Darkenning's SFW Vignettes

"Goodbye, dear!" the young wife said to her husband in the foyer of their apartment. "I'll be waiting anxiously for your return all the while you're away on business!"

"Ah, my darling," her husband said with a mournful sigh. "And I'll be waiting anxiously to see you again. Father, please look after things while I'm away," he added to his father, standing beside the wife.

"Oh, you can count on that," the older man said, smiling in a way that might have suggested malevolent intent to someone just a bit less naive than the husband.

"Well, I'm off," said the husband, who went out the door.

The two of them stood there in the foyer for a moment, before the father-in-law started to turn to his daughter-in-law with a slight grin on his face, and she turned to face him as she drew a meat cleaver from one of the pockets of her apron and set the blade against his throat.

"Gurkh?" he said.

"O-kay," said the wife, whose eyes had gotten very, very narrow. "I think we should establish a few ground rules, don't you? First of all, should something about me give you an erection, I suggest you rediscover the joys of masturbation. You might think that you are too much of a man for that, but you are sadly mistaken in such beliefs. Secondly, please do not peep on me masturbating and seek to 'help' me. I don't need any help in this area. I'm very good at it. Thirdly, if and when we fuck, it will because I feel like having sex with you, and will not imply anything about my husband's abilities or lack thereof, so please do not demean yourself, him, or especially not me by implying otherwise. Finally, I don't give a crap about your lack of sensation or your desire to show that you've still got it at your age -- if we fuck, you are using a condom, and if it breaks you're paying for a morning-after pill, because my first child is not going to be my husband's half-sibling."

He stared at her, unconsciously making whimpering noises.

"It's not a good idea to nod in your current situation, so a verbal agreement to these rules is probably indicated," she said.

"Yes, sure, definitely!" the father-in-law agreed hoarsely.

"Oh, good," she said, then took her cleaver back. "I'm going to go make some lunch, now," she added with a warm smile, and headed off towards the kitchen.

Why did I have to end up in a hentai satire instead of a regular hentai? he wondered miserably.

 

Girls und Panzer:
Two Trains

"So," said Nishizumi Shiho, as the celebrations began to wind down, while she still sat beside her eternal rival. "What are you going to do?"

Shimada Chiyo tilted her head just slightly to regard her eternal rival. "'Do'?" she repeated.

"Concerning your daughter's failure," Shiho clarified.

"Ah. That. Well, I think the first thing I will do is to reassure her that I had decided to sponsor the Boko Museum regardless of her victory or defeat in this affair. Then, I will remind her that there will be other matches, and that she managed to come closer to defeating two heirs of the Nishizumi school than I have ever come to defeating you, and that the next time she clashes with one of your daughters, the other one will not be present. And then I think I shall give her a hug."

Chiyo stood up while Shiho stared at her as though regarding some strange alien life form, and offered the master of the Nishizumi school a polite bow. "Please take better care of your health than you have been," said Chiyo. "I would hate for you to be too ill to watch the future overwhelming defeat of your heirs."

And with that, she turned to walk away.

Victory takes many forms.

Title inspired by Sue Foley's song of the name name.

 

Needs a Title

Fujimaru Ritsuka has never had very many friends. Many acquaintances and a few intimates, but relatively few people whose society she would choose to seek out for the simple joy of their presence, rather than for the sake of a common interest. If she ever felt the lack, it never bothered her.

And then, by a series of highly improbable events, she became the Master of Chaldea, and began to make friends.

Mash, of course, is her dearest, closest friend. And that is as far as she cares for the discussion of that relationship to go, even in an objectively-narrated account. But she has other friends among the servants she has called to her side or been given by forces she wot not of. Not all of them, of course. Some are too awesome for such closeness, some too cold, and some too insane. But there are quite of a few among these people out of legends whom she believes she would have cherished if, in some bizarre world, they had been ordinary people who were part of the life of an ordinary Ritsuka.

Emiya, for example. Secretive and overprotective though he can sometimes be, he is almost exactly the sort of person she would have wanted as an older brother, had she ever had that mixed blessing and burden. From their time together chasing down the counterfeits, she knows that he has a fairly personal familiarity with the sort of complicated set of relationships that she finds herself in, and that if he finds her attempts to deal with them in a mature and reasonable manner to be funny ... well, she can't deny that things often seem that way.

Being a friend to an Emperor of Rome would have been completely unimaginable in her earlier life -- mostly because she had only the vaguest notion where Rome was, and almost none at all of its history. And yet, struggling alongside the conceited and courageous fifth emperor, a legend because of misdeeds, Ritsuka has come to feel respect and affection for this person who kept on going through terror and confusion. For what can be more heroic than trying to be a hero when eternity has already condemned you as the villain of the piece?

She isn't really sure when Tamamo-no-Mae had become so dear to her heart, but she suspects it might have happened the first time she called on both her and Nero in battle. Normally, summoned servants never pay much attention to those whom they fought beside, and yet she knows that she'd seen the two of them exchange a glance, let out identical sighs of dismay, and then fight against her enemies with balletic grace. There is a bond between these two, and from what she'd been able to puzzle out, they'd somehow served, and loved, the same master once before. There is something inspiring about that, that something of another summoning had somehow survived in their memories. Even beyond that, the two of them seem to balance each other out, softening their respective edges.

There are others whom she counted as true friends -- an alternate version of the greatest king of Britain and an alternate version of the Maid of Orleans -- but these are the ones who were nearby when the news of Seraphix came in, and the ones who go with her to the command center, and the ones who go with her on her most unusual Rayshift yet.

Various things happen.

And then, once more, she is in the command center, being regarded oddly by da Vinci, being told a decidedly counterfactual scenario by da Vinci, and then gently shooed out of the room by da Vinci. No sooner is she out of there than she finds herself silently staring into the face of a certain indvidual who'd just made portentious remarks about how fate might see to it that they met again in the sea of electrons.

"Wassup, senpai?" BB asks cheerfully.

Ritsuka continues to stare.

"You were thinking it was all a dream, weren't you? Go on, admit it, that's what you were thinking," the Moon Cancer says encouragingly.

"No," Ritsuka says at last, speaking very carefully. "I wasn't actually thinking that. I had other things on my mind."

"Oho? Like what, might I ask?"

"Well, BB, I was thinking that without your help, this whole situation would have turned out much worse than it did, and so I'm profoundly grateful to you, and realize that I owe you a great deal."

BB looks startled. "Well! That's an encouraging start to our --"

"So I'm going to ask you, BB," she asks, physical reinforcement sigils that she wasn't really very good at suddenly gleaming on her flesh, eyes glowing with the fires of Orc, "where are my friends, you pustulent sack of spite?"

The other female figure makes a sound best represented by the letters 'g', 'l', and 'k', in more or less that order but with a certain amount of repetition. "They're fine! They're here! The whole thing got dealt with in a time warp, so they never went there in the first place! It's fine! It's all fine!"

Ritsuka lets out a long breath. "Oh, good," she says as the sigils vanished. "Because I was a little bit concerned that you might be holding them hostage or something. Isn't it nice when we don't play silly games like that?"

"That hasn't been my experience at all," BB replies, very bravely.

Fortunately, Ritsuka isn't really listening. "Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go find Mash, hug her a lot, and then fall down crying about the sheer unimaginable horror I just witnessed. Nice talking with you."

Think where man's glory most begins and ends,
And say my glory was I had such friends.
-- William Butler Yeats

 

Inspired by episode 1 of the Lord El-Melloi Case Files anime.

"Well, all righty then!" Reines said cheerfully to her prisoner. "Since we're here, I think I'll exploit your sense of guilt by making some completely unreasonable demands! Let's see, hm ... oh! Right now, the El-Melloi family suffers under the weight of a really heavy debt. We're talking the budget of a summer blockbuster, here."

"And you would like me to take on that debt?" Waver asked.

"Yep!" she confirmed. "That would be a good first step towards taking resp--"

"I accept," he interrupted.

Reines made a gurking noise. "Seriously?"

"I don't think we should make jokes about that sort of money," Waver replied.

"Rrrrrriiiiight," she said. "Um, second demand. When you learned of my dear brother's tragic fate, you also heard that his magic crest was completely destroyed. It's gonna take maybe three generations to fix, which would probably be the end of --"

"I'll fix it sooner than that," he assured her.

"... okayyyy then!" Reines said after a moment. "Oh, I know! I've been appointed the temporary representative of our family among the Lords. It's a drag, really, just never-ending diplomacy that is so boring. I'd have you take my place and do all the work for me while taking none of the credit."

"Very well," he agreed with a nod.

She stared at him.

He stared right back.

"I have this dog," she said then. "He needs to be walked, and someone has to clean up when he makes a poopy on the street. Guess what other job you'll be doing for me!"

"Simple enough," Waver consented.

"... you have to Friend me on Facebook and whenever I make any posts there, you have to post in support of me, no matter how stupid what I said was."

"Done and done."

An interval ensued.

"I'm sure your bad hair days can't possibly be as bad as all that, so, yes, I'll compliment you when you have one," he told her.

Reines was glaring by this point. "Whenever we're in the same city, no matter what else you have to do, you have to find me and give a foot massage. A meaningful foot massage."

For his part, Waver seemed as calm as ever. "I don't know the distinction between a meaningful foot massage and a meaningless one, but I'll --"

"Is this fun?" Reines interrupted furiously. "Is this fun for you?"

"Uh ... what?"

"I'm making these completely insane requests and you're not even hesitating to agree and so I can't make any extravagant threats to make you comply!" the young girl shouted, almost tearily. "What's wrong with you? Are you an altruist or something? Is that your damage?"

"W-w-well, I --" he hemmed, looking around for support. He was somewhat startled to realize that the pair of butlers who'd been in the room with the two of them were nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, they left. They were embarrassed for you. They were non-sentient golems, and you managed to make them feel uncomfortable with how little pride you have! Seriously, what is wrong with you?"

"I just have certain things I need to do, and --" he started to explain.

"Oh, come on, I was only going to kill you if you didn't agree to the first two! Gah, get out of here, get out of here!"

 

Inspired by Sbiper's The Lion in Winter.

The ceremony passed quickly, and the celebration, and in far less time than it would take to tell it, they were alone in the bedchambers, standing before the bed and regarding each other. And there they stood awhile. An awkward while.

"Well," Cerenna said at last. "The time has come to consummate this, in the sight of the gods and --"

"No," interrupted Robb, wearily.

"Oh," she said. "You would rather have some more dinner, first? I suppose that we could have some more of the feast brought up to us before we --"

"No, that's not what I meant, either," he interrupted yet again. From the look on her face, she clearly found these interruptions vexing, so it was clearly the time to spell things out in detail that they would no longer be necessary. "None of this is to my liking, and there is no reason to pretend that it is to yours, either. You may sleep here if you wish, I will find some place more to my liking elsewhere."

The look on her face was much less legible at the moment. "What?" she asked.

"There is no point in pretending that this farce of a marriage is at all pleasing in the sight of the gods -- whichever gods -- and so there is no point in --"

"Lord Stark," she interrupted this time. "Robb. Am I that hideous in your sight?"

"No," he answered, honestly. "I have lately even found myself musing on your beauty. But --"

"Then have I given you any indication that I come to this marriage unwilling?" she pressed.

The struggle for power had already begun, he thought sadly. "No, but all of this is an empty and cruel jest. I do not love you, and have no wish to do so. Let us begin as it shall clearly go on from here, with honesty."

She stared at him for a moment, mouth moving in silence. At last, she shook her head. "Seven gods, you really are as stupid a man as your father was."

SLAP.

His hand had moved without his conscious thought, and now her face was turned to the side. Robb pulled it back, stunned at his own action. Now his mouth moved in silence.

Before anything could emerge, however, Cerenna turned back to face him. "Very well, dear husband," she said at last. "As you wish, so be it. I shall find some place more to my liking elsewhere. Enjoy the many long years of solitude and sorrow that you would clearly prefer. Good even to you." And without another word, she turned and walked gracefully to the door.

Almost, he reached for her. Almost, he called for her.

And then the door closed behind her, and almost was no longer enough.

With a sigh, Robb went to his empty bed, feeling very, very tired.

Winter was clearly here.

 

Fate/grand Order:
To Absent Friends

"So you don't think he's ever going to show up," said Drake, chin in her palm as her elbow rested on the tabletop, gazing across the table with eyes that were only slightly hazy from inebriation.

"Well, anything can happen here, or damn near, so I'd never say never," Iskandar admitted, leaning back in his chair. "But at this point, I'd be pretty surprised if he did."

"Okay, why not? I mean we've got Achilles, we've got Hector, we've got Penti ... Pente ... we've got Trojan War Barbie, so it's not like it'd be out of nowhere."

Iskandar nodded. "But on the other hand, we don't have Diomedes, we don't have Ajax, we don't have Paris, and we certainly don't have Helen."

"Geh, what class would you even put Helen in?" Drake asked, making a face. "Hostage ain't a class."

"Caster, presumably," opined Astolfo from the next table over, just as they polished off a tankard.

"Because Sheba?" Iskandar asked.

"Because Sheba," the Paladin confirmed.

"Okay, I guess that makes as much sense as anything," Drake admitted, just a bit gloomily.

"You made a good point, though, and the same problem is why I don't think he's ever going to show up. What class would you put him in?"

"Rider, of course," the pirate answered, now sounding annoyed.

"But he's not famous for sailing around like you, or Bonny, or Teach are -- he's famous for his ship getting wrecked all those times. He's not famous for his swordwork, he's not famous for his spearwork ... okay, he does do some archery when he goes after the suitors, but that's the only time it comes up. He only faked going crazy that one time, he's from the Age of Gods so saying he's a Caster for building the Horse doesn't make sense, and he's damn well not an Assassin."

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," observed Mata Hari as she passed by to refill their tankards.

"You know what I mean," the conqueror said wearily. "There's no real 'cunning bastard' class. So unless he ends up an Archer, and he fits that about as well as Emiya does, I don't think he's gonna show up."

"Okay, I get where you're coming from, at least. It does make me sort of wonder what class Jason belongs in," Drake added after a moment.

"There are questions that should never be answered," said Medea, who had not been seated at the table with the two of them until a moment ago.

"GAGHK!" said Drake, choking on her beer.

 

Haha these were pretty funny. Thanks for writing them.

 

Fate/grand Order:
What We Do Is What You Just Can't Do

There came a knock on the confinement cell's door, distracting the prisoners from their discussion of the opposition and their goals. "Fujimaru!" shouted a voice from the other side of the door. "Get out here! The inspectors want to talk to you!"

"Well now," mused Da Vinci, eyes narrowed. "It looks like they're not wasting any time getting the Interrogation party started. I'm surprised they'd kick things off with you though," she added to Ritsuko as the young woman stood up from the bunk where she'd been sitting beside Mash.

The savior of humanity just offered a shrug in response.

"Wait and see what their game is," Da Vinci continued to advise. Ritsuka opened her mouth to say something in response, but the universal genius pressed on without heeding that. "Remember, silence is golden. Try not to say anything more than is absolutely necessary."

"Got it," said Ritsuko, nodding in a way which might have suggested a bit of annoyance. "I will definitely not respond to anything they say with any subtle insults or attempts to appeal to a higher authority. Nope. Not me."

"Good plan," Da Vinci said with a sharp nod in response.

Ritsuko stared at Da Vinci. Da Vinci stared right back.

Eventually, the Master of Chaldea let out a long, frustrated sigh and headed out the door, shaking her head as she went.

"What that was all about?" Da Vinci wondered aloud.

Everyone else in the confinement room, even Mash, found the walls to be terribly interesting at the moment.

---

Fate/grand Order:
Be-Yond The Yellow Brick Road

"Leonardo has been hard at work in the Command Room as of last night," the very tall man explained, his voice sounding very soothing, very calming.

And yet Ritsuko felt neither soothed nor calmed. Something about this man reminded her of someone else, though she wasn't sure which of the many people she'd encountered over the last two years was on her mind right then.

"The procedure to unthaw Team A has already begun," continued the priest. "Now that the coffins have been repaired, they were to be thawed by 4:00 PM today, so I expect we'll be hearing word of their success any moment now. Leonardo will be on her way once that is done ... but I'm willing to at least grant her a last supper." His lips curled slightly, and he made a noise that the uninformed might have taken for a short laugh.

"I got that joke," said Ritsuko, flatly.

"So did I," agreed Mash.

"Me too!" added Meuniere.

"It wasn't very funny, though," Ritsuko noted, with Mash shaking her head in supportive denial. "Kind of blasphemous, really."

"Oh well," the tall man said with a slight shrug.

 

Fate/grand Order:
As We Forgive Our Debtors

"You know," Jeanne said mildly, "eventually, you are going to damage the surface of the table."

Her Alter did not look at her, keeping her eyes focused on the wall of the dining hall, and keeping her face in the scowl that she'd been wearing all this time. She did, however, stop drumming her fingers against the surface of the table. Jeanne, being who and what she was, felt inclined to view this as progress of sorts.

It was rare for them to be together. Her Alter avoided her when possible, and Jeanne tried to respect the boundaries that this strange version of herself wanted to create. And yet, here they both were, on either side of a table, and voluntarily, for there were plenty of other places where the Alter could have seated herself in the cafeteria. She had chosen this ... and Jeanne found herself bestirred to wonder why.

"From what Master has said," she declared, rather than asking directly, "you usually drum your fingers in that manner when you wish to say something."

"Do you two talk about me a lot?" the Alter snarled, still not looking at her.

"No, not a lot," Jeanne replied. And then waited some more. Okita had told her a proverb, once, and she rather identified with the one who would wait for the bird to sing.

And then -- suddenly, as the Alter did most things -- the dark reflection turned to face her. "Do you remember what happened before they killed you?" she demanded.

"Many things happened before that," Jeanne answered smoothly.

"Do not play dumb. Not with me. You know what I'm talking about. The cell door opened, and --" She broke off, her eyes shut, and her hands clenched into fists.

"Oh," Jeanne said. "Yes. I do remember." The blow to her helmet at Alencon had hurt less than that.

"And?" the Alter prompted, when it became clear that Jeanne wasn't going to embellish her answer beyond that.

"And I forgive them," she said at last. "I forgave those who ended that life, how could I not forgive those who hurt me before that? They --"

"So help me, if the next words out of your mouth are 'knew not what they did', I will find a way to end you," the Alter said furiously.

"Very well," said Jeanne. "But, nevertheless, I have not forgotten, but I do forgive."

"How?" the Alter said. It was sort of strange, really, how quietly she spoke, not her usual sneering growl. "How can you forgive that? I can, I can even understand forgiving those who sent you to the Father's bosom, even if I can't do it, but ... how?" It might have been her imagination, but she thought there was a touch of desperation in the other's voice.

Jeanne took a deep breath. "Jeaneton," she said, addressing the other by the name of their youth. "Do you remember what happened during the truce?"

The Alter blinked, bewildered perhaps, but recovered her usual air of insouciance in a moment. "Many things happened."

"True. But I speak of the letters that I wrote, to the Bohemians and to the English. I speak of the pride and wrath that I put into those messages." She was silent for a moment, as if inviting the Alter to comment. She did not, and in the end Jeanne continued to speak. "'If I am in a state of grace, God keep me so; if am not, God make me so.' That is what I said at the trial. If I am forgiven my trespasses, then I must forgive those who have trespassed against me."

"But. How?" the Alter demanded, and this time there was no imagining it.

"I do not know how to answer you," said Jeanne. "We are one, but we're not the same. You must find your own answers, ma soeur."

And that, of course, was when the Alter stood up, let out a shriek of purest rage, and stormed out of the cafeteria.

"Didn't hit me, didn't spit on me, didn't hurt anyone on her way out," Jeanne said after a moment. "Progress."

 

Inspired by a two-part serial in Action Comics, published in 1983 and written by Cary Bates.

Superman (Pre-Crisis):
Your Approval Fills Me With Shame

Even for Superman, some days were better than others. This was one of the others.

As was tragically common, Lois had been kidnapped. Somewhat uniquely, this time the kidnappers had been Kryptonians, escapees from the Phantom Zone, though not ones with whom he'd had any prior encounters. They'd been inexperienced enough in the use of their powers to leave a trail that he could easily follow, and this he had done, following them to a remote island off the Atlantic coastline ...

... where, to his mild shock, he'd found a Kryptonian-style villa carved out of the island's rock, complete with a patio where Lois was seated at a table, taking tea with none other than General Zod. Zod's most notorious colleague, Faora Hu-Ul, was standing behind Lois, regarding her with contempt, while the other two Zoners were standing off to the side, looking rather bored. For his part, the notorious would-be dictator, resembling a slender version of Benito Mussolini, was holding forth on some subject that he clearly expected should interest everyone present. It obviously didn't, but Lois was making a show of interest nonetheless.

"... so you see, I was in favor of reintegrating the people of Bokos with the rest of our culture, by force if necessary," he was saying as Superman descended towards them. "Whatever safety valve they'd formerly served, by the final years they were on the verge of becoming a serious threat to --"

"Lois!" Superman interrupted the monologue. "Are you all right?!"

"Oh, hello, Superman," the woman he loved replied casually. "On the whole, I'd say yes. I've had much more rude kidnappings than this. Faora is being her usual vile self, though."

"I normally only grant men the bliss of death at my hands, woman, but I would cheerfully make an exception in your case," Faora answered this comment.

"See what I mean?"

"Ah, Kal-El!" said Zod, affecting to only now have noticed Superman's arrival. "Greetings!"

"What's going on here, Zod?" asked the Man of Steel, finally landing beside Lois and not all that subtly positioning himself between her and Faora, whose hands, folded under her bosom, twitched with the repressed urge to strangle. "What is all this?"

"'All this', Kal-El, is an attempt at approaching you under a flag of truce," the General answered, still seated but with spread hands. "Miss Lane has been perfectly safe in my presence, even though it would be trivially easy for me, for any of us, to annihilate her. This I have done to convince you of my good intentions."

"You don't have any good intentions," Superman replied scornfully.

"Very well, if you won't believe that, then of my belief that my self-interest currently aligns with yours," Zod continued smoothly, as he stood up. "From the Phantom Zone, where we can perceive all that is -- and only perceive -- we have observed that the Great Enemy has discovered your existence, and, no matter how much we despise you, I will not allow any Kryptonian to fall into their clutches. And so we have employed the last remaining sample of jewel kryptonite to escape from the Zone ... so that we might help you."

Superman frowned. "The Great Enemy?" he asked, and then a jolt of realization crossed his face. "You mean the Vrangs? But surely they wouldn't --"

And then, from the clear blue sky, a lightning bolt streaked down and struck Superman. It didn't turn him into Billy Batson, if that's what you were expecting, but rather caused him to glow a sort of pinkish-yellow color for a moment or so, and then vanish.

"Blast!" said Zod. "I must have miscalculated their velocity -- they weren't supposed to arrive in Earth orbit for at least one more rotationary period."

Faora made an exasperated noise as she looked, up in the sky. "And their ship employs a lead alloy which prevents me from seeing within it. There's no way of telling what wonderful I mean horrific tortures they're employing upon him!"

"Nevertheless, our oath demands that, if we cannot rescue Kal-El, we must avenge him!" Zod declared.

"Wait, what's going on here?" Lois demanded, recovering from her stunned horror at Superman's disappearance. "Who is this Great Enemy? And what --"

"Oh, Miss Lane," Zod said, sounding rather patronizing.

"It's Ms.," she interrupted.

"I don't care," he continued, now sounding testy. "I am not your swain, and will not provide you with exposition. We are leaving now. If we should fail in our goal, you will have other problems than we with which to concern yourself. Good day, Miss Lane." And with that, he, Faora and the other two, who'd never even bothered to introduce themselves, took flight.

"No it's not!" she shouted up at them.

---

Twenty minutes later, it was already over. The Vrangs, a group of slavers who had -- once upon a time -- enslaved the people of Krypton, had been defeated through a combination of Superman's ingenuity and experience and the Zoners' use of their last remaining chunk of psychic-amplifying crystal kryptonite. Of course, they'd been trying to kill Superman in the process, but the result had been the destruction of their own physical forms and return to the Phantom Zone ... along with Superman, who'd then escaped with a chunk of crystal kryptonite he'd been saving for just such a situation.

Owing to all this psychic business, Superman found himself confronted by the images of Zod and Faora as he floated in cis-lunar space. Faora, of course, was ranting and cursing at him, her 'voice' reaching him through telepathy, describing the sorts of things she was going to do to him once she got her presently-immaterial hands on him. That was the way things usually went, and so Superman was not all that perturbed by it. Not when compared with the way that Zod was staring at him in uncharacteristic silence, instead of ranting about how his genius would carry the day another time.

And then spoke Zod. "That will do, Faora. I would have words with Kal-El while this visitation lasts."

"But he --" the serial killer nearly shrieked in response.

"That will do."

Infuriated, Faora's image turned away from both Zod's image and Superman's physical presence, floating into the distance and vanishing as she did.

"Well?" Superman asked after a moment in which Zod, despite his statement, had not had words with him.

"You do know why I was sentenced to the Phantom Zone?" the General asked, still speaking in the bewilderingly mild tones that were so unlike him.

"Of course I know," replied the Man of Tomorrow. "You tried to conquer Krypton, and were defeated by my father. Just like I always defeat you," he added, a bit pointedly.

"Oh, no, no indeed," said Zod. "Jor-El defeated me, but not at all as you do. That's part of the realization that I just had, but never mind that just yet. What I meant to ask was, do you know why I tried to assert my authority over that of the Science Council that your father so nobly defended." There was just a trace of his usual snide tone in that last bit.

"Because you're a violent megalomaniac who believed and believes --" Superman started to reply.

"I attempted to seize power because the Science Council had shut down the space program, which I oversaw," Zod interrupted. "I had grown infuriated with their foolishness and venality long before that, but that was the last straw. And have you ever considered, Kal-El, that in preventing me from taking power, your father doomed our people?"

Superman's head jerked back as if he'd been struck by something that could actually provoke such a reaction in him. "Oh, really?" he snapped. "And how would you have saved our people, General?"

"I would have kept the space program running, so that when Jor-El, or one of his followers, had realized what the groundquakes meant, we could have evacuated. Had I had my way, there would be thousands of Kryptonians out among the stars, not just you and your dear little cousin, with all the rest imprisoned within a shrunken city or rendered bodiless," Zod answered.

"Under your thumb," Superman replied.

"Perhaps. But the topic doesn't really bother me as much, not now that I understand," the General said with a bewilderingly Gallic shrug.

"Understand what?"

"You do not fight as your father did, Kal-El. He employed his greater understanding of science to disable my army. You, though ... that kryptonite you carried all these years in your belt buckle, against the remote possibility that you might need it. You plan, Kal-El. You take precautions against contingencies that might never arise. You look for opportunities, and seize them. You're a soldier, not a scientist." And now Zod smiled, thinly, cruelly. "Jor-El would not be proud of you."

Very few things could truly make him angry, and yet now he found himself in just that state. "And I suppose that you are?" Superman nearly snarled.

"Oh, not at all," Zod answered mildly. "How can I be? I had nothing to do with it. But I suppose ... I suppose that I am happy, in a way. Because I understand what that means. Sooner or later, just as I did, you will find yourself disgusted with the folly and corruption of those you choose to serve ... and you know what will happen then, Kal-El." The smile on the madman's face grew wider. "And then, yes, then I will be proud of you. Goodbye, Superman. Until next time."

And with that he was gone.

For a moment or so, Superman continued to hover in space, trying to sort out his feelings about what he'd just had said to him. Then he shook his head, before angling his form to fly back down to Earth. If he left it any longer, Lois would probably try to find a way to sail back to the mainland, and get swamped, and he'd have to rescue her in truth, rather than just picking her up from the island and flying her home.

He flew into the atmosphere, and all at once his super-hearing was filled with the sounds of human activity, all the crime and war and pollution and hatred and ...

He realized that one of his hands was clenched in a fist, and released it, holding it level with his flying form.

The End

 

To Love-Ru:
The Talk

"So, I'm sure that the two of you are wondering why we need to have this discussion," said Yuuki Saibai, hands clasped in front of him in a tight grip as he sat on the couch beside his wife Ringo.

"Given how rare it is for the two of you to be in the same place at the same time, it is kind of concerning," Rito drawled as he leaned back against the couch opposite, with Mikan sitting next to him, her face tense and taut.

"Ahem, well, that's true, even if a little hurtful, so, um," Saibai trailed off, then glanced at Ringo. She shrugged, indicating that the floor remained his. With a sigh, he resumed speaking. "Well, this concerns the two of you, and it's probably something that we should have told you long since. Um ... but ... it is a little hard to say, now, you see, and -- well --"

"I'm adopted," interrupted Mikan.

Saibai blinked. "Hah?" he asked.

"Or Rito's adopted," she added.

"Uh, I, I don't --"

"Or we're each children from your respective first marriages to other people that you've never told us about," she said, faintly quivering.

"That's a rather elaborate scenario you've come up with," said Ringo, eyes wide.

"M-Mikan?" asked Rito, startled by these outbursts.

"It's so obvious, Rito!" she cried, turning to look at him. "But don't you see? Don't you see that it's good that we're not blood-related? That makes it all --"

"Actually, the two of you are really blood-related," interrupted Saibai. "Your mom and I are brother and sister."

Mikan turned to stone. Rito stared at his mother/aunt, who simply offered a polite nod.

"That's why the two of us, well, don't live together very much, and --" Saibai continued to elaborate.

"I see," said Mikan, who'd stopped being stone as her father/uncle spoke. "Hm. Okay, then."

"Mikan --" Rito said, reaching out to her.

She flashed him a ferocious glare she might have picked up from Momo or Nana. "Touch me and lose the limb," she snapped, then got up and stomped out of the room.

"It's probably for the best, y'know," Saibai noted as Rito stared in horror at the void left by Mikan's departure. "One generation is probably okay, but after multiple generations you start having some real health problems, and --"

"Dad, please stop talking or I'm probably going to kill you where you sit," Rito replied without a glance in his father's direction.

"I told you that telling them was a bad idea," Ringo noted in passing.

 

Fate/grand Order:
Why We Fight

"Don't worry, Ms Ritsuko," the Custodian of the Great Holy Grail assured her as they stood together on the castle battlements. "I'm sure that he meant it when he said that he never wanted to fight a battle like that again ... but I also doubt that a hero like him would let something like that stop him from stepping up when he's needed. I'm sure he'll do whatever he has to. All the more so if the fate of humanity is at stake."

She nodded agreement and understanding, but Sieg wasn't done. "After all, he's the sort of man who'd risk his life to save a homonculus like me!" Sieg didn't hear the young woman he was addressing let up a gulp. "He even put me ahead of his own desires, and those of the person whose cause he'd sworn to champion!" Or the much louder gulp she made then. He ended up throwing all that away, because of -- are you okay, Ms Ritsuko?"

"Don't worry about it," she answered very softly, holding her hand over her eyes.

"O-okay. Anyway, I don't really regret doing what I had to do to survive, but, I guess ... mmm, it's hard to explain. I wanted to survive, and I also wanted Siegfried to continue fighting. I feel like those two desires contradict each other, but maybe --"

"They don't," she interrupted. "They --" She lowered her hand, and let out a long, unhappy sigh, as Sieg saw her eyes brimming with tears. "I get what you're saying, Sieg-san. I get it so much that it hurts."

"Is it okay if I ask --"

"In my last -- what was supposed to be my last fight -- someone chose to die in my place, like Siegfried died in yours. And the enemy, that we were fighting, asked me why I kept on when all hope was lost. And the only answer I could give him ... was that I didn't want to die. Like she just had. I could make a lot of noise about how dying then would make the whole thing, everything we'd been through together, completely pointless ... but I just didn't want to die." She shrugged. "I don't have an answer for you, Sieg-san. I don't think I ever will."

"Oh," said the Custodian.

After a long while, he shrugged. "Well ... it's strange, but I think hearing that someone else was in the same situation and doesn't ... it doesn't make sense, but that makes it ... better. A bit."

"For an evil dragon, you're kind of awesome, Sieg," she told him, and hugged him without any warning.

 

The Amazing Spider-Man:
Context Is For The Weak (But See the 9/9/20 Issue If You Want It Anyway)

"-- what the hell do you think you're doing?" Norman demanded as the being he despised most in all of time and space carried him away from those who were currently trying to attack him.

"What does it look like, Norman?" Spider-Man wittily rejoined, then gave him a good right hook across the face. "I'm rescuing you," he added to the man now driven to his knees.

Osborn considered this a moment, staring up at his enemy, and then, quite slowly, nodded. "I see," he said. And a kind, gentle smile spread across his face. "Thank you, Peter," he added.

"Huh?" replied Spidey, the white lenses of his costume somehow blinking.

"I know that this can't have been an easy decision for you to make," Norman continued, in the same smooth, patient tone. "And, despite everything that's been between us in the past, I truly do appreciate the help that you're giving me. I'm sure that with the two of us working together, getting out of this unpleasant and unwanted situation will be --"

"Don't say it. Don't say it."

"-- a snap," Norman almost cooed.

The left hook slammed into him a moment later.

 

An expansion and revision of Cleopatra's second interlude:

The waves flowed in their ancient tidal rhythms, like the beating of an enormous heart, washing up on the sandy beach again and again.

"This is the ocean," Cleopatra said after a long moment of silent contemplation. "I never saw the ocean in life, you know. The wine dark sea of ours, but not the great water that lay beyond it. I spoke with those who had, though. There was this Samothracian who had the strange idea that ... well, now I know that he was right, of course, but then ..." The last of the Pharaohs let her voice fall silent.

It was not, Ritsuka decided as she stood a few paces behind Cleopatra, the place of a secretary to fill the silences that her employer left behind. She had, after a series of costume changes, taken on the garb of a chiton and sandals that would have been appropriate for a secretary of Cleopatra's era, and had to admit that it was more comfortable than the micro-mini, stiletto heels and blouse one size too small that she'd been wearing at the start, even if she missed the fake spectacles Mash had slipped her.

"Why am I doing all this?" Cleopatra asked, without looking back at Ritsuka. "Why am I putting myself through so much strenuous exercise? Why couldn't I be satisfied with Pharaoh Nitocris' workout, or the desert's? I'm sure those questions have crossed your mind at least once or twice, my secretary. Why am I working so hard to improve a body that is already perfect?"

Ritsuka opened her mouth to answer that.

As usual, Cleopatra didn't bother to pause long enough to let her do so. "I don't blame you for wondering. You must find it more intriguing than any of the Seven Wonders of the World." She nodded in sober certainty, and Ritsuka found herself thankful that clairvoyance was not among her employer's many talents, for the worst Caster in the Throne would have been able to see Ritsuka's eyes rolling. "I doubt that even that famous detective could understand," Cleopatra pressed on. "The truth is --"

"It's Caesar, right?" Ritsuka dared, deciding on a whim that anticipating the boss was part of a secretary's duties.

Cleopatra made a series of rather excited coughing noises before whirling around to gaze at her. "H-how did you know?" she gasped.

"Wow," said Ritsuka, blinking. "I was right? Shoot, I thought this conversation was going to be Bechdel-compliant. Oh well."

"I knew you were a hard worker, Master," Cleopatra said, staring at her secretary in undisguised awe. "But I didn't think you were actually one of the greatest sages of all time!"

"Well, you learn a thing or two when you save all of reality from terrors beyond imagination, a few times," Ritsuka said humbly, with a faint shrug.

"A-ahem," Cleopatra coughed. "I suppose that it is obvious by now, but yes, you are in fact right. This is all for my darling Caesar. The ideal workout routine is not to help me achieve an ideal body, but to help Lord Caesar slim down! What sort of arduous battle will best ensure he gets into shape? That's why I've been going to such great lengths. And now," she added, looking over her shoulder with a sigh, "I've ended up at the ocean. A virtual ocean that can't possibly lead back to Alexandria." She glared at the ocean in a rather accusatory manner.

"Eh," Ritsuka said. "This is a simulation of the Roman Empire in the 1st century CE. I suspect it could, actually. But never mind that, now," she added as Cleopatra turned back to give her such a look. "Do you really want him to lose weight so badly? Do you dislike his look that much?"

"It's not just about looks," Cleopatra answered her. Then spoke very quickly, "Though I will not deny that they are very important to me, and I will not apologize for that. But when I fell in love with Caesar, I loved his mind and his spirit and ..." She trailed off again, and when at last she spoke, there was a tremor in her voice that Ritsuka had never heard that. "It's my son. Caesarion. My firstborn child, who faced off against all of Rome, alone, after I was gone." Her sea-green eyes closed then. "And lasted all of a few days, they tell me."

Again, Ritsuka chose not to fill the silence that Cleopatra left vacant.

"What story do they tell of how I met my end?" the Pharaoh asked at last.

After waiting a moment to see if this was yet another rhetorical question, Ritsuka answered. "The one I've usually heard is that you let an asp bite you when it was clear that you had no other option."

Cleopatra laughed then without opening her eyes. "The asp is a sacred animal. Do you really think one of them would kill a Pharaoh, even a pathetic failure of a Pharaoh who'd delivered all of Egypt into Roman bondage?" This time it was a rhetorical question, for her eyes opened as she continued to speak. "I had no other option, true. All that living any longer would mean would be that I would go back to Rome and live in house arrest until they needed a victim to be ritually strangled before someone's triumphal procession, and that would not have taken very long. All I had was a fruit knife. When they gave me a moment in private, I put it against my heart, closed my eyes, and pushed it home."

"Did it hurt?" Ritsuka asked, surprising herself.

"Oh, very much," Cleopatra answered, in a tone that was almost mocking. "Somehow, despite having studied anatomy, I managed to miss any vital organ. There I was, on the privy, knife in my chest, too weak from blood loss to pull the silly thing out, and that was when the soldiers came in to see what the matter was. And then the bastards started to laugh at me, because what could possibly be funnier to their minds than the great seductress trying and failing to escape what Nemesis ordained for her. And then one of them figured that I was going to die anyway, so they might as well make a game of it, and --"

"Please, stop," Ritsuka said, eyes shining with tears.

"You're a kind person, you know," Cleopatra noted in passing. "Too kind for your own good, I think. Anyway, I died somewhere in the middle of that. Pharaoh Ozymandius tells me that Octavian was furious at the soldiers who did all this, and they decorated crosses soon after, even before he had poor Caesarion strangled. That was a comparatively noble death compared to crucifixion, which was what you did to the lowest of the low. I guess that makes up for it, sort of," she added somewhat dubiously.

"Anyway," she continued. "I want Caesar to proclaim Caesarion as his rightful son and heir. And I want him to do it as he was when he fathered him on me. I know it's too late," she added after a moment. "I know it will change nothing. But I need to hear it, just once, for my own pride. I think if that happens, then both my son and I will be able to rest in peace."

"Are you sure that's what you want?" asked a familiar voice. "Wouldn't being at peace mean you no longer need to materialize in this present world?"

"Lord Caesar?!" Cleopatra gasped with a guess, or maybe the other way around.

"Ah, I was wondering when he was going to show up," said Ritsuka, rubbing a forearm over her eyes to get rid of the last of the tears.

"You knew he was --" Cleopatra started to gasp some more.

"Well, no, but like other people who dress in red, when you talk about him long enough, he has a tendency to show up," she explained, glancing at the First of the Empire with a rather jaded expression.

"I'm just going to ignore the implications of that," Caesar declared with his traditional clemency, before returning his attention to Cleopatra. "You've finally found a Master you trust enough to accompany you wherever you choose to go," he declaimed. "Do you really want to throw that beautiful bond away just because of something I said?"

"I -- oh Caesar, don't say such things," Cleopatra asked, her face showing abject remorse. "I just had this idea when I was washing my face this morning! Please don't make me second-guess my amazingly beautiful decision to see it through now!"

"Yes, I get ideas when washing my face, too," Ritsuka agreed, nodding soberly. "Why, once I even thought about getting Ishtar and Ereskigal together to --"

"Exactly!" Cleopatra interrupted, with a 'stop trying to make Caesar jealous' glare. "They just come to you as though they were a revelation from the heavens or something!"

Caesar regarded her with an expression of equal parts sorrow and admiration. "Cleopatra, Master there is the only person you have ever known that you have been willing to accept as your secretary for longer than a single day."

"Oh, wow, really?" Ritsuka asked, looking between the two of them.

He ignored her, just like Cleopatra usually did. They were so alike, sometimes. "Unlike us, you two had no existing bond to speak of. It was destiny that brought you two together. I promise, I'm not going anywhere," Caesar assured Cleopatra with great gentleness. So I urge you to cast your mind back and remember once again. Surely you don't need to hurry to your death so swiftly, do you. Yes, the shimmering thread of your life was cruelly cut so very short, but does that mean it has to happen again?"

"Lord Caesar," she murmured, uncertainly. "I never knew you cared so much for me. Or her," she added, with a glance at Ritsuka ... who appeared to be quietly counting downwards.

"That is the reason, beloved Cleopatra -- that I will never lose weight," he declared passionately.

"Annnnnd zero," Ritsuka concluded her countdown, nodding quietly.

"That is all," Caesar continued in the manner of one ending a great oration. "Master, I grant you permission to shrine brightly at my Cleopatra's side."

"Gee thanks."

"I understand the bond you share is special, and not at all cheating. And anyway the two of you are so very hot together. So I will allow it! In turn, dear Cleopatra, you will surely allow me a little freedom of my own, which will also not at all be cheating. That is only right, after all!" he declared with a brilliant smile.

Cleopatra gazed at him.

He gazed back him.

"Hell no," she said at last.

"Shoot."

Battle ensued.

"Incredible," Caesar gasped at last. "To have seen a way past my Crocea Mors! Perhaps you're right, and this form does limit the motions of my body despite the perfection of my swordsmanship." Golden lights began to glow around him, streaming up in a slow trickle towards the evening sky. "Well done, Cleopatra. I leave her in your care, Master. Ahh, wait for me, Caesarion, my son and heir! I'm coming to you!"

"Ah, that's okay, I'm good, thanks," said a voice of uncertain origin.

And then Caesar was gone.

"No!" Cleopatra gasped, dropping to her knees. "H-how -- nonononono! Caesar is gone? This cannot be! I-I-I -- what have I done!" she shrieked to the heavens.

"Uh, that was just him turning into his spirit form," said Nitocris, who'd been watching in silence from a bit further up the beach. "He's fine. We're in the simulator, remember. Things have to get pretty bad for someone to actually disappear in here."

"Mm-hm," Ritsuka agreed, nodding.

"But -- but the lights, and and the voice, and --" Cleopatra stammered.

"Well, I think it's just a case of him having picked up the same sparkling charm that you do?" Nitocris offered weakly. "Like he picked it up from you? Somehow?"

"Actually, I think he's probably just hacked the simulator to produce special effects like that," Ritsuka offered.

"Oh," the two Pharaohs chorused, disappointed in different ways.

"But, um, it could be the whole communicable charm thing, too," the Master of Chaldea added after a moment, picking up on the subtext. "What do I know?"

 

An expansion of Lostbelt No.3's finale.

"There!" crowed Goredolf, smiling triumphantly. "You see? I told you there was nothing to worry about, and I was right!"

"Well," replied Ritsuka, looking down at the bottle whose contents she'd just consumed with a somewhat skeptical expression. "I'd prefer to hold off on the celebration until we both get a check-up, back at the Wandering Sea, but --"

"The important thing is, we're all okay," Meuniere proclaimed, and Ritsuka, after a moment, nodded in agrement.

"... yes," said Mash, even more quietly than normal. "That's true, isn't it?"

"Why the long face, Mash?" Goredolf asked, aiming for avuncular and not really succeeding. "Something else on your mind?"

"Well," she replied. "We did just destroy another world."

"Oh," said the Director, imitating the posterior end of a foot with remarkable accuracy. "Yes. That."

"I understand that dead-end histories without any potential for growth are destined to be pruned away," she continued. "I understand that the Russian and Scandinavian Lostbelts were exceptionally harsh environments for humanity, too. But ... this Lostbelt was --" She trailed off, fell silent.

"Peaceful," da Vinci supplied. "If we hadn't stuck our noses in, nobody there would ever have realized how unhappy they really were. But you know, peace that becomes stagnation is its own kind of dead-end, too. That was why this history was pruned away."

"I know," Mash said. "That's the only conclusion I can reach, after seeing what happened, too. But then I remember what Qin Liangyu told us, about how all those soldiers had sacrificed their lives to create that perfect lasting peace. And all we could tell her was that it didn't matter."

And then Ritsuka spoke up. "Mash. When she was talking to us, when she was asking what our world offered ... I actually thought of something else to say in response to that. I didn't say it, because I didn't think she was in any state to really listen, but there is one thing that I think she would have valued, if she'd been able to believe us."

"What, sempai?" she asked, looking at him like one desperate.

Ritsuka hesitated, and then offered two short lines of song. "'They will walk behind the plowshares/They will put away the sword'. In our world, when soldiers survive their wars, they can stop being soldiers and go back to practicing the arts of peace, if they want, instead of sleeping, waiting to be awakened when their master needs them, for the rest of time."

"That is something good," Mash agreed after a moment. "I just hope ... that all our struggles won't be pruned away in the end, too."

 

Inspired in response to this.

So there they were, in what had to be the most uncomfortable elevator ride in all of reality. Artoria's eyes were firmly fixed on the ascending numbers on the display, but she could not really be unaware of the way the other Saber in the room was gazing at her, with the usual heady mix of two parts anger to one part frustrated admiration. There was, of course, nothing to be said about it.

At least not until Mordred actually spoke. "So what would it take for me to get the qualities of a king, then?"

Artoria's eyes slammed shut as a Nero-style headache settled on her. "Really? Really, now?" she asked without opening them again.

"Really now!" Mordred demanded.

"... very well, then," she said, eyes once more open. "Since this is such a topic of critical importance," she added with just a touch of sarcasm, before turning to regard Mordred. "Mordred. I think the world of you. I always have. I always will. You are the best thing that ever came out of any interactions I had with my sister. You can do things that I never will. The qualities of a king that you do not possess are entirely negative ones. They are things about myself that I do not, in fact, like about myself, and have come to regret. By the time you asked me to make you my heir, I had begun to view my existence as a king as a curse. Why would I ever voluntarily bestow that upon anyone I care about, especially my own child? If you still want this thing, then you make me very sad, Mordred, and I hope you never have it. I will not, under any circumstances, praise you for desiring it."

Mordred stared back at her, eyes slightly wider than their open mouth.

"Right," said Artoria, turning back to the display. "Let's do 'go for help'."

"I -- I --" Mordred stammered.

"Fine, fine, you can be the one to throw me instead of the way we usually do it," the King of Knights said irritably. "That damned armor of yours makes you a better blunt instrument, though."

"I -- you -- I --"

"By Jesu, Mordred, if you think you have a better plan, say so!"

"No, daddy," said Mordred in a very tiny voice.

"All right then. 'Go for help' it is."

 

More and Mo(o)re about Less and Less

Rorschach: Take it you're not too concerned about Blake's death.

Dr. Manhattan: A live body and a dead body contain the same number of particles. Struc--

Rorschach: No they don't.

Dr. Manhattan: Excuse me?

Rorschach: Blood spatter. Particles no longer inside body.

Dr. Manhattan: ... I suppose that is a valid point of view.

Rorschach: Also bowel voiding, bladder emp-

Laurie: Oh, for pity's sake, Jon, just zap him already!

Dr. Manhattan: But he's making me aware of an aspect of the fragility and beauty of life that I had forgotten, Laurie.

Laurie: That's my damn job!

 

What Shirley Temple, Roy Rogers and Arnold Palmer Have in Common, Other Than Being Dead

"You know," said Ritsuka, very slowly, as she contemplated the cocktail glass from which she'd just sipped orange soda and grenadine, while listening to Holmes and Moriarty squabbling, "I drunk I am thinking a little bit feel."

"Eh?" gasped Moriarty. "But I really didn't put any alcohol in -- don't tell me me you're drunk on the atmosphere!"

"It might that think be it," she said, very seriously, nodding in a sage manner, before taking another long whiff of the glass.

It was at that moment that a rather large collection of Servants, most of whom had been associated with recent events, came through the door into what was nominally Ritsuka's room, either drawn by rumors about those events or concern for the well-being of the Master of Chaldea. As soon as her eyes wobbled over onto one of them, she let out a squeal. "Ahhhh!" she cried. "It's SIEEEEEEEEEEG!"

"Ah, yes, it -- are you okay, Master?" Sieg asked as he was abruptly hugged. Granted, this was situation normal to him, thanks to Astolfo, but the circumstances were a little different.

"Oh, I'm greaaaaaat," Ritsuka assured him, maintaining her grip on Sieg as she turned to look at the appalled-looking Moriarty. "Hey, Mori -- Moriya -- gramps! Give Sieg what you gave me, okay!"

"Ah," said Moriarty, feeling a great deal of killing intent being directed towards him by the assembled Servants, and vexed by Holmes' sudden and mysterious disappearance, which left him bereft of alibis.

Ritsuka was paying this no mind.at all. "I love you Sieg!"

"Really? I didn't know we were that close," Sieg admitted.

"Yer my best friend in the whoooooole world," Ritsuka declared.

Someone delicately cleared their throat.

"Oh, noooo," said Ritsuka, giggling despite the mortal peril unto which she had just entered. "Pleashe tell me that Mash ishn't shtanding behind me with her glasshes all translush, transluse ... shiny?"

Sieg glanced behind them, flinched, and then looked at Ritsuka. "Are you going to use a command seal?"

"Oh, shoot."

 

Must Be Friday

They were taking a break in the filming of this bizarre movie that had neither script nor director, with Ritsuka using the time to review the footage while sitting on the couch in the main house's living room. So intent on this task was she that the presence of a decidedly non-Assassin servant was easily concealed from her until she lifted her head to look up from the notebook's screen and stretch her neck a little.

"Sore?" asked Jeanne, giving her a very unimpressed look.

"A bit," Ritsuka answered, realizing that this could really only go one way, but not particularly motivated to speed things up.

"Hm," said Jeanne, affecting to look away. "I've gotten a number of compliments on this dress, you know."

"Not surprising," Ritsuka replied levelly.

"Of course everyone who's offered them has been some sort of jerk, but that's life."

"That's a valid approach to life, I guess."

She could hear the teeth grinding in the Avenger's mouth for a moment. "You," she said, "have never complimented it."

Ritsuka blinked. "Didn't I say something nice about it when you wore it for the first time in Shinjuku?"

"No, you com-- no, you did not," said Jeanne. "I complimented your clothes, then."

"Gee, I wonder why I don't remember that," the Master groused. "Anyway, fishing for compliments is --"

"Do I not look good in it?" Jeanne interrupted, a faint haze surrounding her. "Is that what you are saying?"

"No," Ritsuka said patiently. "That would be a dumb thing for me to say. Because you'd kill me, obviously, and then there's the other reason, too."

"What. Other. Reason?" Jeanne bit out.

Ritsuka turned to look at her full-on, and smiled faintly. "Because you are so sexy you could corrupt a Stylite."

As Jeanne's jaw hung lower than she'd ever seen it before, to say nothing of the decidedly pinkish tone to the Avenger's normally pale skin, she took advantage of the moment to snap a picture with her smartphone.