035 - The Witch and the Dragon (Part 2)
Jeanne D'Arc (?)
Fighting (her original) the fake isn't going anything like she hoped it would.
Sure, the blonde bimbo has nothing on her. Weakened to the point where she barely counts as a Servant, deprived of the key Spirit Origin pieces (she was built around) that make her into the Holy Maiden of Orleans recorded into Human History, (her original) the fake is barely anything more than a (kind) naive and (warm) foolish young girl that just so happens to be ridiculously stubborn and resilient.
Resilient or not, though, Jeanne could absolutely demolish (her original) the fake if she went all out. Problem is… that wouldn't solve anything. Yeah, she'd prove she's stronger than a crippled bimbo running on fumes, at least while plugged to a Holy Grail for infinite power. Real fucking impressive, that'd surely show them all -whoever 'them all' are supposed to be- and help her sleep soundly at night.
And the full extent of her abilities begins and ends with her capability for violence, which doesn't really give her many other ways of making progress. Yes, things aren't going anything like she hoped. Then again, that might have something to do with not holding hopes in the first place.
Her world is her hatred and, for a while, clinging to it with all she had was enough to keep her going but… that can only work for so long. Things more or less worked while she was winning, she could even bring herself to feel somewhat satisfied, there was no need to think forward, to consider consequences or… well, no need to strain her mind in general. Victory is a hell of a drug.
It becomes considerably harder to keep that mentality going when one encounters meaningful resistance. Like Rogue Servants particularly equipped to counter her own forces. Or visitors from a faraway future shoving the wrongness of your own existence on your face. Hurdles that forced her to stop and take notice. Or her original showing up to chastise her in person when she should be nothing more than a voided out and discarded husk. God may or may not exist, but there's no doubt the world itself is rising against what she's trying to do here in France.
Sooner or later, even she had no choice but to realize a world made out of hatred can only end with her arms wrapped around a pile of cold ashes. What sort of retarded piece of shit would think there's a point in such a future?
Ah… it's useless. She can't even stick to her own script anymore. She's done for.
"Errr… Miss Dragon Witch?" Her original pulls away instead of capitalizing on the blatant opening. Even in the middle of an active conflict, that idiot blonde will be polite until the fucking end. "Why are you…?"
"Putting away my weapon?" She completes the sentence for her. "Why not?"
"Weren't we… fighting?" The way the original tilts her head in confusion is fucking (adorable) revolting. "I do believe you were winning, even."
"I don't need your fucking pity. This fight ends because I said so and that's that." She huffs disdainfully, resting her hands on her hips and letting out a frustrated sigh when it becomes clear her original isn't going to leave things there. "Is there any point in continuing? We both know the truth by now, don't we?"
"I only suspected. But if even you have reached the same conclusion…" Her original trails off with annoying humility of hers. Classical Jeanne. "There's no point in keeping my thoughts quiet anymore, is it? That you are—"
"A counterfeit woman, bearing a fabricated grudge, and walking towards a manufactured fate." The Fake Jeanne cuts off her original to seal her fate with her own words she'll have at least this much. "Out of the two of us, the fake life was never yours. That was all me."
Of course, that hack Gilles would make himself a dutch wife in his basement and then simp all over her without ever daring to touch like the virgin loser he is. In retrospect that makes so much fucking sense. Nevermind that she would've burn down his fucking hand if he had tried, or that his murder boner had always been against God in the first place, it's the principle of the damn thing!
"Your life is not fake!"
"Eh? What are you huffing, you useless bimbo?" The Fake asks, reluctantly grateful that the interruption had shaken her thoughts off the strange paths they were taking. "I'm your worst memories giving shape to a mass of grudges and hatred, what am I if not a fake?"
"Even if you were created through unsavory means, that doesn't mean your identity has to be defined by these events!" Jeanne retorts hotly, an uncharacteristically intense expression on her face. "The circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant. It is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are."
The Fake's heart throbs painfully, the Original's words filling her chest with foreign feelings.
"How are you doing…?" The Fake growls, a hand reaching to grasp her own heart before she realizes what she's doing and aborts the motion. "No, nevermind that."
Is that what hope feels like? No, hope is too strong a word. Relief. A weight she didn't know she was bearing, suddenly off her shoulders. Just like that.
"I'm… sorry? I don't really know what you mean." The Original takes a worried step towards the Fake, unsure what's going on. "These words are just my heartfelt opinion, but I'll apologize if I've caused offense."
"And you didn't even realize what you were doing." The Fake shakes her head with bitter incredulity, even as she takes a step back to stay away from the Original's grasp. "Tsk! Of course you didn't. That Revelation skill of yours is truly unfair, you know?"
"I… Yes?" The blonde bimbo turning her life upside down has no business looking so cute when she's acting clueless!
"Where does that leave us?" The Fake quickly switches topics. "I was made to fulfill Gilles' dreams, I realize that now. But I was also made to be you, and I can't be both and I don't know which one pisses me off more!"
The heat she's feeling on her cheeks is clearly due to her current rage and annoyance, of course. What else could it be?
"I believe…" The Original trails off slowly before nodding to herself and meeting the Fake's eyes head on. "That you should be pissed off!"
"Oh? The perfect holy maiden is advocating for wrath now?" The Fake feels a smile creeping up her lips, somehow feeling more at ease now that they're treading familiar ground. "Against her own old friend, no less?"
"I don't know what's going through Gilles' head, but he's getting a stern talking-to once we're done here!" The original crosses her arms and huffs and puffs and… fuck, that's an adorable pout. "Where does he get off, trying to make you become me? You are yourself and nobody else!"
"And who is it that I am, miss perfect?" The Fake asks sardonically, forcefully refocusing the conversation towards the existential questions she sorely misses not having to worry about. "If you hadn't noticed, that's half the problem!"
"I'd usually say that's for you to figure out, but…" The Original trails off, maybe realizing for once in her life how unhelpful her platitudes actually are. "That's not the answer you're hoping for, is it?"
Oh, would you look at that! Self-awareness on her Original! Will the sun be setting eastwards too? "No shit, Sherlock!"
"You know? With all this conversation…" Her Original muses without really acknowledging her sarcastic words. "Something Miss Haku said comes to mind."
"Who is Miss– Wait, you mean that redhead menace?" The Fake asks in dismay. "What does that womanizer have to do with any of this?"
"I won't go into the details, but she insinuated that I'd make for a good big sister." The Original unhelpfully explains without really explaining anything. "I think it was just a joke, something to tease me and Mashu over, but it got me thinking."
"A small miracle all on its own." The Fake rolls her eyes in amusement. There's no reason for wrath anymore, so obviously her cheeks cannot still be burning. That's just common sense.
"Being a big sister... I don't regret the way my life went, but that's still something I never got to experience."
Her Original smiles fondly and the fake has no choice but to begrudgingly acknowledge that a smile fits that woman better than a frown. Dumb blondes shouldn't have anything to worry about, that's just unnatural.
"These last few days though, traveling around with Mashu and Miss Haku and everyone else, I couldn't quite put it out of my mind. It's only been a few days, so we didn't really have time to do much with it but… Mashu looking up to me, putting her trust in me, even if I can't really live up to her expectations… It made me wish I could have the real thing."
Oh, no. Dawning realization forms a pit inside her stomach as a premonition takes shape in her mind. Her Original couldn't possibly mean what the Fake thinks she means, right? It's just not possible, right? Nobody can be that dumb, that forgiving or that shameless!
"Someone close to me, to pamper and look after." The Original continues wistfully, giving the Fake a pointed look. "To show the way forward and whose achievements I could feel proud of."
"You useless, daydreaming airhead!" The dumb blonde does! In spite of the Fake's low expectations on her Original, the truth somehow still managed to surprise her. "I'm your same age. I'm your copy!"
"But you only have a few memories, don't you? Of war and pain and betrayal… you never got to experience a childhood, or mother's warm cooking and her soft embrace…" Her Original trails off each word feeling like a stab through her heart. "Do you remember ever being happy, at least?"
The Fake looks away, refusing to answer the blatant trick question.
"I don't want to get ahead of myself, or belittle you or impose on you, but…" The Fake idly considers giving a knuckle sandwich to that painfully earnest face that's just asking to be punched. "Wouldn't that lack of experiences make you the younger one?
"That doesn't mean shit. Memories are dumb." She grumps, more for the sake of it than any proper plan or ulterior motive. "Most people can't even remember what they had for breakfast half the time."
"If it's actual age we're talking about, you're actually only a few weeks old, aren't you?"
Her heart is throbbing painfully again. She might be the first Servant ever to die of diabetes. (Or maybe this is what hope actually feels like.)
"What do you say…" The Original pushes, stretching out a hand in open offer. "Sisters?"
Of course, she doesn't take it. It would be dumb and stupid. Fabricated or not, fake or not, she's the villain of this story. She's the Dragon Witch who burned countless men and women to death and commanded her armies to kill even more. There's no redemption waiting for her at the end of the journey, just a swift death at the hands of the heroes.
Unbeknownst to her, her feet step forward unbidden.
Even if redemption… Fuck, even if simple exoneration was on the table, she certainly wouldn't want to spend a minute longer than necessary around her Original. Instead, she'd take the chance to put as much distance between the two of them as she could feasibly manage. Heck, she'd just stay the hell away from all this mess if at all poss—
Eh? When did she make her way to her Original? Why is her hand reaching out?
As she looks up, toward the bright and unguarded blue eyes of her original, full of hope and sincerity. She finds that she doesn't have it on her to pull back or slap the offered hand away. It might be unfair of her, cowardly, irresponsible, embarrassing, naive and idiotic, but maybe… maybe there's something in the Original's words, after all?
What the hell, if she's the villain anyway, she might do the villainous thing and shamelessly accept the undeserved—
*Splurt*
Right as she was about to take the offered hand, a tentacle erupts from the Original's chest, ripping right through her heart. The dumb smile on the blonde's face is replaced by a surprised gasp and a rictus of pain.
This… This can't–! Why is this…?
The tentacle twitches and squirms, full of thorns and teeth and barbs and mouths and… and it's eating her Original's still-beating heart. She can't think, she can't move. Her heartbeat is thrumming on her eardrums and air can't reach her lungs.
How is this…? What is this…? How did this even–!?
While she's busy freezing up uselessly, her original acts. Her pained face, drained of color until the two of them could truly pass for twins, morphs into an expression of resolve once again. The Original leans forward, uncaring of the way the motion makes the thorny tentacle rip into her already wrecked ribcage, to forcefully take the Fake's hand between hers.
Her lips part. For a moment, the Fake fears no word will ever manage to leave them.
"I leave…" Slowly, laboriously, the Original manages to force out some choice words to curse her Fake with. "The rest… to you… Little Sis."
Even for a creature born of wrath and hatred, a monster who shouldn't have room for remorse or compassion in her heart, that's a curse that burns itself deeply into the soul.
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