Chapter Two: Freezing Fire
"Fuck!"
Jeanne pulled a book off of the shelf, strained to read its title—The... Life... and... Legacy... of... Sir... Francis... Drake, no, fuck that!—and threw it onto the table. It joined a growing pile of tomes pulled from various shelves around Chaldea's library. She had a sense that the collection was roughly organized by topic—the manga all sat on a few bookcases near the entrance, after all. If she checked enough books, she was bound to find the right section without having to figure out that cow-chested librarian's overcomplicated system.
Growling under her breath, she impatiently yanked another book from the next bookcase over.
"Lives... of... the... F... French... Saints—!"
A heavy thump echoed as the book violently hit the wall.
"Jesus motherfucking Christ, get the fuck down here right now and fight me if you're trying to piss me off so bad!"
"Hey!" someone hissed from a nook a short distance away. "You're in a library, urushut your m—"
When Jeanne turned her glare toward the voice, all she saw was a pink hoodie with bat ears before it made an "eep!" sound and disappeared. Slippery bitch. As much as she wanted to force the bat to find the book for her, it was fucking annoying to grab Servants in Spirit Form without tearing their essence. And, of course, Master had rules about doing that, like she had rules about doing anything.
Why the fuck did I even come here? All she does is box me in and then punish me when I try to do literally anything.
She ground her teeth. None of this was getting her any closer to that damn book. At this rate, she was going to have to swallow her pride and ask someone. Sighing, Jeanne moved towards the reference desk. Might as well make it Cow-Tits, anyone would do so long as it wasn't —
"So the Fool of Orleans returns to our hallowed shelves." Of course at that exact fucking moment, the puny twerp author had to drop by to make everything worse. "Are you quite done, or can we expect another pathetic encore?"
"Shut the fuck up before I set your pages on fire and force you to eat the ashes," she growled.
"No worse than my editors have done," he drawled. "I have enough messes to clean up without you scratching the rug and yowling for attention." He motioned with one hand dismissively. "Go on. Scram."
"You motherfu—" Before she could burn that ridiculous mop of blue hair right off, she spotted a familiar teal cover under his arm. She took a step forward and reached out. "Oi. Let me see that."
"I think not." He raised an eyebrow and took a step back. "You have clearly proven yourself incapable of even basic housebreaking. I am not about to put this anywhere near you, especially not a first edition copy."
"I said give it to me," she demanded, channeling all of her resentment and frustration from searching for this goddamn novel for the past half-hour into her glare.
"I have been lenient enough to let you molest the comics." He easily returned her glare with a narrowed gaze of his own. "You are not getting your filthy paws on this."
Rather than bother to argue further, she lunged forward to grab it out of his hands. But somehow, despite being half her height and a fucking Caster, he narrowly dodged her attempt and repositioned himself to put the table between them.
"And now you resort to violence," he said. "How predictable. You wouldn't even make a good villain in a children's fable. The most you can hope for is to be the brutish henchman at his side."
She inhaled deeply and clenched her fist.
"I'm going to kill you," she stated icily.
"Spare me the petty death threats, please." With an infuriating roll of his eyes, he turned and started to walk away. "If you continue to tarry, you will not be allowed in again for a very long time. Why don't you do us both a kindness, and find a different prowling ground? Go caterwaul somewhere else."
He turned the corner of a bookcase. Jeanne let out a wordless yell and threw herself forward, ready to fucking throttle the little shit because if she could just get her hands on him, she could snap his neck in an instant—
But the moment she turned the same corner, she found herself at the end of an ornamented staff and a folded paper fan. Both Cow-Tits and the sultan's whore were waiting for her. Their normally mild expressions were hardened, a glint of steel in their eyes.
"I think you had better leave," said Cow-Tits. "You can consider this a three-months probation."
The hatred erupted from her gut and seized her mouth. "Like I'd ever want to come back to your shithole. I can find toilet paper somewhere else."
The whore's face momentarily flinched, but instead of receding into her usual simper, she had the gall to look stern. "Please do not make us call the peacekeepers. We—"
"Fuck you." Jeanne pushed them both aside and thundered towards the exit. "Fuck all of you."
The slam of the wooden doors behind her was a small, vicious satisfaction that lasted all of ten paces before it was consumed in the rage that boiled beneath her flesh. Those fucking pretentious assholes were probably talking shit about her, things they'd never dare say without Master's precious fucking edicts shielding them.
God, if only she'd only gotten her hands on him. She could just see the blue brat's eyes bulging in terror as her fingers pressed down on his throat, sinking in and making him gasp and squeal for his life. The ecstasy washed through her as his last raspy breaths echoed in her ears, his puny legs kicking in the air—
Jeanne's hand was halfway towards the staff member cowering against the wall before she snapped it back.
What the fuck am I doing?
She took in the trembling woman before her, frozen like a deer before the wolf.
Who the hell is this?
Their eyes locked for a moment, harsh gold on hazel. Her hand went rigid at her side.
I nearly just... fuck!
The Avenger pulled herself away violently, and the thump of the woman's knees hitting the floor followed her.
The hatred didn't feel like fire anymore, warming her on the inside. It was acid in her veins, poisoning her lungs until she felt like doubling over and spewing it all out on the shiny white tile. She grit her teeth.
Chin up. Back straight. Keep fucking walking. No weakness.
Headpats and hugs weren't for creatures like Jeanne. She commanded no sympathy or camaraderie from the people of Chaldea, only fear. She wasn't about to lose it because of one bad day.
Tightening her stomach, she bit back the bile in her throat and stormed through the oppressively spotless halls until she found a training room. A rictus grin spread over her face when she saw the concrete and rebar dummies, lined up and waiting for her. Beating up inanimate objects wasn't as colorful as splattering some faceless Roman's intestines on the soil, but unlike any fight in the simulator, she could actually feel the blocks fracturing under her fists.
With a roar, she fell upon the first one. It fissured in half, one side breaking to pieces as it hit the ground. The red hair of that emo knight tore off his scalp, and he cringed as some rubble fell into his eye. More shattered concrete—she knocked the Sumerian slut off her stupid fucking boat and stomped her face into the dirt.
With each violent blow and resulting crack, each annoyance broken at her feet, a little bit of the acid drained away.
But in its wake, she could finally see what happened with a little more clarity.
I fucked up.
Her knuckles ached as she turned another block to rubble.
Again.
Her heel stung as she smashed her foot through a metal skeleton.
As usual.
She let out a scream of rage and clutched at her head.
"God fucking damn it!" she howled. "Why is it always like this!?"
All she'd wanted was that miserable book. In and out, then back to her room to struggle through it. No way in hell she was getting her hands on it now. Worse, she could kiss the manga goodbye. She'd never know what happened following the maiden's betrayal of the beast, she'd tear her hair out for weeks wondering, all because she couldn't hold her temper for five fucking minutes.
Panting hard, Jeanne grabbed the last dummy with both hands and hurled it to the ground. Then she stomped hard on it, snarling with every blow. It didn't make her feel any better.
"You stupid piece of shit!" she screamed at its twisted remains. "Worthless, absolutely fucking worthless!"
The ache in her throat brought her to a stop. Grimacing, she walked over to the water bottles stacked near the far wall and pulled one to her lips. The liquid was cool and clear. It should have felt refreshing going down. But it soothed nothing, only left her thirstier than ever.
A knock on the door forced her attention outwards again. She rolled her eyes, wondering which sorry loser had to pick up the pieces that she'd left all over (because it sure as hell wasn't going to be Jeanne).
The door slid open.
"Of fucking course," she muttered. "You must be having one hell of a laugh, huh, asshole?"
"Who are you talking to?" Her saintly face stared back at her with a gentle smile.
Several sacreligious responses came to mind, but the hatred had temporarily exhausted itself to embers, and she couldn't find the venom to spit at her other self.
"Who do you think?" she said with a weak sneer. "The usual suspect. Did he send you here? You only ever do what he tells you to, after all."
The smile didn't drop one bit. "Though it is by His grace that I could arrive to this bastion for His children, it is by my own will that I have come to see you."
"Blessed be his name, yadda yadda yadda." Jeanne rolled her eyes. "You've seen me. Now fuck off."
The spark of pity that flashed in the saint's eyes threatened to ignite the fire again. Luckily, she didn't seem about to give it voice. Maybe she'd learned something from their screaming matches after all.
"I think it would be to your advantage to hear me out," she said after a moment.
"Yeah?" Jeanne crossed her arms. "Go on. Surprise me."
Instead of saying anything, the other her reached into a satchel Jeanne only now noticed at her side, and pulled out that fucking book—!
"Is this some kind of joke?" Jeanne snapped.
The saint shook her head. "I had heard you were looking for this, so I prevailed on Hans to cede it to me."
"And you're just going to hand it over to me, are you?" she growled. "I don't want your fucking charity."
Anyone else might have felt gratitude, but Jeanne could only feel spite bubble up. A second chance at what she'd set out for, even if it came from the bitch's hand, and all she had to do was reach out and take it. But she wouldn't—couldn't. Not with the bitterness flooding her mouth, not with the hatred whispering in her ear.
"It's not charity," the saint said patiently, "because I expect something in return."
Jeanne blinked, then set her face back into its customary scowl. "Yeah? What do you want?"
"I want to talk with you for a little bit... as sisters. You always run away from me."
"That's because I'm not your fucking sister," Jeanne snarled. "I'm your twisted funhouse mirror, remember?"
The saint made a non-committal sound and rocked on her feet, her gentle smile still in place. It looked completely different from the Monster's—not a single crack to be found. It was the smile that the Monster wished she could have, the smile that someone would only wear when they found inner peace.
The smile forever denied to monsters.
The embers of her hatred sparked, threatening to flicker back to life. Then Jeanne's gaze strayed to the book still held in the other's hand.
It was a close thing.
"Ten minutes, tops," she muttered.
The smile turned into a grin. "Follow me, please."
[Cold hands on hearts]
"This is nice," said the saint as she relaxed into the cafeteria's cheap plastic chair. "Is there anything I can get you? The lunch menu should just be starting."
"It's your ten minutes," said Jeanne with more than a hint of mockery. "Waste them however you want."
With a regretful sigh, the saint folded her hands on the table. "Let's get to it, then." Blue eyes looked searchingly into Jeanne's face. "How have you been doing lately?"
"Small talk?" An eyebrow rose. "Really?" The sneer returned. "Great, incredible. Best fucking days of my life. Never been happier."
"I fear you're not being entirely truthful with me."
"No shit?" Jeanne's eyes widened in mock surprise. "What gave it away?"
The saint didn't dignify that with a response. "Shakespeare told me what you did."
"That asshole never knows when to shut his goddamn mouth."
"He also said that he convinced the other librarians to let you return in a couple of weeks."
Jeanne gave her a flat stare.
"I didn't ask him to," the saint added, "if that gives you any comfort."
"I'm not going to thank him for it," said Jeanne, crossing her arms. "Or you."
"Then can you do something for me instead?"
"Don't push your luck. You said talk for ten minutes, not fucking trade favors."
The saint blatantly ignored her. Bitch. "Can you explain why you were so upset earlier?"
"Are you fucking stupid?" Jeanne tilted her head in astonishment. "They kicked me out—"
"No, before that," the saint interrupted. "You went to the library to find this book, not to cause trouble."
"You don't know that." Jeanne hated the petulance in her own voice.
"Am I wrong?"
"Tch. Whatever." She glanced at the clock on the wall. Fuck, hasn't even been four minutes.
"So?" the saint pressed.
"I got pissed off. What more do you need to know?"
"People rarely get angry over nothing. There is always a spark to ignite the fire."
Jeanne barked a harsh laugh. "I'm an Avenger, moron. All I do is hate and get pissed off. This is just another Tuesday for me."
"Were you not able to find this book?"
"I would have managed just fine if the blue twerp wasn't hiding it from me." Faced with steady blue eyes, she gave an angry huff. "No, I couldn't find it. Happy now? It's not like you could have done any better."
"That's true," conceded the saint. "But I would have asked someone to help me. Why didn't you?"
There was no accusation in her voice, just honest curiosity. That made it worse.
"...I was going to..." Jeanne mumbled. "But then that asshole got in my way and pissed me off."
"What did he say?"
"Doesn't fucking matter. Just seeing his stupid smug face makes me sick."
The saint drummed her fingers on the table. "This isn't the first time you and Hans have... disagreed."
Jeanne snorted. "More like he talks shit and I nearly snap his neck."
"But it's unusual for you to actually make the attempt." The other arched an eyebrow. "What was different this time to compel you over that line?"
"You wouldn't get it," she sneered. "Rage doesn't run in your veins. You can't get angry like I do."
The saint's insufferable smile didn't falter an inch as her sky-blue eyes held Jeanne's gaze. A few uncomfortable heartbeats passed before the Avenger looked away, and hated herself for it.
"I remember how difficult it was to stand at les Tourelles," said the saint at last. "When the arrow throbbed in my neck, and it was all I could do to breathe. Staggering to my feet, only to fall to my knees, again and again."
She paused, and Jeanne hated that she felt a phantom pain echo near her carotid artery.
"So many times I despaired that dawn would never come. But I prayed to Him, and grit my teeth to try again. And when the sun finally rose, our banner was there to greet it."
"It doesn't work like that, dumbass," Jeanne replied, more weary than she was supposed to be for some unknown reason. "I don't get a sunrise. Only a moonless night that never ends."
The image of the Monster reading her book returned to her, only illuminated by a full moon at midnight. As if she wasn't on the verge of snapping her book in half, as if she wasn't one twitch away from giving in to the rage and the pain. Jeanne grit her teeth as the anger returned, full force.
"Try again," said the saint gently, as if she didn't see the tension hitching her counterpart's shoulders. "Even if you don't believe the sun will ever come, even if you think it's only a delusion… that faint moonlight can still guide you through the dark."
Jeanne snapped a glance at the clock. Eight minutes!? Just fucking end me already, I can't take this anymore.
"Do you have any other words of wisdom you feel like handing over, or can I just leave early?" she said dismissively.
"One more thing, if you'll allow it," the saint said.
Jeanne waved a hand. "Get it over with."
"The next volume of Hunter's Moon is coming out in two weeks," she smiled. "Osakabehime made sure it's on the library's order list."
"And?" Jeanne replied, crossing her arms and leaning back.
"I see." The saint closed her eyes and sighed. "Then you really have no intention of returning."
"I didn't fucking say that, bitch," she snarled.
Blue eyes blinked open, then the sappy smile was back, brighter than ever. "I'm glad. Though if you decide this," she gestured to the table, "is more comfortable, I'm happy to bring you any book you wish."
"If I have to choose between the Nerd Hive and you, I think I'd rather kill myself." Jeanne slapped a hand onto the book and dragged it towards her. "Anything else?"
The saint glanced at the book, then shook her head. "I think that will do. Thank you for your patience." She gave her yet another fucking smile. "I realize it was a burden to you, but... I did enjoy our conversation."
"Well, better cuddle up real close to it at bedtime," Jeanne sneered as she stood up. "Because it's never happening again."
The saint opened her mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it, and just smiled and nodded. It made Jeanne's blood boil. She stomped away before she started spitting fire in the other's general direction.
Finally. I can't believe that fucking Monster put me through this much bullshit.
The cloth cover of the book felt rough under her fingers.
And that's just the start. Now I'm gonna have to work my way through this shit. Gonna take me a while.
Another vision flashed before her eyes. The girl's shoulders hunched in misery as Jeanne ripped her comforting little fantasies to pieces. Or even better, howling as the rage overtook her, spitting hatred until the Avenger could believe she was looking into a scarred mirror.
No sign of that stupid smile anywhere.
The corner of Jeanne's lip lifted in a cruel smirk.
Enjoy your dreams while you can. You won't have them for much longer.
Today, May 30th, 2021, is the 590th anniversary of Jeanne d'Arc's death. The coincidence was not intended, but it feels right nonetheless. Remember that saints, too, were people once.
I'm sure some of you might be feeling put off by how angry Jeanne Alter is. You may want to drop the fic at this point, then, because she won't really be getting less angry. It's an important cornerstone of our characterization of her.
Your ending theme is The Ultimate Weapon, composed by Keiichi Okabe and covered by TPR Piano.
As always, thanks for reading.