Summary:
Fran's not blind, and Fran's not deaf; she can tell she's only a replacement. Yuni was the trusting, benevolent "Aria's daughter". Fran was the suspicious, bitter "spitting image of that-guy-who-married-Aria". She's even born with the "wrong" Flame; a strong primary Mist and a weak secondary Sky. But now that Yuni's vanished, Fran's the (grudging) Giglio Nero Boss. Byakuran's intrigued by a Fran who differs so drastically from her parallel selves. Meanwhile, Yuni being gone has a greater significance than any of them realize.
Disclaimer:
KHR! rights go to Akira Amano.
The cover picture may or may not be mine, depending on which one I'm using. I tend to switch frequently. In case it isn't mine, then this is a general disclaimer for that. So, yeah. Don't sue me, please.
Note:
/insert words here/ are thoughts.
Assume that they are speaking Italian unless otherwise stated or implied. Fran is canon-ly French, so her father here is French, and she is fluent in it. When stressed and cursing, whether out loud or mentally, she has a tendency to slip and slide back into French. So, congratulation, you will probably be picking up an assortment of French profanity.
Reviews:
Thank you, 'ADDBaby', for your reviews. As always, your emoticons leave me cracking up. :] And I suspect that if it was actually Romeo and Juliet, Byakuran would've just killed off Paris and tried to woo Fran with marshmallows. Fran would then be severely unimpressed, but agree to go with him anyway, because 'being here is boring and banishment sounds more interesting'.
Thank you, 'Someonepassingby', for your review. I wonder if anyone noticed that the reason Bluebell called Fran 'Fran-nee' was mostly because she assumed Fran was in a relationship with Byakuran, her 'nii-san'? I mean, Fran and Byakuran and Kikyo just think that it's because Fran was there at the beginning with Byakuran, so Bluebell thinks of her as an older sister-figure. Yeah, no. xp I've always envisioned Bluebell as a devious little avid "shipper" who likes to meddle with people's love lives; she will now be dropping hints and nudge-nudge-wink-winks throughout the rest of the chapters for comedic effect. :]
"It's inefficient for a leader to curse at their subordinates or other people and insult them. Which is why I do it mentally." - Fran
Extra Scene
(hats and worlds and peace, in roughly that order):
"... ? ..."
"... :] ..."
"... ... ..."
"... ;] ... ~ ..."
"... So ... Don't you have anything better to do than to come down to the Gray Spell training rooms and look over my shoulders like a creeper? Literally? Oh, wait, I forgot. You are a creeper, aren't you? Creeper. See, you're still creeping," Fran asks/accuses blandly, slapping away another hat-poke from Byakuran.
He 'closed-eye smiles' behind her and reaches to poke it again.
"Nope, Francy-chan. Your hat's just so poofy and mushroom-shaped. Too poofy for you to expect me not to poke it. It's like a Giant Lever of Doom, or a Big Red Button of Mass Destruction. It just begs me to poke it. Like a marshmallow~! Why do you even insist on wearing it? I thought you were Miss Efficient and Stealthy; wouldn't wearing an attention-catching hat like that in battle practically scream 'target me'?"
His tone is playfully sing-song like normal, but Byakuran truly does want to know.
/What's the importance of the hat, anyway? One more piece to the puzzle of Fran.../
Flicking another illusion marshmallow at him with annoyance, she doesn't answer for a while, and keeps going through her staff katas.
(The 'sphere' capping the staff has been carefully removed and set on the nearby bench, transforming the scepter into it's original battle form.)
If he hasn't been interacting with the tealette illusionist for nearly four months now, Byakuran will have assumed naturally enough that she's chosen to ignore his question out of pointed irritation.
As it is, he can tell by the slight furrow of her brow and the downward twitch of her mouth that his counterpart is simply seriously contemplating the matter. She would have chased him out of the room if she truly hadn't wanted to answer.
So he waits patiently by the benches, leaning on the cold iron bars of the bleachers' guardrails behind him, and watches her move fluidly through the blocking positions.
"You're lucky that there's no one else scheduled to be in this training room today," Fran finally says, abrupt, still focusing on correcting her grip, experimentally twirling her staff this way and that, a metallic silver blur going in half-circles.
Byakuran stays quiet and listens.
He's learned, through trial and frustrating error, that Fran is actually quite a talkative person, even though she's also quite a contemplative person.
Provided that you guide in her in the right directions without making it too obvious, of course, and let her talk through her thoughts, work it out verbally, and make your presence muted enough that she can get lost in her words, slip out more than she intends, forgetting her usual tight-lipped carefulness around other people.
She flips the staff from her right hand to her left hand, braces it accordingly against her shoulder, stalks around one of the training dummies in a circle, and strikes out at it with more force than is probably required, raising and throwing her weapon in a downward stabbing motion.
The dummy's head is speared clean through, despite the rounded bluntness of the staff, sand and Styrofoam alike spilling out in waves of bronzed and ivory trickles.
Fran removes her staff in one quick, smooth motion, looking over her handiwork with a minor frown; most likely disapproving of what she deems to be the 'poor craftmanship' of the training dummies.
(When in a musing mood, she tends to underestimate her own strength, and thus blames the dummy for breaking, not considering that perhaps she merely exerted more strength in a fit of venting. )
"The hat… what can I say? It's tradition, I guess. For the Giglio Nero Boss and the Giglio Nero heiresses and heirs. There's never been a heir, actually. Just heiresses. Sometimes it's the Boss wearing it, sometimes it's just the heiress. Sometimes, it's both. And even though I'm not really the Giglio Nero Decima anymore… and even though I was never meant to be heiress at all, I still wear it because… it's a comfort? I don't know. I don't know if I've ever known.
"It's just that... once Aria died and… Yuni disappeared, I commissioned a new Heiress hat. Since, well, Aria's was buried with her like usual, and Yuni's hat went with her. Wherever it is that... she went. The significance of the hat itself is… complicated.
"I'm… not really Boss. Not really. I'm still just the heiress who didn't even get a hat before the other heiress vanished. I didn't even have the primary Sky Flames, and apparently that's a much, much bigger deal than people feel comfortable acknowledging outright. The Giglio Nero were desperate, though, and they needed someone to lead.
"I was the easiest choice. It kinda stung, y'know? I was only chosen because they needed a Donna, fast, so they picked me on account of the technicalities of my heritage, and because I at least had Sky Flames of some sort. If they had another possibility, they would've taken them, any day. Before the Millefiore merger, I know for a fact that there were more than a few people covertly checking the Giglio Nero family trees for any possible inheritors to contest my right to rule. And had they found any of suitable age and gender and Flames, I admit that they probably would've won, just because of majority support, and because I had no Guardians yet. A lot were doubting if my Sky Flames were sufficiently strong enough to even emit Sky Attraction, and if they could reach Harmonization or not. I was doubting, too.
"And now? ...Like I said, I don't know.
"It feels… natural, now. It's handy, too; my own personal storage area. And it's a status symbol of a sort. It reminds the Giglio Nero that I was their Boss, no matter how they might want to think, that I am their Boss, despite us being Millefiore now, and me handing off the reins to Gamma. Some part of me will always refer to myself as Giglio Nero, born and unfortunately raised. Though, perhaps I'm a bit too harsh on them. And... perhaps I'm too lenient."
Fran shrugs, and manages works a slashing motion with her bo staff into the shrug, which coaxes a faint smile to grace her lips.
She doesn't mention anything else about the hat after that.
/My hair… my head feels uncomfortable with it off. Vulnerable. It's… protection. Yes, protection. It draws away attention, draws it to the symbol of power, reminds people of the power I possess. Power is control, control is power. It reminds me that I have the power to control my own life. ...Even if that's a bold-faced lie, so long as no one else sees through it, it's the truth, isn't it? There's no difference between an unfound lie and an accepted true. No difference at all./
.
She changes the subject, dropping to the floor, and practices springing to her feet with her weapon in her hands.
"What are your plans for the future?"
Byakuran props up the side of his face with the flat of his palm, twisting sideways for his elbow tor est on top of the railing.
"Hmm~? Whatever do you mean, Francy-chan?"
A jab, a thwack, and the training dummy's head falls off completely.
"You know what I mean, Byakuran. I've told you plenty of things, haven't I? You know what Clairvoyance can do. And you should know that, as a Giglio Nero heiress, the former keepers of the Mare Rings, I know what each one can do. What the Sky Mare Ring can do. So what's your game plan, Byakuran? What's your end-game?"
Her tone remains remarkably indifferent, with only curiosity coloring it.
/So far, no opposition,/ he analyzes, and smiled accordingly, brighter, fiercer.
"Well, Francy-chan, why don't you tell me? You're right, I do know what Clairvoyance can do. So... what have you Seen so far with your Clairvoyance?"
"Destruction, carnage, you eating marshmallows, the usual. I'm still Millefiore in the future, it appears, which means I've somehow deemed it to be wroth sticking around for. And Shoichi looked nervous and disapproving. He gets better at faking a 'confident, cool, and collected leader' in public speaking, however."
The smile doesn't dim, doesn't wane, not in the slightest.
"Ah, I've always felt that Sho-chan wouldn't approve very much of my way of doing things. How about you?"
An eloquent silence follows, wordlessly prompting Byakuran to elaborate.
He graciously does.
"As in, what do you think?"
"... I approve of efficiency," Fran says slowly, thoughtfully, pausing in her katas to tilt her head up to the lights, close her eyes, and think.
She starts up the katas again, still voluntarily blinded.
"I approve of efficiency, because I dislike boredom. I like things to be interesting, as you've said before."
A one-shouldered shrug and a sideways sweep that harshly indents the gut of another dummy.
"If I stuck around in the future, and you haven't offed me by then, then I suppose that my future self didn't disapprove, at the very least. She probably didn't care too much, anyway. Efficiency, you know? Whatever gets the job done as fast as possible. If it's boring. To make way, to make time, for more interesting things. I can allow a certain measure of inefficient elongation for interesting things, since those things tend to be over far too quickly, and a lifetime of monotony is unappealing to say the least.
"Peace is many things, many adjectives and ideals and truths to many, many people, but 'exciting' and 'interesting' do not tend to be in it's numerous descriptions. Although, human beings, as a race that is in and of itself fundamentally flawed, can't help but squabble and clash all the time. Peace... I wouldn't call it impossible, because that's just jinxing it, but for a viable method to reach world peace... there would need to be many outlets for energy, I imagine. Work out the pent-up emotions that will result. Some people aren't happy unless they're unhappy, and some people live solely for fighting and carnage and death. How would those people handle peace? Arguably, about a quarter of Millefiorians can be counted under those two descriptions, and about half of the Mafia.
"... But that's off-track now. You still haven't answered my question, Byakuran. What are you aiming for?"
If Fran glances towards Byakuran at that very moment, she would've seen him looking uncharacteristically pensive.
"Is that... what you really think of peace?"
His tone deadens out into the unreadable tone that she usually uses.
Incorrectly interpreting his answer as an attempted evasion, Fran sighs, "That's just answering a question with a question."
Byakuran laughs and raises up his hands in a mock surrender, tone livening up again.
"I remember you asked me that at our first meeting. Oh, how long ago that seems, eh? You asked me, 'what will you do with the power?' Did I remember that right?"
"And you replied, 'I haven't really thought about it.' Yes, I remember," Fran nods.
"Well, I suppose I lied," he shrugs. "I have thought about it, see? Extensively, as a matter of fact."
"...You aren't going to tell me, are you?" she guesses in a deadpan.
"Not right now, no, Francy-chan. But you have been quite open with me, so I suppose it's my turn to repay the favor, huh? Alright, then: the reason I know all that I know, the reason I have all of this planned out, have all my Wreaths and uniforms and names, is because a future me sent back ten years of memories. So I'm ten years ahead, you could say."
Fran puts on an expression of obvious doubt, as she repeatedly light up and extinguishes the Mist Flames covering her staff.
"Future you? That's impossible, though; memories can't be transferred through time, only space, because otherwise they haven't happened yet, and the time-space continuum will erase them. Plus, the whole 'time travel' thing isn't really true. It's just parallel worlds and sometimes universes. Even my Clairvoyance is just selecting a vision from a parallel world whose timeline is the best match for my own, and is the most likely to turn out to be what will happen to me."
"Very astute of you, Francy-chan. Yes, you're correct. Absolutely correct. It wasn't really a future me, because they would've branched off into another parallel world. It was a parallel me whose world was ten years ahead of us, and decided to lend a hand. I don't know what happened to his world after he transferred his memories. It's impossible to view all of the parallel worlds, after all, since there are infinitely many, and not all of my parallels are alive and capable of being connected to. His world was different from this one, too."
"How so?"
Byakuran beams innocently at her. Fran isn't fooled; she can glimpse the sly mischief in his eyes.
.
"Well," he starts off casually, picking at his lavender-painted nails (which Bluebell had insisted persistently on), "for one, you were a guy, about six years younger than you are right now, and you were living in Jura, France with your grandmother and had no relations to the Giglio Nero. Your father was still a very strong Mist, though in that universe his Flames were unlocked and he wasn't a civilian, your mother was an Inverted Mist thief with internalized Rain Flames, and you still had a penchant for large and food-shaped hats. Later on, large and animal-shaped hats."
While the tealette freezes in the middle of her katas, he bulldozes on merrily, mirthful in startling the often unstartleable. "Oh, and you became Varia later on, learning more than the mandatory 6 languages, I believe it was French, Italian, Russian, German, Japanese, Chinese, English, Korean, Hindi?, apprenticing under a pineapple, and became quite a nuisance to the Millefiore later on with your Mist Flames. Died quite young, though. Around 20?"
(Tactfully, Byakuran leaves out the inconvenient fact that it had been parallel!Byakuran who had ordered her death.
His death, since it'd been parallel!Fran.
It would have erased much of the hard-earned trust and rapport that he had painstakingly, carefully, deliberately built up so far, making her cooperation to be more difficult in achieving, setting back some of his plans.
And it's not like he'd order her death now.
Not without very very very good reason, and a near 100% chance of it succeeding.
She is too useful and strong to be a throwaway pawn; not half-bad companionship, either, and he often comes to wheedle at her whenever Sho-chan's busy.
[As much as Fran might say otherwise, Byakuran has found her to be quite susceptible to folding under repeated annoyance and bargain deals, thus rendering his wheedling effective something like 72.9% of the time. It helps that he's talented in the area of convincing-people-to-do-things-they-ordinarily-would-never-think-of-doing.]
Besides, telling her about a minor fact she wouldn't otherwise ever find out makes no sense in the tactical point of view.
Because, contrary to what Fran seems to expect of him usually, he does have logic and reasoning skills. Good ones, too.
Parallel!Byakuran isn't even him; just, well, someone sharing his name and appearance and partial personality and history and, um... okay, this isn't aiding his argument.
But Fran grew up in the Giglio Nero, she should know the difference between parallels, right?
And theoretically, she should not hold a grudge against someone whose parallel killed her parallel, right?
Theoretically...
Ah, it's just simpler, and less headache-inducing, to leave out that inconvenient fact altogether.)
Fran holds up a hand in the universal gesture of "stop".
Finally ending her katas, she begins twisting the sphere-cap back onto her staff.
"How does one apprentice under a fruit? I wasn't aware that fruits are capable of gaining sentience, advanced intelligence, relative mobility, develop characteristics, and evolve to wield the ability of producing Dying Will Flames, Sky or Earth. Certainly, even the now-extinct Estraneo wouldn't have pursued that sort of experimentation; that concept is a bit too radical and devoid of usefulness for even them. I don't even like pineapples; they're too sour, hard to peel, and prickly. Also, I really don't need to hear about how I'd look as a 9-year-old. Or how I'd look as a guy. Or what my parallel's hat had turned out to be. Twice.
"But Varia? The independent assassination squad of the Vongola who basically consists of a moody meat-obsessed alcoholic with anger-management and daddy-issues, a loud-mouthed 'shark' who looks like a girl with all that hair, a rainbow-mohawk gaylord peacock self-proclaimed 'mother', an Arcobaleno with a money fetish who can find anyone by sneezing, a lightning pervert who obsessed over their 'boss' and fights with umbrellas, and a sadomasochistic knife-and-wire-using supposed 'prince' who obsesses over blood and has a creepy laugh and also has family issues? That Varia? It makes me wonder what possibly convinced me to join them. If I even joined them willingly. Although it might be interesting to compare any differences in Box Weapons..."
"I'm fairly certain that every other Mafiosi has family issues of some sort. But yes, it appears that your unique brand of honest humor hasn't changed a bit," Byakuran admits, finally turning down the vicious ferocity of his grin, returning to his more-or-less usual trademark smile.
He glances at her, sidelong. "Are you done training then? Working off the stress?"
She tiredly tugs at her hat-tassel out of force of habit; a stress tic that he recognizes and mentally files away for reference.
"Yes. It's been a stressful week. Paperwork, naturally, since the more confidential and sensitive material have to be checked by hand and Flame-verified, and more fights are breaking out between the Spells. Even my Gray Spells are getting sucked into it all, despite my explicit orders not to. It's irritating. Those idiots. And that Glo Xinia just keeps accumulating harassment reports. Nothing changes about them even after I give him warnings and demotes and punishments. Tell me again what compelled you to give him the Fake Rain Mare Ring? I… I'm taking the rest of today off, okay? I'll be playing cards with Kikyo again, probably. And maybe Bluebell. She's getting better at it, you know, though she still goes into fits of rage and pouts and sulks at the bottom of her… water-tank aquarium-thingy if she loses."
He hums, magnanimously listening to her rant.
"I just realized that I've never heard you curse before, Francy-chan. Like, really curse, in an actual conversation. I'm quite sure I heard you cursing in a few different languages under your breath when we were retrieving Kikyo, however."
Fran looks thoroughly unrepentant.
"Those high heels were a nightmare to walk in. I still don't understand why we couldn't have just used illusions to blend in. I do try to avoid cursing when conversing, thank you very much. It's inefficient for a leader to curse at their subordinates or other people and insult them. Which is why I do it mentally. If I curse, I'm stressed and annoyed and in the presence of someone who I… don't care if they see me showing such visible emotions. That cursing under my breath doesn't really count."
They rest in a companionable silence for a moment, before she gets up from the bench and stretches leisurely with her scepter in hand.
Collecting her cloak and clothes, which she had earlier discarded in favor of a more suitable t-shirt, shorts, and sneakers, Fran turns to leave.
"I need to take a shower before I get to the Wreath base; the sweat's clinging to me," she mutters absently, mostly to herself.
Byakuran observes her step through the doorway and turn the corner, and then stands up as well.
"Well, no point lingering in the Gray Spell Training Rooms with nothing to do. I believe I can feasibly fit in a few hands of cards later… who needs a schedule when you make the schedule, anyway? Other than than Francy-chan, of course, since she's a stickler for those things," he muses, hands in his pockets as he strides languidly into the labyrinthine hallways of the main Millefiore Italy Base. "Cards sound nice… later. Now, off to see my Sho-chan~!"
Extra Scene
(that one training montage and ring drama):
Fran is content today.
Very, very content.
Maybe even happy.
Why?
She finally made solid progress on her Box Animal, of course.
And if you start counting from the day she got the Farfalla di Nebbia (which is roughly 2 ½ months into the creation of the Millefiore Famiglia), then it has only taken her…
3 ½ months to figure out something useful about what the Farfalla di Nebbia can do.
Her mood suddenly took a sharp downturn when she realized that number.
In her defense, those months had been spent managing the newborn Millefiore Famiglia, ensuring things run smoothly and bases are established and footholds are built and all that.
They had also been spent dabbling with Vi's abilities, testing out possible options through trial and error, so technically today's 'breakthrough' had come as a result of 3 ½ months of laying down the groundwork.
Still pretty good, right?
/I mean, we can't all be like stupidly perfect and overpowered paperwork-slacking Byakuran, who mastered his Box Animal in, like, a week. And naturally, it had to be a dragon. A dragon. How the hell did he get the scientists to make a Dragon Box Animal? Where would they get the DNA and body build for that?/
...Okay, so maybe she isn't exactly happy after all.
But she is definitely content.
Her lips twitch upwards when Fran recalls the training session earlier in the day, when she had gotten through to Vi.
The almost-smile stays on her face, even as she scans her hand and the doors of Byakuran's private office whir open with a faint, mechanical purr.
Even as Fran clutches the last Mare Ring in her hand, the Mist Mare Ring, ready to hand over.
Byakuran looks up from behind his desk and smiles.
It's not his usual smile.
Fran doesn't have time to analyze the specifics of that particular smile, however, since her Mist Mare Ring is glowing with invisible warmth, as all active Mare Rings do when nearing the Sky Mare Ring.
.
.
.
/This is stupid./ Fran thought mutinously as she suffered yet another headache.
Vi flapped her wings once in her version of a shrug.
They were currently in a Gray Spell training room, reserved especially for her Box Animal training.
The Farfalla di Nebbia was trying to explain to its Summoner about the many possibilities of it's abilities, but Vi was not programmed to be a teacher, and it showed.
It didn't really help, either, when it turned out that the Box Animal itself only knew how to state what it could do, and had no knowledge on 'creative tactics', since it's sentience technically matures with time spent in proximity to it's User.
In other words, Vi was the weapon, and it was up to the user, Fran, to figure out how to use the weapon effectively.
Having been at it for two hours already, the duo had not gotten any farther than rehashing the list of Vi's attributes.
/Okay, okay. So you can spit fireballs of pure Mist Flames and sling them from your antennae and tongue.
You also naturally have no presence, scent, sound, or smell, though you can be felt and seen.
You require no sustenance except for Flames, and will vanish back into the Box if you run out of Flames; however, Mist Flames can be willingly donated to you to keep you going.
If you receive permission, you can 'connect' to one's mind and telepathically communicate with them, which is signified by your antennae lighting up with a gray light, but that 'telepathy' can only work with one person at a time. It also doesn't require any Flames.
Your Flames won't hurt me, because they were once my Flames.
You can dispel your fireballs and suck the Flames back into your personal reserves.
The only illusion you can cast to change your own appearance is changing how your wings look.
Oh, and the spines on your tail can be shot painlessly and un-noticeably; the spines are invisibly coated with Mist Flames once released and rapidly dissolve after contact./
Fran paused to glance at the large butterfly perched serenely on an illusionary perch a few inches away from her nose.
/Did I miss anything?/
Vi wing-shrugged again.
-No, I don't think so.-
The human of the two frowned deeply.
/But none of that would be useful! How are you classified as an A-rank espionage and combat-type?/
-I am merely the means, Summoner. You must realize how to reach the end. I was not built to formulate uses. Besides, you are a Mist Flame-user and a very proficient illusionist, are you not? Use your imagination. Think 'outside-of-the-Box'.-
Fran had quickly picked up upon her blandly detached and logical Box Animal's strange fondness for metaphors, similes, allusions, and bad puns. It was odd, but it gave the otherwise rather alien Vi a more approachable dimension.
So she thought.
And thought.
And thought some more.
Before giving up (again) and hurling an illusionary rock at the wall (again).
It bounced off and disappeared as she dispelled the illusion, but not before creating another dent in the neat line of them in the wall.
(All of them were from illusionary rocks, except for the ones that were from illusionary boulders [which were the ones that she usually resorted to on the really, really frustrating days].)
-I can offer a suggestion, Summoner.-
Vi's tone was as pleasantly calm as ever, centering Fran's frustration.
-Think, for a moment, about that illusionary rock you just threw. Why did it affect the wall just like a real rock would? What happened to it after you canceled it? How did you cancel it, and how would others cancel it? Illusions are like math formulas; if you figure out how one part works, it applies to everything else, too.-
.
/Well…
Because it was a Real Illusion, right?
And it was a Real Illusion because I used the Construction property of my Soft Mist Flames.
Hard Mist Flames are denser and more like… leaden fire, all heavy and better suited for use in it's purest Flame form, typically thrown in combat.
Real Illusions are illusions that can affect all five senses, because they can physically harm someone instead of just tricking their brain into believing their hurt and feeling the pain through triggered pain neurons.
An illusion of a dagger stabbing someone would hurt them, and they might even believe that it pierced skin and drew blood. Since they believe that, then their mind and body will react accordingly by splitting open it's own skin and drawing blood, reacting to imagined stimuli. However, if it struck an object that is not capable of thought, or advanced instincts and self-awareness, then it wouldn't actually harm it at all. It wouldn't even appear to harm it, unless the illusionist had prepared beforehand and also cast an illusion that made the object look hurt.
A Real Illusion of a dagger stabbing someone would be the same as an actual dagger, meaning that it would immediately pierce skin and draw blood, no belief required. The stimuli is actually there; it isn't imagined. And if it struck an object not capable of thought and advanced instinct and self-awareness, it would still harm it just like an actual dagger, because the Real Illusion of the dagger is basically Mist Flames molded into the appearance of a dagger, so the Flames would inflict the harm according to what the illusionist envisioned would happen. Which would mean that if an illusionist believed that a dagger shredded things, then the Real Illusions they cast of a dagger would shred things, because the Flames are acting based on what their user knows./
.
-Yes, you're on the right track, Summoner. 'Reality resides in one's mind'. But consider this: if Real Illusions are illusions formed out of using your Mist Flames' Construction property, then how are regular illusions formed?-
/I… don't really know./
-How did you cast regular illusions then?-
/it just kinda came. Instinctively. I imagined it, willed it to be there, and the illusion would appear./
Fran cut off her thoughts and concentrated. Then she cast a simple illusion in slow motion (just an illusion to make the wall look green instead of gray) and really looked and felt how she cast it.
/Oh… wait, but then.../
Next, she cast a Real Illusion of a hammer striking the wall in slow motion, and did the same for that.
/So… illusions that affect the mind are a mixture of .1% Hard Mist Flames, the 'physical' or 'materialization' part, and 99.9% Soft Mist Flames, the 'Construction' or 'illustration' part. The .1% seems instinctive, so much that an illusionist who never learned the theory and never paid critical attention at the casting process would probably miss it altogether.
Real Illusions that affect the mind and body are a mixture of 50% Hard Mist Flames and 50% Soft Mist Flames, very close to the natural balance inside an illusionist's body of 40/60.
Hold on…/
.
"Spit a fireball," she demanded.
Vi complied placidly, drawing back one antenna. A purple-ish glow enveloped it, overwhelming the gray-ish glow, and encasing the antennae in a small sphere of energy.
Shooting forward in a blur, the antenna 'slingshot' the energy sphere into the air in front of it. As soon as the sphere left the antennae, it recovered its actual appearance as a steadily burning orb of flames. The flames making up her wings grew just a tiny bit smaller.
The orb rocketed for a few inches, before abruptly stopping and bobbing gently in place, just like the rest of Vi's fireballs ended up.
Fran cupped her hands around the orb and drew it closer, before closing her eyes and concentrating, looking, feeling, sensing.
Her eyes opened back up and she let the orb float back to where it was. Vi silently dispersed it, and the flames making up her wings grew just a tiny bit bigger.
/Your fireballs are at a natural 50/50 make-up of Flames. Which means that they have the potential to be Real Illusions. But they aren't. They're still Flames in their purest, original form: fire.
Hmm…
Could you try and spit more fireballs, and this time, will them to become something?/
Vi obeyed and spewed forth four fireballs at once; one from each antenna, one from her mouth, and one from her uncurled tongue.
The fireballs reached the 'bobbing' stage, and then morphed fluidly into four butterflies.
Each butterfly was small, their wingspans maybe only two inches. The paled grayed-out wings themselves were translucent but vaguely opaque, like oiled paper. Delicate veins threaded themselves across the wings, adding to the fragile appearance. Dark brown eyes, an identical copy of Vi's, were on each of their 'heads'. They retained the 'spines' on the tail, from the 'original' (Vi).
.
-They appear to be the only appearance I can mold my fireballs into, Summoner. Their reserves are self-sufficient, running off of the 'chunk' of my own Flames that went into the fireballs. It appears that they are connected to me, however; I can 'feed' them more of my Flames to keep them 'alive', I can see and hear what they do, and I control them, though they do retain some measure of adaptation instincts. Rather, I am the 'hive mind', who can give orders individually or altogether, and they are the 'drones' who will do the best that they can to fulfill that objective. If I don't 'feed' them Flames, they will dispel by themselves in an hour. They cannot cast illusions themselves.-
/How do you know all of this now but not before?/ Fran thought with a flare of irritation.
Another wing-shrug.
-I was programmed like this. Programming done by half-mad scientists do not often make sense. The fine line between madness and genius is merely one dreamed by humankind. As such, I do not know things until they are 'unlocked' by the Summoner. Think of me as a video game level, if you wish.-
/Well, is it possible for you to make the fireballs bigger? Can you change the appearance of the drones?/
-No, this is the maximum size. I can, however, condense all four fireballs into one one they've reached 'bobbing'. Drones can condense with each other, too.
They have to reach 'bobbing' in order for me to morph them. And if you wish for a faster firing speed, I can produce eight or sixteen. No in betweens.
Eight would mean each 'chunk' would last 30 minutes, and sixteen 'chunks' are 15 minutes each. I cannot change the appearance of the drones any more than I have done so so far. I do believe that I can force them to revert back to fireball form, but then I'll lose the connection with them.-
/Test it./
The butterfly on the far left drifted a couple of meters away, and fluidly morphed back into a fireball.
For about a split second.
And then it exploded into an explosion of Mist Flames.
Fran could feel the heat from the flames, and was internally grateful that Vi had ordered the drone to drift away before testing it, although she knew in theory that the Flames wouldn't have hurt her.
But they could be used to hurt others...
Hmm...
Now there's an idea.
Any closer, and anyone else would've been singed, or even scorched badly if it drifted even closer.
Mist Flames are still flames, after all, and flames are fire.
Which can burn, and torch, and incinerate
No matter if it's property was Construction or not, it can still destroy.
.
/Okay, so they turn into bombs if they switch back.
That… could be very, very useful.
And if you see and hear everything that the drones do…
Can you connect it to me?/
A moment later, Fran doubled over and clutched at her hat, gasping and her vision swimming.
"Give me some warning next time, Vi," she muttered through clenched teeth.
And then she winced again, because not only was she hearing the sound of her voice amplified three times (four if you count Vi), she was also somehow seeing herself three (four) times.
/How can you handle it?/
-I'm programmed to compartmentalize it. It might help you if you delve into your mindscape.-
So she did.
.
Her mindscape had changed.
The sunny little cafe had changed into a brightly lit classic security room.
Fran was seated in a swively black chair, staring at a wall full of monitors.
Well, four monitors, to be exact.
The wall was a giant ceiling-to-floor digital screen, split into equal fourths. A small square was in the top-right corner of each monitor, and contained a picture of the butterfly whose 'eyes' and 'ears' she was using.
Three of the ID squares had identical pictures of a drone, and the fourth one had a picture of Vi.
Speaking of Vi…
-Right now, the sound is muted. You are seeing what the drones and I see as if through a camera. To block out a screen you don't need, like mine, since I'm always near you, just swipe it and it'll turn black. To access sound, tap the screen. Tap again to cancel sound. To zoom, tap twice. Replays and old 'films' will probably materialize later on in your mindscape. And now that you've accessed the 'hive' in your mindscape, it should no longer appear to you outside, so your senses will no longer feel overwhelmed,- Vi informed her, standing behind her right shoulder and smiling blankly.-
The effect was quite startling, but Fran covered up her surprise and tested out the Farfalla's instructions.
"It all seems to be in order."
She exited her mindscape.
.
Fran stretched slightly.
/I have a meeting with Byakuran soon, so I'll have to test out the spines and muse over dispelling theory next time. For now, send the drones to observe the base; one for each Spell. I'll make more later, when I can test my limits./
She paused and carefully layered illusions for invisibility over them.
The drones faded away from sight.
/Oh, good, so illusions can still be used on them. Vi, keep feeding them Flames until I tell you to disperse them, and alert me of anything I would consider significant. When you're low on Flames, draw from me, okay?/
-Yes, Summoner, understood.-
The tealette dispelled the illusionary perch, and Vi fluttered to her hair, hiding her thin body under the strands, and illusioning her flame-wings. Another illusion was cast, designed to make the Box Animal's body look like a clip, courtesy of Fran.
Fran didn't see the drones moving, of course, but she trusted that the Farfalla had sent them out.
A few more seconds later, and she was on her way to Byakuran's office, with two long violet-indigo feathers intertwined in her hair.
(Ever since they'd figured out that Vi could illusion her wings two ¾ months ago, the Millefiore members had gotten used to seeing her with a hair clip on, usually of feathers or butterfly wings. Compared to a mushroom-hat, cloak, and scepter, it wasn't exactly odd.)
.
Maybe it was that lasting contentedness that has Fran a little more amiable today.
A little more trusting.
A little more considering.
(And you know what they say: it's the little bits that count.)
Whatever it is, there has to be something.
Why else would she accept...?
.
"The last Mare Ring," Fran announced, placing the object on his desk with a lot more care than she'd shown the other rings.
Byakuran picked it up and rolled it around his hand, staring intently down at it.
"Wait," he called out.
Her footsteps petered off, and teal eyes turned to look curiously back at him.
"What?"
"You know that Kikyo, Bluebell, Zakuro, and Daisy are already in the Wreaths' base, right?"
A nod. "How could I not? I went with you to recruit all of them, and I've played cards with them all before to know they aren't Real Illusions, if that's what you mean. Plus, Zakuro eats too much for an illusion."
"So you'd say that you know them pretty well, and get along with them?"
"I guess so? I mean, they all call me Fran-sama just like they call you Lord and -sama, with the exception of Bluebell who insists on calling me Fran-nee. Why?"
"Well~, getting Torikabuto at this stage seems pretty useless, then, and not just because he's only a cursed mask right now. I already have a much more powerful Mist-user, who is familiar with the usage of a Mare Ring, and has an established comradeship with my other Funeral Wreaths."
"You can't-" Draw back, brow furrowing.
"Oh, yes, I can~! Francy-chan, how'd you like to keep your Mare Ring?" Lean forward, smile widening.
"The plan for making sure that no one knows who your Funeral Wreaths are?" Deflect, avoid, stalling.
"I can still keep that up, of course. Send out a decoy, and all that jazz. No one will suspect a person hiding in plain sight, and our constant arguments would handily convince anyone who does that you couldn't possibly tolerate being a subordinate." Prompt, ready, charming.
"I don't tolerate being a subordinate." Frown, testy, hesitating.
(She's always been the subordinate, ever since Day 1, always always always, just never admitted it, refused to admit it, because admitting is conceding and that's facing facts facing reality facing truths she doesn't want to accept.
One of those truths is that a fledgling, broken-winged chickadee of a Sky Flame could never begin to compare with a blazing, proudly soaring phoenix of a Sky Flame.
Only inch closer, instinctive, attempt to feed off the excess fire, leech out some extra energy, stroke and stoke and coax the little chickadee to grow and stretch just a tiny bit more.
Another of those truths is that an unbound Mist in the presence of a Sky cannot resist the allure of Sky Attraction, be it one a conscious or subconscious level, much less an unbound Mist in the presence of a Sky lacking a Mist Guardian, who will automatically 'radiate' Sky Resonation.
Sky Resonation is the first step to Sky Harmonization, checking if the wave lengths of unbound Elements around the Sky match up into above the minimum compatibility level.
Especially strong unbound Elements 'call out' loudly to Skies seeking an Element, in a contrast to bound Elements 'repelling' other Skies, making them more desirous on an internal, primal level, as strong allies improve life expectancy.
Especially strong Skies can force an initial Resonation, which, although not a Harmonization, compels the unbound Element to be generally more agreeable towards the Sky, among various other things. A full Harmonization must be fostered over an extended period of time.
Wave lengths can change, too, as the person develops and undergoes mental changes of their own, and the higher the compatibility of the waves lengths are, the faster and more powerful a Harmonization is.
[In rare cases, strong enough Elements who seek to Harmonize with a specific Sky can reverse-Resonate. If the Sky is too weak, only Resonation can be reached, but even Resonation will strengthen the Flames of both.]
And a last, particularly important truth, is that the moment Byakuran walked into his office to discuss the upcoming Millefiore merger treaty and felt the 'call' of an especially strong unbound Mist, he forced an initial Resonation, something even he didn't discover until about a week later, when performing Flame-control exercises.
The moment he did discover it, he began to plan.
A plan that involved the Mist Mare Ring, Fran, and not-yet-contacted Torikabuto.
/Fran has stronger pure Mist Flames, and has worked with the Mare Ring for longer.../
Byakuran is still a genius, and genius' plans are often subtle.
Until they aren't.)
"Ah, no worries, Francy-chan, your position won't change at all. You'll just gain 100 A-ranked subordinates and some more soldiers to train." Assure, placate, arms spread wide in a gesture of welcome.
"And where would I find the time to do that?" Scoff, excuse, arms crossed close in a gesture of defense.
"Stop resisting and start delegating paperwork, of course~!" Humor, joke, lighten the mood.
"...I will look back on this with regret, most likely, but I'm feeling impulsive. Alright, deal." Sway, resist, reluctantly give in.
Inevitability.
Half-bound Mist and the baiting Sky, chickadees losing ground to phoenixes.
"Deal?" Confirm, excite, eyes gleam in triumph in victory in a piece of the plan clicking just right.
Slim fingers, pale fingers, buzzing with power and potential, swoop down, scoop up, silver shines slipping off the smooth ring.
Official words, recognized agreement, the ring buzzes faster and warmer and power from it's Sky.
"I shall be your Mist Funeral Wreath."
Last tendrils of a Harmonization entangle, readied from the start, nurtured delicately over months, and a Sky sighs, satisfied.
The Mist never notices, dismissing the feeble flopping and fending of her Sky Flame wisps as a reaction to re-greeting the Mare Ring, not as a natural reaction to battling another Sky's Harmonization.
After a minute or so, the chickadee folds, bowing to the phoenix.
Inevitability.
Full-bound Mist and the bonded Sky, phoenixes crowing over defeated chickadees.
.
.
.
Omake
(drama-llama and abominations):
It is a nice enough spring morning in the Millefiore Italy Base.
A certain white-haired teen and a tealette teen are breakfasting together amicably enough on the Balcony; it is early enough that the Dining Hall is nearly void of diners, and that none of the captains are eating on the Balcony with the Bosses.
They are having their usual breakfasts:
A bowl of warm milk with marshmallows and a s'mores-flavored muffin for Byakuran to stuff into his mouth.
And a plate of browned multi-grain organic toast with warmed guava preserves and a mug of hot chai tea with guava-flavored tapioca bubbles for Fran to daintily pick at.
Absorbed in the conversation/debate/argument that the two are having about whether or not delegating paperwork is morally responsible (not that either of them really care about morals at all, but they needed a point to argue other than 'it's not fair' and 'who cares? i'm the boss, aren't i?', so therefore the rather amoral villains are now arguing about morals), Byakuran barely notices what he is steadily shoveling into his mouth, only that it tastes a bit stranger than his usual tooth-rottingly saccharine sweet meal...
...until Fran pauses in her rebuttal to take a sip of her throat-boiling beverage, and he happens to glance idly down at his silverware spoon, polished and marked with a stylized 'M' for 'Millefiore' (and subsequently at his bowl).
Then he flips out (or at least flips over his spoon) and gasps.
Dramatically.
With a hand pressed flat against his chest for extra added theatrical effect.
(Fun Fact: When taking online college courses with Sho-chan at age 13, because genii are genii, Byakuran decided to take a few courses in 'Theater' and 'Shakespearian Writing' for the supposedly easy credits.
And he fell in love with them.
There was a week when he refused to speak in anything other than rhyming couplets and quotes, hence causing Sho-chan to have a nervous breakdown, which only got worse when Byakuran then decided that it was his duty as his best friend to 'nurse poor Sho-chan back to full bloom, lest he suffer and ache 'til his lonely doom', and refused to take off the Shakespearian Healer's Cosplay he had donned.
Many a feverish nightmare were born from those dark, dark days.
Thankfully for the cracked remnants of Sho-chan's sanity, Byakuran graciously reverted back to his former self on Sho-chan's 13 1/2 birthday, which he insisted on celebrating lavishly, and even apologized in a very Byakuran-esque way by not actually saying an apology, and instead convincing [bribing and threatening with a smile] Sho-chan's favorite band [Blood + Peppers] to play in person at the party.
He also gifted Sho-chan with a truly grossly expensive guitar, the complete line of Blood + Peppers merchandise, and had the band members meet Sho-chan in person after their show.
Sho-chan had smiled pleasantly at Byakuran the next day, and said, "I admit, I sometimes really hate you, but you are officially loved more than you are hated."
Then he smashed the leftover birthday cake into his face, hugged and thanked him, and all was well again.
Ah, Byakuran's such a good friend to his Sho-chan~!
[#Epic#10051#Bromance])
"What is this travesty!?"
Fran spares his meal a split-second glance before returning to her drink, finding nothing out of place (like poison).
(Although, if Byakuran's meal had been poisoned, she probably will have reacted the same way, and perhaps, if she is in a particularly saintly mood, go alert a Gray Spell paramedic...
After her breakfast is finished and she has taken her morning walk, of course.
Maybe before his theoretical corpse starts to theoretically decompose.
Maybe.)
"It's your breakfast. What, are you blind now, Byakuran? I thought you prided yourself on seeing everything; I wonder how you will do that now?"
A pause.
She corrects herself, "No, wait, I don't wonder how you will do that now, because that implies I somehow care how you do that in the first place."
Byakuran puts on a severely offended-beyond-belief expression, and points accusingly at his bowl, now throwing his head back in order to invoke that extra measure of theatricality.
"That- that- that- that thing is not my beautiful darling precious scrumdiddlyumptious breakfast! I always order marshmallows in my milk!"
(In another universe, Byakuran is not as distracted by his marshmallow-lacking milk, and duly comments about how 'Francy-chan's tsundere nature is irrepressible, hmm~?', complete with the teasing wink and suggestive tone.
In that same universe, 'Francy-chan' then proceeds to punch him.
Failing miserably, of course, as Byakuran's superior combat training and physical prowess allows him to smoothly dodge the punch.
Irritated, 'Francy-chan' settles for flicking illusionary marshmallows at him, thus reminding him of his sadly marshmallow-lacking milk, and they get back on track.)
With a sigh, Fran reluctantly tears her (blank) gaze away from her tea and turns instead to examine what has her counterpart all up in a fuss about.
"Those are marshmallows in your milk."
He appears righteously indignant, and crosses his arms in a self-justified huff.
"No, those aren't! Those are Lucky Charms."
She raises an eyebrow at the horrified tone of his voice when the words 'Lucky Charms' are mentioned in a hushed whisper.
/I probably really shouldn't ask, but...
But, damnit, whatever. I'm going to end up knowing, anyway, since he'll inevitably end up whining about it to me later, and better now than when I'm trying to take a nice relaxing bath, and he's leaned up against my bathroom door complaining because some people just don't understand the wonderful concepts of 'personal space' and 'privacy'.
Ugh.
Why is this my life.
Like, seriously.
Argh.
And now I'm depressed.
Fan-fucking-tastic./
"So? The kitchen probably ran out of marshmallows or something. Or maybe some newbie on kitchen rotation thought that you meant cereal marshmallows. Understandable mistakes."
He hisses like a sodden cat who has suddenly been betrayed by his bosom ol' bud, and rears back, eyeing the innocently floating multicolored blobs with the suspicion that you would usually see when talking to a government conspiracy theorist..
"Dehydrated marshmallows are not marshmallows at all! They are an abomination to the proud marshmallow species!"
His tone is dark and heavy and far too serious for someone discussing marshmallows.
On the inside, Fran kinda wants to laugh hysterically.
Or weep hysterically.
EIther's good, really.
/No, like, really.
How is this my fucking life now.
I don't even have a 'fucking' life.
... Okay, maybe I need some more time off.
The stress is making me think incredibly OOC thoughts./
"Sure they are. It even says so in the name," she reasons logically. "If they weren't actual marshmallows, the company making them would've gotten sued a long time ago, right?"
Good, sound logic, yes.
She just forgot that Byakuran is not someone who follows good, sound logic.
Only Byakuran truly understands 'Byakuran logic'.
And maybe Shoichi, if he's drunk enough and not yet jaded in that particular universe yet.
"They are not."
Fran just sighs again and does her one-shouldered shruggy-thingy, reaching up to pat down her poofy hat, letting out a whoosh of displaced air.
"Whatever. If you really can't stand eating the Lucky Charms, just dump it in the compost and order another bowl."
(Yes, compost.
Because Millefiore has composting bins and recycling bins and very few garbage bins.
Because Millefiore is eco-friendly and earth-conscious like that.
Well, more like Fran is, and Gray Spell worships her so they follow whatever she says with an almost religious fervor, and Byakuran goes along with it because he finds it endearing, and White Spell worships him so they follow whatever he says with an almost religious and fervor, and Black Spell kinda awkwardly shuffles into place because it's an actual rule and everything.
Same difference.)
When she sees how homicidal he still looks, she adds with an indulgent roll of the eyes, "And if you aren't satisfied with that, then go and demote the person who prepared your breakfast. Just don't kill them or fire them; it's inefficient, and produces a lot of paperwork that will inevitably end up being my job to do, seeing as you never do any."
/Paperwork-neglecting asshole.
C'mon, Fran, think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts, go to your happy place.
We don't need Marie-Anne or Gamma hustling you off to therapy again.
That's right, think of the guava and the nice long baths and that new bistro in Rome that you wanted to try out tomorrow.../
Omake
(non-canon allergies and fran cursing):
"What!?"
A horrified cry can be heard throughout the Millefiore Italy Base.
(Everyone ignores it once they realize that it comes from the direction of the two Bosses eating lunch on the Balcony.
Loud noises are basically expected them interacting.
[There is very good money on them secretly hooking up behind everyone's backs, undeterred by their young ages and caustic animosity on Fran's side.
The smart money, however, is on both of them slowly falling into friendship and then 'like' and then love, in a dramatic lovestory worthy of the dramatic Mafia history of love stories that may or may not involve copious amounts of roses and sunsets and bullets and alcohol.
Okay, the not-so-smart money, that is.])
Fran arches a single perfect teal eyebrow at the antics of her counterpart, and lazily stirs her steaming soup.
"All I said was that I don't like marshmallows," she points out flatly.
Byakuran still looks horrified.
No, positively scandalized.
"How can you not like marshmallows!?"
She shrugs and savors a spoonful of her soup.
"I don't know. I've never had a marshmallow before."
"We have to rectify that immediately, then!"
Suddenly apprehensive and alert, Fran draws back from the table and eyes him with all the wariness that that statement deserves.
Which is a lot of wariness, since, y'know, it's Byakuran saying it.
A determined Byakuran.
A determined Byakuran talking about something concerning marshmallows.
Hells have been raised and Heavens have been razed when Byakurans have had reason to fear that their squishy sticky gooey puffballs will be taken away from their greedy little grasps.
So yes, her wariness is very much justified.
And no, that's not simply Fran trying to justify her wariness to herself.
"... What are you planning?"
Smiling sunnily, the white-haired teen whistles innocently. "Noth-"
He lunges and shoves a fluffy white sugary confection (a.k.a. a marshmallow) into her mouth. "-ing!"
Fran chokes.
Gags.
Sputters.
Splutters.
Attempts, fruitlessly, to retch, which she cannot since someone is holding her fucking mouth shut that fucking asshole-!
"Wuthah'llahyu-!"
And swallows, with much difficulty.
Then promptly starts dry heaving and turning paler than she already is.
The glare she aims at Byakuran could've incinerated ice to ashes.
She kicks him soundly in his asshole-ish shins, taking vindictive pleasure out of his pained yelp and his hand's immediate retreat from her face.
"You. Fucking. Idiota," Fran snarls hoarsely, wheezing and clutching at her throat from constricting airways and a lack of breath.
"I'm allergic to marshmallows, you- you- you connard-!"
And then she topples out of her chair in a dead faint.
Byakuran winces.
That looked like it hurt.
Also, if Fran actually lost her linguistic control enough to slip into French by accident...
Wow, she must be pretty mad at him.
/Um, okay, okay, I can fix this.
I think.
I think I can fix this, I mean.
So, uh.../
He quickly calls for someone to bring her to the Infirmary, as he chuckles rather nervously.
"Hopefully she'll have calmed down a bit by the time she wakes up…"
.
Judging by the animalistic growl that comes from her the next time they met, Fran has not calmed down a bit.
Or at all, really.
Indeed, she had not forgotten any of it.
The former Gesso Boss wisely chose to turn tail and runforhisfreakinglife.
Choosing which battles are worth fighting is winning half the war, right?
Yeah.
Okay.
That's the excuse he's sticking to.
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Sorry, it's a short-ish chapter today. Also, a reminder that some omakes will be Replacement!canon-compliant, and some may not strictly be. The omake with the cursing above actually contradict an extra scene that's in Chapter... 29, I think, or 28. Omakes are meant to be a bit cracky and overall lighthearted fun, though, and extra scenes are just extras, while background info is in the name. Deleted scenes are pure crack. It's your choice if you choose to think of them as part of the story or not.
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(Okay, well, maybe he doesn't really love shouting it, since that usually means that he's pissed off, but you get the idea. Hopefully.)