Hello again, everyone, and welcome back – I know it's been a long time since my last update, and I can't really make excuses for that. Suffice to say that I'm back in the game… for now… and hopefully these next six won't let you down!
14. Saotome Haruna
Market Day: a riot of color and sound in the lower streets of Megalomesembria, a veritable sea of cloth-covered tents and portable stalls that filled the air with amiable shouts, luscious smells and enchanting music. It was never a given whether the next stall vendor you passed even looked human, let alone was, and the wares being offered were easily twice as exotic.
"It's like a manga," Haruna cooed, looking eagerly around at the hustle and bustle. She'd snagged herself a prime spot on the main thoroughfare – a cobblestone street straight out of the old parts of Rome – and was ready to settle in for the long haul. She'd brought plenty of cash from the mundane world, but it was a crapshoot whether the person you were talking to would accept it. No, drachma were the way to go, alright, and that meant doing business.
She looked up at the sign she'd hand-lettered, hung between two posts of the little stall she'd hand-drawn. "Custom golems," she read proudly, addressing the crowd at large. "Messengers, bodyguards, pets, anything you like! If you can dream it, I can draw it."
Aha – and here was her first customer of the day, a tall, dignified woman with a slightly leporine face. The request was a simple one, and Haruna hummed as she worked on the little messenger, essentially a tape recorder with big feathery wings. Less than ten minutes later, the job was done, and Paru's purse was a hundred drachma heavier. Quite a fair exchange, and she grinned as she added the money to the ever-growing stash inside her sketchy (but very secure) safe.
Come to think of it, Paru realized as she put the finishing touches – a Mexican luchadore's mask, oddly enough – onto the fifth golem of the day, at the rate she was making money, she'd soon outstrip basic costs like food and housing. But it would be a waste to let this kind of easy cash go to waste…
"Come on, Paru, there's got to be something ridiculously expensive out there that you want," she murmured, leaning back into her comfy padded chair. Shielding her eyes from the midmorning sun, she peered down the street, eyeing the wares of the other vendors. A silver flute that played its own music? Nope. Further down the street, then: a tall, flightless bird that appeared to be changing colors in a dizzying, entrancing pattern. Tempting, but also no. She stroked her chin thoughtfully for a moment.
A large shadow drifted across the sun. She looked up idly; probably a cloud or something.
Or something.
Paru sprang out of her chair, hefting the Imperium Graphices with her to lay it invitingly on the counter. "Custom golems here, any size, any shape, any purpose," she called, shouting to be heard over the ambient din. She felt suddenly energized, feverish almost, anxious to draw – and the relatively large amount of drachma in her safe was starting to look mighty small all of a sudden.
After all, it was a sin to dream small when the sky itself was the limit…
19. Chao Linshen
'This, too, will end.' King Solomon.
Linshen had used the words like a sword, like a shield. The troubles at home, the upheavals and quiet fears of the people, would end. The long, sleepless nights spent in thought would end. The exams - which gave her more trouble than she cared to admit, though they were certainly never hard - would end.
Chao Bao Zi stood quiet, the little terrace empty in the afternoon sunlight. The shutters were down, the stools stashed away under the railcar. The entire school had an air of relaxation to it; the sun was nearly down, and it was almost time for the grand finale. And what a finale it would be, with Negi-sensei out of the way. The lies of the mages, the manipulations and needless intrigues. These, too, would end.
And yet... there was always another side to the coin, wasn't there?
The days spent arguing, frazzled, with Satomi over what type of bolt to use would end. The silly talks with Kū Fei would end. The delights of a simpler life would end.
Her time here would end.
And yet. Linshen smiled despite herself, taking one last look around the plaza. The restaurant rested squarely in Satsuki's capable hands. Kū Fei would bounce back like nobody's business. And, most importantly, she had set into motion the chains of events that would lead, simplifiedly speaking, to her birth. So it was true, Linshen reflected, activating the thrusters in her boots to carry her to the blimp where Satomi was waiting. All things came to an end. But every end was also a beginning.
And anyway, it wasn't like she was never going to see him again.
29. Yukihiro Ayaka
"Honestly, this is just disgraceful," Ayaka huffed, bending to pick up Kotarō's crumpled, wrinkly jeans. "The boy lives like an animal. I can hardly believe he's related to Natsumi-san…" She balled up the pants, tossing them into the clothes hamper with a sniff. "Does anything I say get through to him?" She stalked across the living room, snatching up an equally-mistreated shirt. "Why can't he be more like Negi-sensei?"
The comparison wasn't even fair. Where Negi-sensei was gentlemanly, Kotarō-san was crude. Where Negi-sensei was thoughtful, Kotarō-san was tactless. Where Negi-sensei was a successful and brilliant junior high teacher, Kotarō-san was an elementary school student with poor grades living with his cousin. It was difficult to believe they were the same age.
Ayaka sat down with an absent sigh. It was difficult to believe. Were all ten-year-old boys like Kotarō-san? Or were they more like Negi-sensei? She rather hoped it was the latter, though it seemed unlikely. Negi-sensei was unique, special. No; it seemed Kotarō-san was the rule, rather than the exception. And wasn't that a worrying thought?
Ayaka stood, making for the clothes hamper – and stopped. If all ten-year-old boys were like Kotarō-san…
Knees feeling a bit weak, Ayaka sat down again.
It still hurt to think of him, all these years later. The baby brother she had never known. He would have been about ten now; two months to his birthday, the date never in this dream world made blasphemous by death. Would he have run like Kotarō did, with wild abandon? Would he have undressed with the same haphazard care, tousling his sun-blond hair with his shirt? …Would he have been friends with Negi-sensei? She liked to think he would have.
Ayaka bowed her head, letting the tears come. This was an old sadness, but no less sharp for its age. Slowly, unconsciously, she pressed her face into Kotarō's shirt, letting its softness and its simple presence, the simple fact of the boy's life, soak in. It was an old sadness, and a familiar one; it would pass, in time –
The door swung open suddenly, and Ayaka jerked her head up. "I'm home," Kotarō announced, nudging the door closed behind him with a lazy foot. "Man, it's a lot cleaner in here now… oh, hey, nē-chan. D'you clean up?" The black-haired boy had circled around the room to stand in front of Ayaka, and now regarded her with interest.
Wordlessly, Ayaka stood, the shirt now balled loosely in one hand. Kotarō cocked his head. "Uh, is that mine?"
Before he had time to manage more than a surprised "Wha?", Ayaka stepped forward and embraced him. She held him as tightly as she could, painfully so; his bony shoulders cut into her arms, and his head pressed uncomfortably into her breasts. But that didn't matter. Not right now.
"Call me selfish if you want to, Kotarō-san…" she murmured, tears beginning to form in her eyes again. She lessened her grip, starting to pull away, and stopped in surprise: Kotarō's arms were around her, too, and held her as tightly as she held him.
The pair stood there for a moment, until at some invisible signal they both stepped back. Kotarō, his cheeks a faint pink, looked away. "So, uh, nē-chan, you feelin' better now?"
Ayaka nodded softly, rubbing discreetly at her eyes. "Yes, Kotarō-san, thank you. I do feel much better."
"Good, 'cause I don't really wanna do that again," he grumbled, walking away. Ayaka hadn't missed the faint half-smile on his face, though.
"Oh, Kotarō-san," she called as he reached the door to his closet-turned-bedroom, "here."
She tossed him the rolled-up shirt, which he caught with one hand. He gave her a nod and headed inside. Ayaka drifted back to her chair.
Maybe she had been a little harsh on Kotarō-san before. He was surely trying his hardest, and for all his gruffness… well, even if he hadn't understood the situation, he'd known what she had needed most of all. That was special, too.
"Hey!" Kotarō's voice cut through her thoughts, and she looked up in time to watch the balled-up shirt sail through the air and land on her head. "You got my shirt all wet with your stupid tears!"
Ayaka pulled the shirt off her head, tossing it into the hamper. This once, she'd forgive him… because that was what family did, after all.
But he'd better not push his luck.
3. Asakura Kazumi
Evangeline raised a finely-sculpted eyebrow. "You want me to what?"
"Teach me magic," Asakura repeated, hooking her thumbs into her belt loops. The redhead smiled devilishly, absently digging her feet into the sand.
Evangeline snorted. "Learn from boya, like everyone else," she said, pulling her wide-brimmed sunhat back down over her eyes. The shinsō had placed her chair and umbrella far enough up the white sand beach to be out of range of the inevitable splashes from the full-contact game of water polo the members of Ala Alba were playing, but close enough to laugh if anyone got hurt. It was the perfect spot – except that it meant she was easily accessible.
"Negi-kun's got enough on his plate with them," Asakura pointed out, ducking under the umbrella. "I'm not asking to learn Magica Erebea. Just beginner's magic."
"So pick up a frigging textbook," Evangeline snapped, pushing her hat back with an annoyed jerk. "What gives you the slightest idea that I have time to waste walking you through Ardescat?"
"Oh, I don't know," Asakura replied sweetly, leaning over the vampire. "Call it a hunch… Kitty."
Evangeline's lips compressed into a thin, bloodless line. "So you're going to blackmail the Gospel of Darkness."
"Well, yeah," Asakura admitted with a sheepish smile. Evangeline sighed and swung her legs off the chair, handing her sunhat to Chachathree.
"Go get yourself a wand, then, and be quick about it," she commanded, eyes narrowing as she grinned a grin with rather too many points in it. "Since you're so insistent on becoming my student, I might as well teach you a few simple lessons."
"Itadakimasu," Setsuna murmured, picking up her lacquered chopsticks with the grace of long practice. The sun had gone down, but the tropical night air was warm. Breezes blew in through the dining terrace, stirring the little candles that dotted the room like stars; the diners oohed as the tiny flames changed color in a captivating whirl.
"Delicious as always de gozaru," Kaede remarked, nodding thanks to Chachamaru, who hovered behind her master's chair at the head of the table.
"Yeah, it is," Chisame agreed. She paused, a piece of tuna halfway to her mouth. "Hey… Sensei, where's Asakura?"
"Eh? Asakura-san's gone?" Negi asked, eyes widening. And yes, her chair was empty. "I wonder where she is?"
"Don't worry about it, boya," Evangeline called, taking a slow sip of the rich red wine in her glass. "I know exactly where she is." She shot a glance over her shoulder, peering out into the moonlit twilight – perhaps at the tiny tongue of flame just barely visible on the little island some eight hundred meters off the coast.
"She's just learning a rather basic lesson."
13. Konoe Konoka
It was late now, very late. The storm clouds roiling over Kyoto had darkened the sky prematurely, giving much of the afternoon the pale, thin feeling of twilight; but it was certainly past midnight now, and the full moon peeked shyly through the gaps opening here and there in her curtains.
The rain still fell, but it was lesser now, a whispered zawazawa that was comforting in a way, like the summer songs of cicadas. It drifted through the open shōji from the smaller of the Konoe compound's courtyards, providing little but the illusion of relief from the humidity. Illusion or not, though, Setsuna fancied it helped a little. As for the open door… well, that was why Yūnagi was close at hand, wasn't it?
Konoka was asleep, and Setsuna would give her life to ensure that she stayed that way. This trip had been far too eventful already, and if anything –
A voice cut into her thoughts. "Did you know, Secchan?"
Her voice was quiet; even though she was in the next futon over, Setsuna wasn't sure she had heard her. As the swordswoman started to sit up, however, she spoke again.
"I've been having nightmares. Really bad ones."
Setsuna closed her eyes tightly, a stab of guilt pressing sharp against her heart, and it was worse than unforgivable to pretend to be asleep. "Ojō-sama –"
"Secchan." The quiet plea in Konoka's voice brought her bodyguard up short, and she fell silent again as her charge continued. "They weren't about being kidnapped, or about that big demon. Not even about Eva-chan." Setsuna opened her eyes again as quiet footsteps crossed the space between their futons, and her eyes widened as the shape silhouetted in moonlight above her resolved into Konoka. Slowly, the older girl knelt.
"O-ojō-sama," Setsuna managed, feeling her face heat. Their faces were mere inches from each other – to think that someone might see them –
"I have nightmares about you, Secchan," Konoka murmured. "About when you fought that girl with glasses. I keep having nightmares about you – losing, and I – I want to wake up, because you always – die…"
Setsuna flinched involuntarily as something splashed onto her face. Rain?
No. Konoka was crying quietly, her tears crossing the space between them to say what she could not. Setsuna sat up.
Beside her, Konoka looked up, one hand rising to rub at her eye. Setsuna leaned forward, folding her charge in a hug, an absolutely brazen move that was completely unthinkable and completely out-of-bounds, but the bounds could go screw themselves for this once, because ojō-sama needed this. Needed her.
Konoka buried her head into the nape of Setsuna's neck, and Setsuna found herself stroking her hair, slowly, like a mother would a frightened child's. She could feel the other girl shaking in her arms – her fragility, her fear, the weight of what had been done to her, pressing far too strongly on her thin shoulders.
"I will never lose, Kono-chan," Setsuna whispered, closing her eyes. "When I'm fighting for you… nothing in the world can ever defeat me." She continued stroking Konoka's hair, willing her support and devotion and… love… through the touch.
After a while, Konoka's breathing deepened, and Setsuna smiled softly. "Sleep well, ojō-sama," she murmured. Konoka shifted, nuzzling into her shoulder, and the swordswoman stifled a laugh. "Don't worry… I'll be here."
And the first thing Konoka saw when she awoke the next morning was her face.
9. Kasuga Misora
The trouble with most churches, Misora reflected, was that they were old buildings.
Now, of course this gave them dignity, the weight of tradition (even here in Japan, where the very oldest churches were less than two centuries old); there was a feeling of solidity and security in a stone church that only partly arose from its construction.
No, the major problem when dealing with buildings like that was upkeep. Eternally, floors needed scrubbing, windows washing, pews polishing, gardens weeding… none of it was hard work, but it was time-consuming, and each job could be picky in its own way. That was why it was usually divided up between the sisters.
'Usually' in this case referred to the time before Sister Shakti had decided to let Misora do all of it for a few days; since she apparently wanted the priest's job, the Sister had said, grinning not-quite-evilly, she might as well do the rest of them too.
"I'm going to die, Cocone," Misora mumbled into the thick rug of the private chapel. "Goodbye. Tell Negi-kun I'm sorry about dragging down the class's grades."
Seated on a nearby pew, Cocone said nothing, as usual; but her silence somehow managed to convey both amusement and admonition. "You only have to dust the altar, Misora," the young girl said, after a moment. "Then we can go to Chao Bao Zi and get some food."
Misora, unmoving, grunted apathetically. "I think I might already be dead, come to think of it," she mused aloud a few seconds later. "And this is Hell. Everything makes sense now."
There was a pause. "No, I am not ignoring you!"
Misora heaved herself up, muscles complaining, to lean on her elbows, rubbing distractedly at her face where the thick pile of the rug had left a pattern. "I just think it's pretty easy to tell me to hurry up when Sister Shakti told you not to help out."
Not-quite-visibly stung, the little Magistrix looked away, and Misora sighed. "Sorry, sorry. It's been a long day. I know you'd help me if you could." She levered herself up, crossing the distance to sit next to Cocone on the pew. "Come on, let's just go now. The altar can wait, right?" She extended a hand to the younger girl. "Ready?"
Cocone looked at the offered hand a moment, then placed her own hand in Misora's. The redhead smiled. "Come on, let's go." She slid off the pew, kneeling to pick Cocone up on her shoulders. When the girl was secure, she set off, making sure to flick off the lights as she left.
The chapel stood dark and quiet. Quiet, but not empty.
"Misora didn't finish her duties," Sister Placida sighed, a note of disapproval evident in her quiet voice as she spoke from the doorway. Beside the older nun, Sister Shakti nodded absently, fiddling with the gold cross set into the neckline of her habit.
"I think we can let her go this once," she said, taking a few steps into the chapel. "Don't you?"
"She didn't finish the dusting," Sister Placida repeated stubbornly, running a finger over the altar, which incidentally came away spotless. "Lord, that child is a pain."
"Sister, I set Misora to keep this old place up by herself," Sister Shakti replied, "a job that usually takes all twenty of the initiates. She's succeeded admirably for the past four days. I doubt God will disagree with giving her a short break." She pulled something from her sleeve, and for an instant the setting sun through the chapel window sparked gold off the many crosses embossed into the card. "But He'll have to wait His turn to send her to Hell if she impersonates a priest again."
Sister Placida let out a chuckle. "There's the Sister I know and love." She looked around the chapel again and sighed. "You know, getting some food does sound like a lovely idea about now," she admitted.
Sister Shakti smiled. "Let's head over to Chao Bao Zi, then," she suggested. "I'm feeling rather hungry myself."
It would be a little bit inaccurate to say that the two nuns jogged from the church. But only a little.
It was rude to keep friends waiting, after all.
Hey everyone, first of all, thanks so much for your patience over the past few months. Pretty much the only reason I wasn't writing is because I'm a lazy bastard, so if y'all feel like getting in a kick or two, go right ahead.
Individual drabble rundown time!
14. Haruna – I've had this one around for a while, I just had to fine-tune it and type it up. I like the idea of Paru working as a sort of mercenary artist… it suits her.
19. Linshen – Hopefully I managed to capture the sort of melancholy feel I was going for with this one. And you know she's coming back.
(I will never ever agree that Chao is her first name, by the way, because it isn't)
29. Ayaka – Underneath the violence, you know they love each other. In a familial sort of way.
3. Kazumi – That lesson, of course, being not to blackmail the Gospel of Darkness. I loved writing the bit about 'too far away to splash, close enough to laugh at injuries' bit.
13. Konoka – God DAMNIT this one was hard to write. My creative process usually involves several days of doing nothing, then a few hours of staring at my screensaver while I think, then shutting off my computer in disgust. Then, a few hours later, I have to get my notebook out and write.
I hate my creative process. But I love KonoSetsu fluff, so it's all worth it.
9. Misora's one of the girls who, though she has a small role, is very thoroughly characterized. It was pretty easy to write this once I got the germ. Cocone's surprisingly easy to write, for a slightly creepy seven-year-old magical savant girl. Sister Placida's made up, by the way. I dunno what she's for.
As always, everyone, thanks for reading, and thanks in advance for your reviews! Next chapter will only have five girls again, but I'm taking suggestions – Nodoka will definitely be making her debut in Ch. 5, though. Count on it!
