right... And I'm here to resolve an incident involving desperation and one night stands."

Patchouli tilted her head to the side, eyes unblinking.

"Really?"

"No!" Marisa leaned back in her chair so hard she fell out of it. Oof. The drinking was working to well for its own good.

Marisa's outstretched hand found another--then Patchouli was pulling her up off the ground with a surprising level of torque for such a weak and meager girl. Marisa found her gaze avoiding Patchouli's face as she got up.

"Sorry... Thank you. But I mean.. look, I just mean..."

Every word felt like kicking a sweet innocent puppy in the side. Surely she didn't have to EXPLAIN this to someone... Did she?

And yet it seemed without prompting Patchouli would remain inert, like some kind of noble atom. That was the first problem, obviously.

"Let me guess," Marisa said. "You've been learning how ta do this from BOOKS, haven't you?" In Marisa's informally educated opinion almost all books were a waste of time, and the only exceptions to the rule were those carved out ones that you could hide a little key or vial of potion inside. Nothing important could ever be written down, after all.

Patchouli nodded, by now staring down the browbeating like she'd been caught with her hand in a wide label cookie jar.

"Yes," she said. Marisa struggled not to mentally add the word 'meekly' to any action Patchouli performed.

"Hasn't anyone ever told ya books can't explain everything?"

Another nod. "Yes." A pause. "That is why I'm here. I have reached the limit available through scholastic focus"

"Jeez, can'tcha say that a little less blunt? Especially if I'm the one you're aiming at... No girl wants to hear she's just a night time experiment!"

This seemed to be the first thing Marisa yelled over the tavern noise that actually sunk in. Patchouli's porcelain skin went bright cherry petal pink and remained there for some time. Again, it was impossible not to feel sorry for her.

"Look," Marisa started "everybody has to start somewhere, y'know... Let's pretend we just met, okay? A full restart."

"Oh," Patchouli said. Then, "Okay." Then "Wait... Should I get up and come back to the table again?"

"Agh!" Marisa chugged the remainder of her drink and pressed her thumb and index fingers into the bridge of her nose. Hangovers were one thing, but this might be a headache bigger than any form of alcohol could produce. "No no no! I just mean... What would you say to someone you'd never seen before? Like, what's your opening line?"

"Oh, that." Patchouli shut her eyes and seemed to be murmuring something under her breath. Then, deadpan recitation bleeding from her voice: "The night willow's whispers / when the stream is frozen in dawnlight--"

Patchouli trailed off into nothing as Marisa's wide eyed stare condensed the paused conversation into a single infinitely dense point.

"Was that... Poetry?"

Patchouli nodded, blushing an even brighter pink.

"Yes."

Marisa considered that her brain felt mildly fuzzy even though she was only just beginning a new addition to her tab. She considered that poetry, while usually written down, had to be read out loud to count as proper poetry. She considered that alcoholic beverages did not often make your chest feel as warm as hers felt now.

"Yours?"

"Yes."

"Oh. It was... Good."

Patchouli blinked hard several times.

"It was?"

"Uh-huh." Marisa nodded emphatically. "It sure sounded nice anyway."

"Thank you. I learned to use water as a metaphor for--"

"Hey hey hey! Don't spoil it. Don't worry, I got it. The willow branches, etcetera. Dontcha know I know a thing or two about poetry already?"

"Oh ... Well thank you again."

"No prob."

The noise of revellers and their contemplations. The throbbing and ebbing roar of the patrons and pedestrians and other people.

"So... Is that it?"

"That was as far as I had planned , yes."

"Gotcha." Sip. "Did you want something to drink? It helps loosen the poetic flow, y'know?"

Patchouli looked as out of place as a forteen year old being dared to smoke their first joint.

"What do you recommend? I should add that I've never consumed alcohol before."

Oh dear. Marisa felt THAT one, like a full sized magical spark aimed directly at the back of her head. A girl new to drinking was a girl new to letting go. A girl who was uptight could become completely untethered in only a single glass or two, and then it was a much fuzzier matter to sort out who was in charge and when and why. There was always, ultimately, the temptation to take complete control. Then again, pulling strings was more appropriate when puppets we're involved, and Marisa had already eliminated the Alice variable. Proceeding with caution was the only vehicle.

"Then again," Marisa said "maybe you should just... Here." Marisa picked up the fizzing glass in front of her and held it to the light. Patchouli followed it with her eyes, all the way up to the ceiling where its reflections rebounded on each other. With all eyes on the drink Marisa took a small sip and held it in her mouth. She pointed to her mouth and winked.

Patchouli stared blank faced.

Marisa rolled her eyes and pointed at her mouth again. "Mhmmm?" She said.

Patchouli looked from side to side like she was expecting a prank to end. "I'm sorry," she said "I just don't understand--mmph!"

Marisa kissed her with a mouth partially full of alcohol. It tasted like a mix of aged fruit and spiced perfumes. Patchouli shut her eyes so tight she saw flashing colors in the expanding field of black.

Somehow in the overwhelming but only seconds long smooch Marisa managed to transfer just the barest taste of the drink, spending as much time holding Patchouli in place by her shoulders as she was kissing her.

It seemed like if she stopped the kiss too soon or let it go on too long Patchouli might vanish on the spot into a puff of smoke. So she held it. She let a little more of her drink slip into the other girl's mouth. She let her tongue do some work. Then she ended the kiss.

It was impossible not to stare at Patchouli, whose eyes were still closed. She looked like if surveyed she'd list her location as 'ten heavens'.

Marisa smirked to herself. Just like remembering how to fish. Form into function.

When Patchouli's consciousness drifted back to reality her eyes managed to open to the figure of Marisa smiling back at her.

"I'm sorry," Patchouli said quickly. "I mean... Thank you."

Marisa burst out laughing, causing Patchouli to glow so bright she could serve as a lantern.

"You're welcome... But ya don't have to thank me. That's just what kisses are like. And I didn't thank you, did I?"

"No..."

It was hard not to imagine Patchouli as a girl giving nervous answers at the front of the class, and that was troublesome, because Marisa hadn't played teacher in a while. She might come across as over eager.

"Exactly." There was exactly enough of Marisa's drink left to finish it decisively, so she did. She let out a great big 'ahhh' after she polished it off.

Patchouli stared at her, entranced.

Marisa giggled again. How had she ever been worried about this? Everything came back okxe you were in the motion of things again, didn't it? Just like riding a broom stick...

"So," Marisa said "is it okay if I call you Patchy? No offense but your name is a mouthful and my mouth would rather be doing other things, if you catch my drift ..."

"I'm afraid I don't," Patchouli said. Then, "Oh." She stared intently at the floor. "I mean... Do you mean..."

Marisa grabbed the recently rebranded Patchy's hand and held it with both of hers. It seemed like anything she did at this point would cause then bookish girl to curl into an embarrassed ball of flame.

"I think you can consider the first part of your experiment a success," Marisa said. Patchy's hand was warm despite its owners minute and waif-like nature. It almost seemed--just almost--that if the two of them stayed like this all night, that everything would be perfectly fine.

And yet...

"Come on," Marisa said. She threw a large coin onto the table where it clattered and spun down noisily. "This place is fun but I think we're ready for somewhere more... Private, y'know?"

"Private?" Every new piece of data seemed to be taking longer to process than the last. "You mean--"

Marisa rolled her eyes again as she pushed her chair back under the table.

"Yes, dummy... It worked. You officially 'seduced' me. Okay?"

What was that old parable--on holding your favorite toy, you were always inclined to break it against the rocks? Patchouli sensed she could have given up here; that the whole routine and inference and meaning of personal connection was just a game, and she'd won the first round, so why continue playing?

All of that whizzed across her brain before she realized Marisa had already dragged her outside. Then they were on a broom, riding front to back, and the wind was large and loud and of course it was only sensible to lean forward and wrap her arms around Marisa's midsection, and then it was only sensible for Marisa to laugh, and smile at her with those star bright eyes that asked 'How do you like it?' without saying a word.

And then they were at Marisa's cabin, and the door was open, and Patchouli stepped inside.

The plum was still on the dinner table.

"Sorry for the mess," Marisa said. That was more or less an apology for the entire house, so Marisa hoped it would do some heavy lifting. Hell, she could have been apologizing for anything, including the entire entity that was her self. Some girls like messes, but probably not shy librarian types.

"It's okay," Patchouli said, and she sounded sincere. She found her eyes exploring the inside of the cottage of their own accord, all the while the interior of her head bounced around the feel of the kiss and the taste of the drink and Marisa's lips pressed on hers. Someone holding her, pinning her in place, pulling her into the kiss, pushing their mouths together... It was a lot of prepositions to juggle all at once. She wished she could take notes.

Marisa had somehow conjured a wand while Patchouli wasn't looking. She flicked it once or twice in the air to test it and grinned when some sparkling stars popped out of the night air.

"Perfect!" she said out loud more to herself than Patchouli. But only a few seconds later she flicked the wand again and the inside of the cabin gently bloomed with the sound of a phantom chamber orchestra, or at least a small band. This was a little trick she'd stolen from the Prismriver sisters. And to think all they did with it was use it as an excuse to not practice their instruments.

The music fell naturally into the background, as did Marisa into a chair by the kitchen table.

"You can sit, y'know," she finally said to Patchouli, who looked like she'd been called out for a demerit, then sat opposite Marisa with her hands neatly folded in her lap.

And therein was the rub; the obligatory hesitation that came along with any complete newbie. You could seranade them, muse on them, worship the ground they walked on, and still, they'd feel unworthy of your adoration. For some people the suspicion never wore off, and they became all the more unobtainable for it; there was, it turned out, an infinitesimal difference between the two poles; people always thought of themselves as either too much or not enough.

So Marisa just waited fo a while. She waited while the clock ticked and while Patchy tried to stare everywhere but at Marisa. Despite the fact that they could have long ago been gazing into each others' eyes like fields of constellations and shooting stars, they were instead simply there. Sitting.

"You know you're cute, right?" Marisa asked, so sudden from nowhere the question seemed caught from a cannon.

Patchouli shook her head.

"No," she said. "I didn't know that."

"Well ya are."

"Thank you." Pause. "You are very cute too."

Damn, that was practically bold, especially for someone who was trying it out for the first time. Marisa could feel the sincerity baked in like the center filling of a warm peach pie.

Marisa laughed.

Patchy looked worried, then relieved.

"Yeah, I know," Marisa said. "Thanks though. It's always nice to hear."

Patchy nodded.

That was true. It was nice to hear.

"Do you really wanna do this? I can tell you're nervous."

"Yes. I'm not just curious. I've always, um... Liked..."

"Oh jeez. Don't finish that line, okay? I'm sure it's just the booze talking."

"But I barely drank anything."

"That's not the point..." A sigh. "Look. I like you too. Plenty. You're always nice when I need to borrow a book, and you don't even get mad when I take one without asking."

Patchy blinked.

"You take books without--"

"Hey hey, not like that! I'll have to take back the points I just gave you for being so chill."

"Sorry." Patchouli tried to look anywhere but Marisa's eyes and failed.

Enough time passed to create a small universe in.

"So we're really doing this? No take backs halfway through, y'know."

"Yes. We should... I mean I'd like to..."

Marisa howled with laughter.

"Enough! I get it. Holy moly do you need practice at this."

"I know."

"Well don't worry. We'll get you lots."

Patchouli bloomed.