The Three Gs
Upon getting into contact with Chaldea, the group angled towards the forests of Jura, aiming for the leyline there. Most of the group trudged along, Jeanne leading the way with her familiarity of the countryside while Mash stuck to the edges of the group, keeping a wary eye out for stray wyverns. Scheherazade skulked along behind Trent, dutifully moving a half step behind him, playing the role of the quietly loyal vizier. Finally, Medb was slung over the blond's shoulder, one elbow digging into his back and supporting her chin while the other was pointed at the ground, blood falling from her fingers as she pouted.
As they trooped onwards, the pinkette grumbled, "Why are we walking? We could use my chariot and get there much faster."
"Medb, darling, sweetie, babe," Trent began, listing off different ways of referring to the queen, only to receive a light jab to his back. Light for Medb, so naturally it was enough to make the blond wince and would probably leave a bruise. Taking the cue for what it was, he finished, "I do not want to climb into your rape-wagon. I do not want to put Mash in your rape-wagon. I do not want to put Shez in your rape-wagon. And I very much do not want to put Jeanne d'Arc in your rape-wagon."
"It's not a rape-wagon!" Medb protested, her legs flailing and causing the blond to flinch instinctively as her knees came close to his ribs. "My lovely chariot is an excellent vehicle for both combat and transport!"
Trent's eyes darted to the side, meeting those of the Saint they were travelling with. A moment of understanding passed between them, and the Ruler nodded to him to continue. Taking a deep breath, the blond replied, "Medb, what do you do with your chariot?"
"Travel places, run over chaff, have sex in it," the pinkette listed off immediately, watching as the blood that dripped from her fingers grew into Handsome Braves, an evergrowing legion of the warriors trailing behind them.
"Right," the Canuck agreed, nodding slowly as the group continued to trudge on. "And how many of those partners are willing?"
There was a pause, which Trent assumed was the queen twisting to look at the back of his head in incredulity, based on what he felt from her shifting. Wiggling, she made a point of bumping her hips into the side of his head as she scoffed, "Have you seen me? Of course they were willing! After the first hour or so, they always stop screaming!"
Breathing deeply, Trent had to steady himself to keep from biting back a sharp retort, and once more deal with the fact that he was dealing with Medb. Attractive as she was physically, she got up to some shit. "Medb, if there's no consent, it's rape. You are a rapist, Medb."
"They all consent eventually!" the Rider protested, wiggling violently upon his shoulder.
"Do they consent or stop speaking?" Trent asked, his eyes closed as he dealt with the Celt's darker aspects.
"They stop complaining! And usually speaking…" Medb trailed off, sounding ponderous for a few moments as she relaxed. "They get boring and stop moving after that, so I usually throw them out after that."
"That's because they're dead, Medb," the blond ground out, his free hand coming up to massage his forehead. "You literally rape people to death."
"Puh-leeze, Master," the pinkette replied, managing to sound both offended and proud of herself. Were it not for his burgeoning headache and the fact that they were on a strict timetable, Trent might have had to stop and just stare at the queen. "I'm a master of combat sex."
Internally the blond was screaming at himself not to retort, to tell her that wasn't a thing. But he was also well aware of the fact that if he disagreed she'd probably find some way to prove that it was, and he really wasn't in the mood for that. Before he could say anything, Scheherazade spoke up, "To answer the question that Master left unanswered, Queen Medb, the acquisition of more troops for our later endeavours against our foes in this Singularity is of great import, which means that balancing travel time against the number of soldiers we have has fallen in the favour of the latter."
"Eh, but isn't it better if we clear this whole shindig fast though?" Medb asked, her legs kicking in the air now as she seemed to have calmed down.
"Technically," Trent grunted, his expression stony as he noticed Jeanne looking between the group curiously. He thought about addressing her directly, but knew that the Heroic Spirit hoisted over his shoulder wouldn't stand for it. "As it stands, we're going against a force of an unknown size, made up of wyverns and who knows whatever else. Given that the soldiers we briefly encountered have had time to come up with measures to distract and appease the wyverns, it's likely been long enough that were they a small force the enemy would've been routed already."
Medb's feet stopped as the blond caught sight of Jeanne nodding in agreement. The Saint of Orleans took a moment to clear her throat, and added, "More than that, given that we're working with both a lack of information and we don't know how long our opponents have had to build up their forces and fortify their position, having a large group would make our own campaign more likely to succeed."
"Man," Medb sighed, her body going limp on her Master's shoulder as the wind left her sails. "This isn't how I like to be double teamed."
Trent looked up at the sky, ignoring how the breeze tried to blow the Rider's skirt into his eye. A part of him wanted to scream, another wanted to die, a third part was considering just dropping Medb. The dirty part considered threatening to spank her if she didn't stop, but was silenced by his minimal sense of self-preservation.
Instead, the blond sighed.
A weight landed on his other shoulder, causing him to turn to look at the source. There was Mash, easily carrying her massive shield in her off hand while the other came to rest on the Canuck's shoulder. Their eyes met, and in that moment they were connected by an unspoken kinship.
Peace and quiet settled over the group, the sound of birdsong trickling into their ears.
Then Medb, glutton for any sort of stimulation that she was, reached down with her unbloodied hand and grabbed Trent's butt. The blond swore and started at the sudden groping, his head whipping around and essentially just covering his face in her skirt as he hollered, "Medb, what the hell?"
"You got a pretty nice butt, Master, even if your uniform does you no favours," the pink-haired Rider replied, still squeezing the pliant flesh. Massaging it and causing the Master to twitch and shake, trying to free himself, even as Medb continued, "We can make it better though. Maybe we'll need to add some more squats to your regi- Hey!"
Abruptly, her hand was pulled away, Mash's fingers wrapped around her wrist. While Trent tried to pull his head free from the Celt's skirt, he heard the Shielder declare, "Please, Rider, this is not the time for this. Especially given that it's clearly making Master uncomfortable."
Trent didn't hear a reply from Medb, and was about to put the thought to bed, when Mash broke the silence again. "Rider, what are you trying to do?"
"Well, since you said that Master's no good, I figured you might be up for some fun," the queen replied, sounding rather disgruntled. "You've got some great curves, I bet you've had loads of fun putting them to work."
Mash sounded somewhere between horrified and incredulous as she started, "I-"
"Ooh! How about we swap stories! I can tell you about this cute family down near the Lough Corrib," Medb started to chatter, sounding the most energetic she'd managed to since the battle earlier in the day. "The husband was a bit of a cold fish, but the wife was full of energy and was a real biter! The sons and daughters were real fun too, once I got them going!"
Finally managing to get Medb's skirt out of his face, Trent was treated to the sight of Mash, her eyes wide and mouth hanging open, a dusting of red on her cheeks. "That is- I mean, Rider-"
"If you'll excuse me," Scheherazade cut in, clearing her throat to get Medb and Mash's attention. "As a storyteller, I believe that I can provide such entertainment, should you so desire."
As the Caster started to weave a tale of love, lust, and adventure, Trent let out a sigh, hoping it would at least keep the Rider entertained. Only barely listening to the story, he kept most of his attention on the road ahead.
"You've a curious cadre," Jeanne said quietly as she circled in front of Trent, making sure to give the bubble that had formed around Medb a bit of distance. "Not the sort of group I would have expected to see, if I'm being honest."
The Canadian nearly shrugged but stopped short, having realised that it would disturb Medb. Sighing through his nose, he admitted, "Well, stopping the apocalypse makes for strange bedfellows."
"Oh my," the Saint of Orleans remarked quietly, a gauntleted hand coming up to hide her mouth. "I hadn't wanted to assume, given how Rider acts, but if that truly is the case…"
"Wha- no!" Trent's voice fell into a hiss as his eyes went wide, realising just what Jeanne was implying. His eyes darted to the opposite side to make sure he hadn't disturbed anyone, and when he was sure he hadn't, he grunted, "Honestly, I sort of get why you'd assume so, given Medb and Scheherazade's history, but no. I'm not Medb's type and I'm pretty damn sure I wouldn't survive it if she decided that she would condescend to me as I am now. For Scheherazade… I want her to trust me, and actually have a relationship beyond just… that. And Mash…"
The blond trailed off, the acrid scent of smoke clogging his nose as he let out a sigh. "She's beautiful, amazing, and so, so special, and I'm entirely the wrong person for her." Smiling wearily, he ignored the phantom smog tingling at his eyes as he remarked, "So, yeah. Nothing there. Not as we currently are."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean any offence," the Saint murmured, blinking as her face fell in contrition. "Given the dynamics of your group, as well as my own understanding of such relationships, I've made a rather large gaff."
"It's fine, as I said, I understand the image we present, given our frontrunners," Trent replied, his free hand coming up to scrub through his hair.
After a few moments where the only sounds were Scheherazade weaving a tale for Medb and Mash, Jeanne spoke. Her tone was cautious, and her words carefully measured as she kept her gaze on the path ahead of them. "Might I ask what you meant by calling yourself 'the wrong person?' You spoke as if you were aware of who she was meant to be with."
Trent's eyes widened as he realised what he said, the fact that he had shared something he probably shouldn't have. Taking a deep breath, he quietly answered, "I… wasn't supposed to be the one here, fighting beside you and her. That person… she protected me, saved my life and was critically injured when I ended up somewhere that I shouldn't have. She's out of commission, so here I am."
The Saint hummed, her expression carefully blank. "Isn't that rather sad? Just seeing yourself as a replacement?"
"That's…" the Canadian trailed off, his mouth falling open.
Jeanne wasn't wrong. From the very beginning, he'd been saying that he had to continue because Ritsuka wasn't there. That, because she was injured, someone needed to replace her in her journey.
A replacement for a replacement, in the eyes of most of the Crypters and even Chaldea's staff.
But, that was inherently wrong.
Ritsuka didn't follow the path she did as a means to replace anyone, she just did it because she was following what she considered to be the correct one. She stood up, not to replace Team A, but because there wasn't anyone else who [i]could[/i] stand for humanity.
Trent Blackmore wasn't Ritsuka Fujimaru, that was as clear as day. Her path was hers, and not one he could follow. They could stand for the same reason, but there was no way he could continue if he kept viewing himself as nothing more than a stand in for her.
Turning his gaze skyward, Trent let out a sigh. "You're not wrong, Jeanne. I guess… I guess that's something I'm going to have to consider. My path through the Grand Order, not h-" he stopped, and swallowed, coming to another realisation that he'd need to change. Nodding, he finished, "My path, not Ritsuka's. Thank you, Jeanne, for the wake up call."
A hand landed on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
He wasn't sure whose it was, and the Canadian didn't bother to check. Looking into the clear sky, his gaze caught on the band of light.
Even if he didn't know his path, he had a purpose.
Trent continued forward.
