Archive of Our Own

Dante's tablet has a very interesting function.

After each battle they have this piece of mysterious technology present with a rating of how much damage each sinner brought in the fight and how much of it they endured. And even if she has a question about how the system calculates everything, Ryoshu still steals glances over it.

Someone would blame her competitive nature, someone her pride, but for Ryoshu herself it is a mere curiosity to see how much her colleagues suck and maybe a way to pat her own ego, but who could blame her, especially in a company that has a slogan like this?

So there is nothing wrong with her leaning over, without them even noticing, fresh out of battle, and seeing how much of her work dominates on each canvas they visit. Other people did it too, even though Faust and Outis had a certainly more calculating way of analyzing this information.

"Oh, Don Quixote's performance jumped significantly after getting a new ID, especially in tandem with Telepole E.G.O..”

Ryoshu frowns, staring at the screen where a bold “32% of damage dealt” is displayed, not hers.

It's Don Quixote, lunatic fixer fan, in her W Corp ID gear, staring at the edge of the camera with an empty expression surrounded by dim blue light and dark splashes of blood.

Ryoshu squints her eyes and, without wasting a second, takes the tablet under nervous ticking.

She is next in rating.

Twenty-nine. Just a four percent difference separated her from first place.

"I did well, Manager Esquire?! Best of all, company?!" She says it loud and annoyingly and happily.

Ryoshu raises her gaze at the gremlin, and Don Quixote is gleaming with delight as if it’s the first praise she ever heard.

"She did, huh?"

"Yes, Don Quixote, you were getting better results consistently."

Dante gives up on an attempt to get their tablet back from Ryoshu without even trying properly. Instead Manager half-turns to Don Quixote, explaining her growth on the battlefield, yet partly they are still facing Ryoshu, and with a dial instead of a face, it's difficult to tell if they look at her, the golden gremlin, or Faust begging to get their device back. Ryoshu wonders when she managed to scare them so much they are now afraid to use their authority, with her following every command to a letter. But the thought dies hastily.

Well, she takes a few shifting gazes between the person on the screen and the person standing proudly. Don Quixote killed her. In a disgustingly crude way suitable only to tugs, but killed her nevertheless.

"N.B.," she admits, and slams the tablet into Dante's chest, "but don't get used to it."

Golden gaze shifts from Dante onto her, and Don Quixote speaks. "I offer thee my gratitude for thine approbation, lady Ryoshu, and whilst I hold no such vanity as to deem myself perpetually destined for the foremost rank, yet shall I strive with utmost diligence thereto!"

"A.W.B.?" Ryoshu smiles with her teeth bared, and Don Quixote flashes back a similarly predatory smile, reading her surprisingly well.

"A bit of rivalry would be that bad?" the chick suggests quietly in a prolonged silence.

"That would be a useless waste of time to judge us by a simple sheer power," Outis snaps, without bothering to keep her voice low. "Battle rating would require far more complex analysis, precise surveillance, and-"

"I actually think some competition would be a great idea," Dante says. "It seems like a good motivator, plus there should be a reason why Limbus Company put this function in."

"Excellent observation, Manager!" Outis says immediately, "Of course, how could I forget about motivational factors, truly-"

"Yeah, okay,” Gregor interrupts her carelessly, “but like would anyone really care about this rating? It's just work?"

"Do not care if you want," Ryoshu says casually, her gaze still locked with Don Quixote as if there is no one else on the bus. The fixer maniac meets her eyes with the same intensity, showing no desire to make Ryoshu’s win easier. After a few dull weeks she feels flickers of anticipation in her stomach. "That will make the battle for the first place far easier."

1st place - Don Quixote- 28%

2nd place - Ryoshu - 9%

"That was a pretty great attack but a bit reckless; let's try to cooperate with others during the fight."

1st place - Ryoshu - 23%

2nd place - Don Quixote - 19%

"Ryoshu, please pay attention to your sanity."

”Are you actually believing that it was corrosion, Clockface?!"

1st - Don Quixote - 26%

2nd - Ryoshu - 18%

"Don Quixote, you know I appreciate initiative, but please try to not intervene in a graph of movements that I create for you. Please?"

“Fuck off with lass. Are you going to say anything to psycho?!”

“Really, they don’t need to. I am fine. It’s my fault.”

“Fault in what? Getting stabbed?”

“M.F.N.T.(Move Faster Next Time)

“Miss Ryoshu isn’t wrong. My performance was far away from…ideal.”

“Nevermind, you can kill him again.”

1st - Ryoshu - 40%

2nd - Don Quixote - 39%

"Guys, you were not supposed to be on the front lines. No, I don’t care about how many enemies you have killed; it was a test to see the way sins work together...okay, finish off everyone."

"Okay, that's enough,” Dante ticks defeatedly, covering their dial with palms, fresh out of the dungeon that was cleaned out successfully despite some hitches in the process. It’s not her or Don Quixote’s fault that the second they break formation, some sinners start dropping like flies. They should learn to think for themselves; Dante won’t always be there to guide them through battles by hand. "You are both banned from battles for two weeks."

Ryoshu stays quiet, already expecting this order from the manager, ready to accept consequences of her actions gracefully. Honestly, she was expecting something way stricter and more brutal, but Vergilius stays away this time, seeming to not care about anything that happened in the dungeon.

Don Quixote, on the other hand, breaks in a sorrowful shriek, jumping from her seat so fast people sitting near to her flinch and slide away.

"But Manager Esquire!" She pleads, and Ryoshu throws a fast glance at her partner in crime, wondering if this is genuine heartbreak or just fascinating acting. "We were but striving to prove our worth in the trial that thou didst set before us! Wherefore doth this cruelty befall?!"

"Yeah, yeah, I already understood that I made a mistake with this thing. I should have listened to Outis."

Outis, who was piercing Ryoshu with a death glare since her revival, picks up a bit at their words, looking not as offended by a light sword tap to get her off the way.

"But we only did our best!" Don Quixote says and looks at her in search of agreement.

Well, for this to be Ryoshu's best, she would need to break these stupid chains that hold her down.

"We tried to reach the top of Y.L., Dante," she adds instead.

They sigh weakly, vividly expressive for a creature without a face.

"Your personal indicators should be secondary to the teamwork, and I understand it now. In the future I will continue to praise working with other sinners. But not through rating!"

After that, no longer wishing to continue this conversation, they almost run away from two sinners. Don Quixote sighs dramatically, crouching over her knees, and Ryoshu lies back.

"Verily, 'tis lamentable that our august trial hath concluded with such undue haste." Don Quixote’s voice was sad and sincere. "Thine rivalry that didst spur me to mine utmost. A sorrowful thing that we mayst no longer engage in such."

"Who says we can’t?" Ryoshu murmurs under her nose, quiet enough for only one person to hear, her eyes concentrated on the accurate ring of smoke twirling above.

Don Quixote's head jumps up immediately in Ryoshu's side vision, and she can feel a gaze radiating with hope and anticipation. She waits just a few more silent seconds until Don Quixote begins to tremble like an overly excited dog.

"We could keep our own contest." She adds with the same tone.

"That doth sound a most wondrous conceit!" Don Quixote agrees loudly but stumbles, receiving a threatening gaze and lowering her tone. "Yet, I remain uncertain if others shall consent to partake."

Ryoshu looks at other sinners. "We can continue without them.” No one else who could rival her on the battlefield showed interest in doing so – Faust and Meursault barely cared about competition, and Outis hated it from the start for some unknown reason. ”Will make things simpler."

"And what of Dante's ban, pray tell?" Don Quixote says with suspicion, nervously looking around as if waiting for someone to catch them red-handed. Outis could do it, perhaps; she is petty enough. But she seems still high on Dante finally picking her side, and it should keep her away. As far away as she can be with her awful tendencies to indulge in micromanagement.

Ryoshu throws a lazy glance at other sinners. No one is paying attention to their conversation; they're too tired or too angry to bother. No one would be able to snitch their plan to Dante. Of course, only if Don Quixote wouldn’t decide to do it herself. "We just need to be sure to hide it properly.” Then she turns her head to her companion, studying her open, sincere, incapable of hiding anything face. “Are you capable of keeping secrets, Don Quixote?" She asks, half-seriously, feeling nice enough to joke around.

Don Quixote bristles, a friendly curiosity transforming into an offended look and tensed lines of her jaw. Ryoshu does not let her eyebrow rise, but she cannot deny a spark of curiosity blooming in answer to such a drastic change. It’s such a clear anger; she half expects Don Quixote to attack, not pierce her head again, but perhaps just try to punch her in the face - not to kill, just to hurt. Just to make her emotion known when simple words aren’t enough to express the deepness of the feeling. She thinks that she would enjoy retaliation, hammering Don Quixote’s head into the wall; to hell with all rules.

"Thou shall not doubt my honor." Don Quixote stays still in her place, her fist clenched but not raised, showing a surprising level of self-control. But she speaks with unexpected seriousness, making Ryoshu wonder what in her words made her sting, but before she can go through the variants, Don Quixote gives her an answer. "An' if thou shouldst grant me a secret to keep, I shall conceal it till my grave, or until thou unburden me from such duty." Her voice is an octave lower, a volume quieter, making her sound more sincere.

"Sure," she chuckles, and in a smooth motion catches Don Quixote's collar, dragging her closer, forcing another sinner to almost plaster over the seat between them. The sudden absence of distance takes Don Quixote by surprise, and strange anger gets softened by confusion. If she slides her thumb just a few centimeters higher, would she be able to feel a rushing heartbeat? "We should figure out some challenges of our own and give F.A.I.R.(Frank and Impartial Results). I hope your words about honor will include this too." And she breathes smoke into her face, making Don Quixote wince. "Deal?"

"Thou have my word." Don Quixote whispers her promise. Ryoshu unhands the fabric and then presses knuckles against her collarbone and pushes Don Quixote away. She falls back, but her gaze lingers, searching for something on Ryoshu’s face, and only when she finds it does she turn away with a bright smile.

9-3

First, it's simple: who killed most enemies, as they cannot count “amount of damage” dealt to them. It becomes a bit complicated with other sinners intervening in the duels by Dante’s order, but they figure it out.

18-14

Then it grew more creative. Who will do more assists? Who will collect the most talismans? Who can rip the most crab legs? Who will use most EGOs without corroding. Who will manage to strike musk in pearl. Who snatches the most candles.

26-25

With time and new abilities, they grew more and more bizarre. Who will get shot by an ally attack and survive? Who will trigger abnormalities' abilities first? Who will make Outis yell faster? Who will stay underwater fighting with mermaids the longest?

36-32

But at a certain point it becomes monotone, leaving Ryoshu alone with her thoughts for longer than she prefers it to happen.

She and Don Quixote successfully compete in 68 challenges between the two of them in the last six months, somehow managing to stay low on the radar, with only a few sinners thinking that they are just getting along. It’s a funny thing, but perhaps they are not wrong; at least they do not bicker like some other two.

Ryoshu reigns victorious in 36 of the challenges, keeping leadership in their scores from the first challenge, not letting Don Quixote even think about getting an upper hand, which becomes more difficult with every day.

Yet Ryoshu has to admit that despite their rivalry bringing quite a lot of entertainment to her in this mostly dull journey, endless violence and tests of strength started to lose their edge. Not something that Ryoshu expected to happen, at least not as soon.

Ryoshu raises her gaze from a pool of blood to Don Quixote, who is, from a certain point of view, even more bloodstained than the floor of the mirror dungeon. Most of this blood is not even hers; Dante’s abilities already removed a few cuts that she got on four floors. Hundreds of enemies are staining her uniform. Her Limbus Company uniform, despite most of the fighting being resigned to the Cinq director.

Don Quixote raises her hand to wipe the mix of blood and sweat off her forehead, and Ryoshu sees a hole in her sleeve with pale, slightly glistening skin under it with a thin pinkish line, right where one of the umbrellas landed. It makes her wonder how damage shifts between identities.

Her gaze is not serious but still heavy enough for Don Quixote to feel and shift her own head, catching Ryoshu with bright, feverish gold in her eyes. The other woman smiles sharply, still pleased with her victory in the last challenge. She managed to behead fourteen enemies faster than Ryoshu. An awfully boring challenge, only a step less pathetic than simple counting of corpses that made her be more interested in playing with food than achieving victory.

But even if she didn’t try anymore, Don Quixote’s victory still was fair, and Ryoshu is not that much of a sore loser to try to downplay it. It's still a miracle that she continues to find any enjoyment in their routine.

In two months, their little game expanded, creating more rules that kept their rivalry from becoming too predictable. Ryoshu wasn't against a good old backstabbing, but Don Quixote's sympathy was one of a few things that kept her from burning her lungs from boredom, so she accepted some of her principles to avoid conflicts. The fact that fixer-maniac actually is pretty good at keeping grudges also helped with the decision.

That was a rather surprising experience.

"Doth something vex thy spirit, gentle Ryoshu?” Don Quixote finally gets closer, impatient, deciding that a mere gaze is an invitation. "Mightst thou deign to share, so that this burden upon thy soul be lessened?" She suggests tilting her head playfully, with a smile full of hope gleaming at Ryoshu.

Her expression creates a fascinating contrast with the bloodied suit.

Ryoshu knows better than to think that Don Quixote is harmless, yet she still cannot shake off this obviously wrong first impression. You would think a lance in the head would be a good way to remember someone's danger, but here she is.

"Not here." Ryoshu slides her gaze over her bloodied collar to the behind her shoulder where Sailor keeps arguing with Gregor about something mundane.

"Something amiss?" Don Quixote’s tone goes down, now sounding almost subtle.

"Not really," Ryoshu says and slides over to her, pressing her shoulder against the woman's frame, feeling how muscles tense. "But I have a new idea."

"How new?" Don Quixote asks, and Ryoshu can imagine the way her golden eyes sparkle in anticipation as the woman keeps shifting her head to an uncomfortable angle, trying to catch Ryoshu’s gaze.

"Completely." She murmurs, making hair over her ear shift.

"How cruelly intriguing.” Don Quixote exhales words annoyed but stops moving. “Prithee, when wilt thou deign to share't?"

Part of her wants to give Don Quixote a smirk, fast and playful, and then leave without a word. Desperation looks good on Don Quixote, and she is not often rewarded with this view. The brute is an annoyingly gracious loser.

"Tonight," but Don Quixote is not good at keeping her excitement hidden. "Go to M.R.(My Room)."

"As you wish, my lady," she says without hesitation, eyes gleaming, and Ryoshu wishes to extend her hand, placing her fingers on her cheek right under her eyes and feeling if there's any heat behind this light. But the back of her neck feels someone's gaze, not a dangerous or suspecting one, but a simple, curious one. So, she pushes away from Don Quixote.

Don Quixote with a promise is a way more collected creature, Ryoshu acknowledges, when in the next ten battles the fixer maniac stays concentrated on her duty. However, her patience wears thin when they fall out of the middle dungeon back into the comforting coolness of the bus.

They are tired, borderline exhausted, which is not really surprising with Dante’s new strategy testing, putting them at a disadvantage from the start. Well, at least they will now think before giving a bunch of E.G.O. that the team cannot support. Or maybe they will try it a few more dozen times and somehow figure out how to make it work. They show a surprising stubbornness when creating plans sometimes. At a certain point Ryoshu wondered if it could be their little revenge.

Ryoshu falls on her seat in the dark corner far away from other sinners, feeling like a beast with a sated hunger.

Don Quixote doesn’t seem to have a problem with being too satisfied. She looks absolutely unaffected by hours of battles, still riddled with this nervous energy, barely keeping herself in the seat as if she did not spend hours fighting on the front line.

Ryoshu muses quietly about what should be done to drain her stream of energy and if it’s possible at all, with her memory failing to find any moment when Don Quixote wasn’t showing 100% of enthusiasm. She tries not to think about when she started to pay her that much attention to be so utterly convinced that if she doesn’t remember it, it didn’t happen.

They have an after-mission debrief, mostly Outis cursing their teamwork. It's the same old tune that repeats after every mission with barely changed lyrics.

No one actually listens, but most of them have manners to pretend. Ryoshu does not.

After all, Ryoshu already knows all her "mistakes" on the mission. Her obvious standing is a few steps higher than anyone else's in the company even with a collar on her neck.

It is still disgustingly irritating to have someone else's lack of conviction put a strain on her skills.

"I hope you all learned something from this mission and will not repeat the same idiotic behavior." Outis glances over sinners before making a deliberate step to Dante’s side.

"I think we got everything!" Sinclair almost yells, jumping from his place before the last insult rings in the air.

Young man leaves the common cart with impressive speed. Despite no one giving proper permission to leave, no one tries to stop him.

"Yeah, Outis," Dante ticks about seconds later, sounding extremely tired as their dial follows the first sinner escaping workdays in favor of his personal quarters with an obvious envy. Their own duties would last for at least a few hours with all reports about mission, EGOs, and IDs' progress they need to finish. "I think everyone understood your point."

Heathcliff yawns, remembering to cover his mouth with a hitch, and lazily adds. "Yeah, a repeating point."

If gazes could kill, Outis would already have been declared the first offender of bus rules.

"If Manager mercifully allows you to rest, I have nothing against it.” She declares through gritted teeth, showing how much she has nothing against letting them go and commands. “Dismissed."

People rise from their seats almost immediately. Rodion is halfway to the exit, with Meursault being a close second. She didn't expect Meursault to be that eager to leave, but perhaps he is following every command to the letter, including ones that sent him to rest.

"I bid thee all a good night." Don Quixote jumps up from her place with too much energy for this room; her voice calls cheerfully to everyone in the room, but no one answers as usual. But that does not discourage Don Quixote as her gaze shifts to Ryoshu. "Hark, until the morrow; fare thee well."

She could wink at Ryoshu, and it wouldn't be less subtle. But luckily no one is paying attention to two sinners. So Ryoshu shoots a lazy smirk, taking a cigarette out of its pack under her shocked gaze. After a few seconds of hopeful but useless waiting, the fixer maniac retreats into the sleeping area, throwing miserable glances behind. But Ryoshu stays blind to her silent pleas.

She sits through the awkward conversation between Vergilius and Dante unnoticed as a shadow. She takes her time fully, ending her pack of cigarettes with painful slowness until the grey scenery outside of the window is not swallowed by red fire and then turns into coal-like night.

She absently looks at the streets outside while fishing out another cigarette and understands that her pack is empty. Only then does she walk to her room.

It welcomes her with emptiness and silence, which Ryoshu knows will end very soon, so she gently lays her sword on a small desk and sits on the bed.

Don Quixote doesn't make her wait for too long.

Nine minutes, and there is a nervous rhythmic knocking, and before Ryoshu can answer, the door pushes open and Don Quixote slides, trying to be stealthy.

But Ryoshu ignores her awkwardness, too busy with staring at her guest. It's weird to see her in the surroundings of Ryoshu's room. Not bad, just unusual, Don Quixote's brightness and energy clashing with the atmosphere of the space.

"Verily, 'twas a cruel jest to bid me tarry thus." She whines as she moves deeper.

"I simply made sure that O.L.D. won't become P.K.(Public Knowledge)."

Ryoshu rises from her place smoothly and crosses a short distance, getting closer to her visitor. Don Quixote collects herself in the middle of the room, watching her every move. The emotions glimmering in golden eyes could be called anticipation, but she manages to stay still. Ryoshu hovers for a moment over her, forcing the woman to throw her head back, and then circles around Don Quixote, trying to measure both of their sizes in the compact space.

She supposes she should be happy that the company provided them with personal rooms instead of forcing them to sleep in one place. But it is still small for a company that have so much funding. There are just a few meters separating them from walls and rare furniture, fewer even than most miserable boxing rings and sparring mats that Ryoshu encountered and used during her trainings.

Still, she thinks it’s quite enough. Plus having no space to escape would force them to act fiercer, making everything interesting, she decides, and without wasting a moment, catches a collar, something Don Quixote allows her to do easily. Ryoshu looks at her face, then with a flick of the wrist, Ryoshu throws her body on the floor.

"What art thou doing?" The knight shrieks loudly but catches herself enough to not get plastered on Ryoshu's carpet. She stumbles a bit before springing back as her eyes lock on Ryoshu. Still not afraid, but undoubtedly paying a different kind of attention. Same one she gives her opponents when trying to read their movement, and Ryoshu basks in this new type of gaze. She collects herself and puts her hand in front of weak points. Excellent instincts.

Horrible technique.

"Demonstration," she says, stepping closer, and Don Quixote shifts back as if she’s Ryoshu’s reflection.

"Of what?" She sounds positively disturbed, continuing to keep distance between them stubbornly.

Ryoshu looks at her with a bit of pity.

Ryoshu throws a punch this time, a solid one straight up at Don Quixote's head. She moves fast, making Ryoshu's attack only scrape her ear, which is still not a perfect evasion. She would expect something better after all the acrobatics her Cinq ID managed today.

Suddenly Don Quixote throws her knee up as if finally figuring out what is wanted from her. Perhaps she understood it sooner and just faked ignorance to catch her off-guard.

Ryoshu's hand that catches the attack aches pleasantly.

But without wasting a second, she throws another kick and this time scraps Don Quixote again.

Then an elbow almost hitting her ribs showing her ability to think further than one step forward.

Ryoshu appreciates the idea and raises her hand for another strike, which Don Quixote blocks with her wrist even if she sees her face flinching in pain. Ryoshu is so pleased with this expression that she almost misses another kick but, at the last moment, shifts outside of the attack, making a leg twist awkwardly before falling down. Then without losing momentum, she throws another punch, but the knight twirls around her, trying to disengage. Yet a firm grip on her wrist stops her harshly before distance can grow. Ryoshu drags her closer by this hand and swings her leg again, but Don Quixote's wrists parry the attack, and this time she isn’t even flinching. Then she tries to use this moment and get another hit, but Ryoshu simply lets go of her grip, forcing her to stumble awkwardly with no stability in her stance Then her hand springs, and Ryoshu's fist crashes into her face with a satisfying crunch. But before Ryoshu can enjoy the sight of her blood, Don Quixote, ignoring pain completely, hits Ryoshu in the stomach with a ridiculous amount of power.

The attack catches her off guard like a lance in the head. This time the surprise that Don Quixote causes is less lethal, but familiar parallels spark in her brain.

For a second, she feels like gasping for air as Don Quixote tries to prepare herself for another strike, looking like a living nightmare covered in blood. Ryoshu wouldn’t mind having one like this. She doesn’t have time to analyze this thought as Don Quixote hits her once more, this time her knuckles smashing into her throat.

The attack is painful enough that Ryoshu's instincts spark up. She catches Don Quixote by her neck and kicks her in the shin and then throws her down with perhaps a little too much force for a friendly spar. Don Quixote rolls over her floor to the opposite wall, barely stopping her head from hitting it. Her fall is awkward, a lack of technique again, but Ryoshu will fix it, she thinks before freezing at the spot. Despite bearing quite a lot of damage, Don Quixote doesn't look defeated. No, there is only feverish excitement in her gaze, which looks divine with blood from a broken nose staining half of her face.

She hadn't seen that expression on Don Quixote’s face for such a long time. Hell, she didn’t see that expression on Don Quixote targeted at her ever.

For a few moments they just stare at each other, as if the first to turn her gaze away would be the one to lose. As if the first one to look away would show the weakness that they could turn into another attack.

Don Quixote's whole body tenses, and Ryoshu feels anticipation blooming in her chest. But before violence can continue, the heavy silence of her room gets broken by a series of fast, rhythmic knockings on her door that stop Don Quixote in the middle of the movement, making her comedically stumble, almost falling again. Then knocking repeats in the same weirdly symmetrical pattern, showing that the new guest is not intended to leave before getting the room's owner's attention. Ryoshu, feeling a spark of irritation, turns away from the opponent and goes toward the door. Her hand itches for a blade, but she ignores the urge.

If not for herself, then for Don Quixote, who would be absolutely heartbroken if she were to fail to follow rules again. Or perhaps there would have been something else broken, with Vergilius’s gaze always following her back a little heavier. Ryoshu still doesn’t know what exactly connects those two, but perhaps if she spends more time with Don Quixote, she will have a chance to learn.

The door opens and the dark shade falls over Ryoshu, a large figure blocking lights from the corridor, and she has to throw her head back to make sure that she will be able to look in the eyes of the bastard who decided to visit uninvited. Her gaze followed the line from the center of the chest to the spot between his eyes that she would gladly repeat with the sword.

Meursault seems completely unimpressed with her deadly glare, standing in her doorway. Somehow, he looks wrong, and it takes Ryoshu a moment to understand what’s wrong – he is out of his Limbus uniform, wearing an unfamiliar shirt and trousers made from the dark fabric that looks rather expensive but still keeps him in a casual look. It’s most likely something that he wears as pajamas, Ryoshu understands suddenly. Herself, Ryoshu doesn’t have a specific suit for sleeping, sometimes napping in a company uniform or completely naked. She didn’t have time to pick up any clothes from… the house and even less time to buy new ones.

Then she understands that she has no idea why he is there. She doesn't have that much of an impression about Meursault to make any assumptions. The guy is calm and collected to the point of creepiness with efficient professionalism that could make Wings recruiters drool from excitement. He also is disgustingly boring and avoids conversation with anyone, but not in an elegant manner that Ryoshu does to keep her secrets private. More like he actually has nothing to say. His sheer existence feels so dull, sometimes even making Ryoshu forget he is there.

Okay, no. That's a lie. His efficiency also translated to the battlefield, and despite doing the most boring by-the-book fighting possible, he is good.

There is a strange noise behind her back breaking the silence.

But Meursault doesn't react to it, continuing to emptily stare at Ryoshu.

Ryoshu drags silence for a few more seconds out of curiosity, but Meursault keeps standing like a statue, and she has to admit that his insistence to avoid speaking is almost impressive. "What do Y.N.?"

"You were loud." It sounds like a mere stating of fact, but she knows better than to think that he would waste his time or energy without being asked.

So, hoping for rooms to be soundproof is rather useless.

"M.B.B.W.H.A.." She says calmly, and as his face does not change, she adds with slight irritation, rolling her eyes, "We will be quieter." She almost bites her tongue when she understands that she confessed to having someone.

There is a short moment when the intruder blinks slowly like a lizard, and Ryoshu can see cogs moving behind his thoughts in a fast, efficient tempo, creating the politest response. "That would be very much appreciated." The use of such a strong “very much” makes Ryoshu wonder how loud they actually were. But he doesn’t waste any time after receiving a satisfactory answer and goes away at appropriate speed.

Ryoshu waits a few seconds staring at his back, but when the door next to her clicks. Then she slams her own and with a sigh turns around. Don Quixote appears sitting against Ryoshu's bed, with a bloodied napkin to her nose.

"Doth young Meursault unravel our secret?" Her voice sounds dulled.

Ryoshu snorts and crosses the distance, lowering to Don Quixote’s level, her back hitting the bed frame. "I think you overestimate H.M.(How Much) he cares."

Don Quixote tries to do something with her face but then winces.

Without a second thought, Ryoshu extends her hand and coaxes Don Quixote to remove her hands and checks her nose. Her fingers press on the bridge, and luckily, it’s not broken. At least Don Quixote doesn’t react to her touch, freezing like a statue.

Satisfied Ryoshu gets her hand off, shaking her wrist to get blood off.

"You will live," she declares. "So, what do you think about M.P.?"

"What proposition?" She asks, her words muffled by a napkin as she throws a dirty gaze at Ryoshu, making her eyebrows go up. She was not aware that Don Quixote could be petty. "As far as I can see, thou invited me to get beaten in an unexpected battle." Then after a few seconds of enduring Ryoshu's humorous gaze, she sighs, "I am merely jesting. But how shall we deal with noise?"

"Perhaps I'll just teach you how to get down," Ryoshu shrugs her shoulders. "Also, you again overestimate H.M.H.C.."

Don Quixote hums in a low, quiet sound instead of answering, and Ryoshu suddenly understands that the person sitting next to her sounds uncharacteristically calm.

That forces Ryoshu to turn her head on the side again and look at the woman properly, this time paying attention not only to blood and her injured nose, even though glimpses of red that she didn’t manage to wipe still catch her glances.

Don Quixote sits on the floor of her room, her neck pressed against the edge of the bed, looking calmer than Ryoshu ever witnessed her being, as if she were asleep. Her eyes are closed, and a familiar smile is absent. This empty expression with the way her hair falls from her face under gravity created a hint of a look that, while it did not match Don Quixote's usual style, could suit her. The “unfinishness” of the look drives her insane, urging Ryoshu to comb her hair even further back.

With intent only half formed and not approved by her mind, Ryoshu shifts her weight just a few millimeters closer, unable to resist the lure.

And as if sensing Ryoshu's desire to lay her hands on her head again, golden eyes open, catching her gaze, and she tilts her head on the side facing Ryoshu. "Verily, in close-quarters combat, I am not the most skilled." Don Quixote notices surprising humility, her tone still being emotionless in comparison with her usual one. It still confuses Ryoshu, the way such a short brawl drained her energy so fast.

"True," says Ryoshu, spinning in her head moments from the previous fight. Don Quixote knows where to hit to make it hurt, but it seems to be the only thing she knows about brawling. Makes sense with the way she never leaves her lance. "H.O.P.E.."

It's not a lie. While Don Quixote obviously does not know how to fight properly or without her dumb lance, her natural instincts and athletism, which Ryoshu assumes is natural as well, gave her enough base for training. In comparison with some of their colleagues, her potential is infinite, and Ryoshu would mind sharpening it into something that would give a challenge.

She surfs through her collection of fighting styles, putting them on Don Quixote in her imagination as if dressing a doll up. For a fleeting moment her mind slides to Don Quixote with a sword in her hands, and Ryoshu ignores a strange warmth in her chest.

"There is nothing S.T. won't fix," she says borderline reassuringly.

In a second Don Quixote's face changes, baring a pained, almost lost expression. But before Ryoshu can react to such a rapid shift, Don Quixote shuts her eyes, and a smile, somehow both strained and sincere, cracks her face.

She had never seen anything similar on Don Quixote’s face before.

"Then shall I endeavor with utmost diligence to obey thy behest," says Don Quixote slowly. Her eyes have a light redness. Like she’s on the verge of crying.

That expression makes something in her chest tingle.

"If that be all,” Don Quixote says hoarsely, rising up from her place besides Ryoshu. Somehow her side immediately feels colder, but Ryoshu ignores it, “perchance I shall now retire to mine own chambers, lest any suspicion arise should one of our comrades elect to visit it."

"You have someone visiting your room?" Ryoshu asks, with no curiosity in her voice at all.

"Young Heathcliff doth oft seek my fellowship, or perchance a secure alcove from thunderstorms in his own room." Don Quixote answers casually.

"Do you visit him when carnival music starts to play?" Ryoshu asks, remembering nights when playful and eerie motives distracted her from the canvas, making her wonder what is happening behind this wall. Her own flames at least are quiet.

Don Quixote stumbles a bit at a question, throwing a strange gaze at Ryoshu.

"No," she says, picking each word carefully, "it doth not vex me sufficiently to seek asylum."

"So you figured out everything before your turn?" She tries to sound mocking, yet the curiosity bleeds in. Four sinners in, and everyone noticed a pattern with which company would dissect their personal problems to try to recover golden sickles.

"Nay, 'tis not that.” She gives out a hesitant smile before shifting her gaze to the window that now showed evening City instead of some horror from the past. “I merely recall not why 'tis should vex me."

"Huh."

"It's just strange," Don Quixote continues her confession, not looking at her still. "Verily, 'tis whispered by sundry trusted companions that the chamber shall reveal our worst moments, yet mine own chamber hath unveiled an image theretofore unknown to me. Though some semblances stay unsettling, sans context."

"Perhaps you just don't remember.” Ryoshu says abruptly. She blinks, surprised to hear her own voice, but something pushes her to continue. “Something cut this memory out or stole it from you. Or maybe you forgot yourself."

Don Quixote tilts her head on the side, her gaze becoming deeper. "Thou speakest as one drawing from thine own store of experience?" She keeps her voice calm, yet Ryoshu can taste a curiosity lingering behind.

"Not sure what forced you to make this assumption," Ryoshu says, leaning back. She tries not to think about it as a recoil.

"Mayhaps 'tis due to thy seldom uttering thine own mind."

"Wrong again, P.I.H.Y.T.H.."

"My mistake," Don Quixote chuckles, an echo of her usual self. " Thou art rare to utter thine opinion in so many words."

"Usually I don't waste my breath on useless explanations.” Ryoshu adds dryly, sliding her hand under the bed until she finds part of her stash and drags a new pack of cigarettes out. ”Words must be short."

"Then gramercy for expending thy words trying to solace me." Don Quixote smiles at the same time shifting away as if afraid of the smoke, something that Ryoshu knows for certain is not true. "I appreciate it."

Ryoshu hums emotionlessly until her mind comprehends the meaning behind Don Quixote’s words completely. "Try?"

She's not sure why, but this word catches her attention, ruffling her ego.

Don Quixote shakes her head. "I was not sorrowful of spirit at that hour. Nay, our meeting did bring me much delight and joy imbued; perchance I did speak too freely, clouding thy mood. But be not deceived; a single vexation cannot erase the enthralling thrill thou didst unveil this eve. I thank thee truly." She finishes her speech with a bow and leaves the room before Ryoshu can come up with a response.

The door clicks for the last time this evening, and Ryoshu wonders if she made a mistake suggesting this type of challenge.

Well, maybe she did, but between getting more bored on this bus and spending more time in close proximity with Don Quixote, Ryoshu finds herself more willing to bear the consequences of the latter.

46-35

Don Quixote does her best, but the gap between their skills is enormous, and for the first few weeks Ryoshu simply adds more and more cheap victories to herself, enjoying not a mediocre challenge but a desperate fight that Don Quixote always gives her, ready to break every bone in her own body before declaring the loss.

49-43

But Ryoshu cannot deny that she's a fast learner. Ridiculously fast if she can be honest in her own thoughts. Sometimes it feels like Ryoshu just reminds her about lessons she just forgot.

Or maybe she's just that good of a teacher.

Not trying to murder a student each time she makes a mistake also can help.

54-46

But the unfortunate thing about her fighting is that it is easily affected by emotions. After Heathcliff’s home visit, her mood became sorrowful, cracking all fundamentals that Ryoshu lovingly scarred into her body, and in combination with her own bad mood from the ugly sepia around, it made her cruel. Luckily, Don Quixote is quite durable.

One day she hides her broken wrist for half a day until Dante activates their clock after a short battle and then flinches when the unexpected break recoils at their body. The glance that Faust throws at her is easy to ignore.

57-51

But when she is concentrated on the battle, Ryoshu feels the teacher's pride, seeing how only a few months of training changed the most fundamental way in which Don Quixote moves, turning her into something very dangerous.

Something reminding Ryoshu of herself.

57-51(+40)

Ryoshu isn't sure if her math is correct - never-ending deaths could have taken a toll on her mind, making her lose attention maybe a dozen times when bloody red lance sent her to oblivion. It’s still a strange experience to be in. The person that could barely keep up with her in a friendly sparring killed her without any difficulty again and again. It is a painful hit on Ryoshu’s pride, but she takes loss with dignity.

But to confirm this new number, she needs to speak with Don Quixote, and Don Quixote avoids her like a plague, turning into her own ghost. Ryoshu can see her and can hear her, yet the second she gets closer to the bloodfiend, she disappears as if she were never there. This makes her understand just how big of a part in her life Don Quixote took.

And the most irritating thing is that Ryoshu seems to be the only one suffering from this, all other sinners willing to seek out her company having no problem with getting ahold of Don Quixote. Even Outis, who seems to hate her more now, could speak with her. But not Ryoshu.

Ryoshu understands, well, not exactly; that's not the word that should be used, because Don Quixote's reactions are beyond her understanding.

She knows a cause, because Don Quixote keeps wearing her heart on her sleeve and keeps acting like a tortured monster as if her hunger somehow disgraces her. As if in the City, people ever needed an excuse to kill, maim, and torture others.

Also, her dramatics about killing her "family." Ryoshu almost laughed when she heard what happened after everyone died besides bloodfiends and Dante.

Don Quixote, or perhaps she should use Sancho now, was her family enforcer and her family executioner, both roles Ryoshu's painfully aware of. Perhaps she is the only one in this ridiculous company that can understand her, if the foolish bloodfiend even cares.

"We will utilize the Peccatula... and the distortion phenomenon."

The scientist’s voice distracts Ryoshu from trying to burn a hole in Don Quixote's back. This does not surprise her, just as his previous confession did. Dante's chains were always meant to be both a blessing and a curse, forcing people that were never meant to meet each other to work together as a badly tinkered mechanism. She looks around her bunch of ragtags and wonders what she would do meeting them outside the company. Ignore or kill most likely. Without the exterior reason, she would never create a bond.

Ryoshu forces her mind out of this corridor of thoughts. It's not her time yet. She will wait for fate and Dante to leave her no other choice before she opens this can of worms. Instead, she concentrates on other sinners. Competitiveness is a hell of a drug, and it's the first time in ages they were allowed to indulge in it.

Of course, peccatulas barely count as opponents even with their numbers restrained, but Ryoshu guesses some of the sinners still need a fighting chance that a tournament bracket and sparring would not leave them.

She waits patiently for her own turn and tries to ignore disappointment when instead of the bloodfiend, her partner in challenge becomes a sailor. Her attempt to get a more optimal companion is cut mercilessly, and Don Quixote throws a single confused gaze at her before eagerly stepping aside, flashes her a single apologetic smile, reeking of insincerity, and goes back to pretending that Ryoshu does not exist.

The wrath that she feels after it is used on turning monsters into mincemeat.

Everyone passes excellently, and then there are Don Quixote's and Yi Sang's turns, the wildest pair if you would ask Ryoshu. But they both seem to be fine with this, and the bloodfiend is thrilled with a chance to play a hero. She looks at the way Don Quixote fights and wonders if this brings her relief. A chance to rip apart someone wearing her face?

They win fairly fast to Ryoshu's disappointment. Why did Peccatulas not go to the strongest identity showing the Manager of hellscape park? The idea of seeing Don Quixote fighting against this version of herself is a fascinating one, making her more bitter about reality. A decent day starts to risk turning into a horrible one.

Luckily, the sin tests turn out to be only appetizers. The nosy scientist reels and plays on Don Quixote, tugging on her pride, the sin that she was supposed to share with Ryoshu, and she snaps. Suddenly the monster is once again in front of them, more terrifying and hungrier than ever. No more perfect stances, no more graceful attacks. Only brutal violence. They are no longer opponents to be defeated in her eyes. Only prey to be hunted and drained.

Ryoshu doesn't mind. Not when a clawed hand bursts through her stomach, ripping her insides like stuffing from the plush. Not when she gets swung in the wall and her spine, reinforced with metal, breaks like a jigsaw puzzle. Not when Don Quixote's fist crushes into her chest and tugs, opening her rib cage to get to the heart and lungs. She doesn't mind the deaths Don Quixote brings her over as long as she pays attention. As long as red eyes lock at her and follow through the whole battlefield like an unbreakable chain. She doesn’t mind that there is no sense in this gaze, only scorching hunger that strips her of skin and flesh, tracking only blood vessels working desperately to match a freakish power that makes Dante’s chain rattle.

She doesn't mind when her attack fails as Don Quixote dodges her blade, and before she can retreat, a clawed hand catches her wrist like an iron band. She doesn’t mind when the bloodfiend drags her closer like a ragged doll and a wet, cold mouth presses against her throat. Instead of simply biting, she tears a piece of flesh and spits it away, then laps from a fountain of blood escaping Ryoshu's body. She doesn’t mind, but Ryoshu is a fighter, and she tries to fight, but Don Quixote ignores a weak swing of the sword, holding her closer.

She doesn't remember what happened next, her vision darkening, but when she wakes up, she finds herself on the floor, abandoned by a predator, who is now drying up another sinner. She doesn’t mind it. She doesn’t. She just picks up the blade and attacks the bloodfiend again, forcing a red gaze to fall back on her.

They do not win. Of course they don’t. Don Quixote simply continues to kill, and at a certain point Ryoshu starts to wonder that it perhaps is the Manager's plan. To sate her hunger with an unending stream of blood. Unfortunately, it seems no matter how many sinners Dante feeds her, she wants more, a bottomless thirst driving her to insanity. They keep a pathetic excuse of a front for almost half an hour before Vergilius arrives. They clash, blood against blood, a marvelous demonstration of skill and might, and then he calls and she answers.

Ryoshu doesn't know why she feels irritation again. Her own emotions are slowly becoming a nuisance that affects her skills.

That's pathetic, and Ryoshu is a lot of things, but she isn't this one. So, she locks her eyes on Don Quixote and makes a decision. Patience is not one of her main virtues, so the second they get away from other sinners, she goes.

Don Quixote's distraction doesn't allow her to notice Ryoshu; she tries not to think about this as about apex predator confidence. When she slams her weight on her shoulder, the woman shivers with her entire body, and for a few seconds Ryoshu expects another brutal attack.

But Don Quixote stays still in her embrace like a statue. She is also cold, like one, Ryoshu notices with her wrist pressed against the bloodfiend's neck. She never paid attention to her temperature before. Strange, with the amount of skin-to-skin contact they shared in the last months, she should be intimately aware of everything wrong with Don Quixote’s body. Or maybe it’s a new development. Rocinante is no longer wasting time on small details to make her look humane.

"Do you think we should count all times you K.M. in our score?" she breaks the silence casually, smoothly shifting her arm to lock Don Quixote in place, and with relief feels a shift in her throat as she swallows nervously, instead of a desperate tug to get her off. "I think it would be next to 100 points with two fights, and frankly speaking, you could use some H.S.," she adds generously.

That's a fairly dumb opening. Ryoshu is painfully aware of that and of how she looks now, hanging over Don Quixote right where everyone can see instead of in the safety of their room or some nook of the City. But she doesn’t care. She shouldn’t care about people’s opinions at all, yet she’s ready to claw Don Quixote’s thoughts out if she must learn them.

Then Don Quixote shifts her head just enough to catch Ryoshu’s gaze. "Verily, I hold not as victory the willing or unwilling harm I bring upon my fellows."

Don Quixote's voice is a fragile, quiet thing, Ryoshu barely feeling its vibration despite her arm being pressed against her throat. She leans closer in response to make sure that she can hear this whisper properly. Or to avoid looking at the face that seems both familiar and strange.

"Shame. It was pretty refreshing to see you finally fighting properly," Ryoshu sighs and feels a horrible urge to take a smoke. However, she does not dare to remove her arm lock, a paranoid thought creeping on the back of her mind. As if the second she loosens her grip, Don Quixote will disappear like smoke. "I.N.T.L. that you actually know how to fight; you just forgot."

"Methinks 'tis a simplification too facile," Don Quixote snorts self-belittlingly, then bitterly adds, "and a presumption that mine victories stemmed chiefly from mine own skill and not raw power."

"Oh, I am aware of your power, alright," Ryoshu murmurs. She can practically feel Don Quixote's shame. It's a puzzling concept to her. Such a deep hesitation toward her own strength, wrapped in disgust. She half-closes her eyes, imagining what she would do with such power.

The thought is sweet and painfully idealistic, and Ryoshu has to remind herself about the price behind this power. The hunger that you cannot control. Stupid weakness to water. The vassal bond is more certain and solid than any connection between her and nurse fathers.

The chance to outlive Araya. Ryoshu feels as if she suddenly fell from the bus in the icy cold water of the lake. Wings she would hate it. Parents are not supposed to see their children dying. Even if she were to live a long and happy life, Ryoshu would have no desire to see her on a deathbed. Perhaps she could turn Araya too? But the idea of putting her daughter so strictly below her in an unmoving hierarchy makes Ryoshu sick to her stomach. Even if she would never use this power, sheer knowledge of her possessing it would be unbearable. She would not dare.

She throws a fast glance at Don Quixote, studying her with more attention. Perhaps it was the reason for her not being willing to sire any children herself? She didn’t want to put anyone below herself, an experience that she suffered herself in a certain way

Ryoshu frowns at her own thoughts and discards them. She can make hundreds of assumptions, but none of them matters. The bloodfiend proved her mind is a way too complex maze for Ryoshu to think she has a map for it. She needs Don Quixote to talk. Wings know it’s need and not desire.

Fighting was easier. Or Don Quixote was easier when they fought, parts that she considered ugliest hidden behind her memory locks. She wonders if there is something left of the careless hero in this body or if it will be nothing but pathetic theatricals with misery under them.

She thinks about strengthening her grip until Don Quixote starts choking, throwing her on the floor, and hitting until her muscle memory activates and she starts to hit back.

"What dost thou desire?" Don Quixote finally speaks again, and deep weariness in her voice makes Ryoshu’s clenched grip tighter.

"Do you think I am afraid of you?" Ryoshu asks quietly, not sure if it’s her pride that aches in her chest.

"I would ne'er deem thee afraid of anything," Don Quixote says without thinking and then continues. "But I think I am afraid of myself at present."

"I don’t think you would be afraid of anything either," Ryoshu notices, remembering how she jumped in every situation with no hesitation.

"I was under the impression that I was fearless." Don Quixote agrees with a smile. "And I would love to keep this impression, but I am not sure I know myself that well to insist on any quality. It will take time for me to familiarize myself with my new, or well,” her expression gets poisoned by bitter humor, full of resentment Ryoshu cannot comprehend, and she waves a hand over herself, “old self."

She speaks so easily of her mind that Ryoshu feels stupid. Was there no avoidance? Just Don Quixote taking time to figure out her situation?

Don Quixote shifts in her embrace, placing her palm under Ryoshu's wrist and tugs it off her throat softly. Ryoshu allows her to escape, despite her heart starting to pick up speed as if getting ready to chase again. Luckily Don Quixote merely turns, looking at her.

"Methinks,” she breathes in before continuing with a strain in her voice, “I shall not prove myself as a good sparring partner for a while." Her hand hovered awkwardly for a brief moment as if wishing to touch Ryoshu, before falling down

"I would say you had a very S.P. of being one after I got rid of A.Y.B.H.," Ryoshu notices calmly and, with delight, sees how her lips twitch in a brighter smile. Still not her usual beaming grin, but at least this one is more sincere than the one she keeps showing others. But it dies soon after, like a spark blown out.

“At present, I shall fare worse than at the commencement," she still insists, shaking her head weakly before looking at Ryoshu again. "Wherefore, I should counsel thee to seek another to cross fists with. Perchance Outis, or Meursault, who might furnish a trial more fitting for thy taste.”

Ryoshu stares at her for a few seconds, wondering if she heard something wrong, but Don Quixote simply stares back under the weird impression that her suggestion has a sliver of common sense.

"No," she says, carefully trying to keep her irritation down, "I will wait for you." Her voice is confident and certain, leaving no room for arguing, yet Don Quixote doesn't seem to get a hint, shaking her head with a serene smile.

"Thou art not needed," this ridiculous fool says.

"Don Quixote," she starts, "I wanted challenges with you. Sparrings was just an addition."

There's a long pause, like Don Quixote's trying to wrap her head around that. Ryoshu feels insulted.

"I can pick up a board from Poetaster, and we can play chess instead," she suggests, tired of waiting enough to allow desperation to glimpse in her voice. But Don Quixote continues staring at her, puzzled. "But you will have to teach me."

"I would like to.”

67-56

Chess turns out to be not as difficult as she expected. The most complicated part of organizing games was taking a board from Yi Sang. Don Quixote, of course, with her soft heart, allows him and Sinclair to join, but if there is anything more boring than playing chess, it is watching how other people play it. The people in question being two meekest creatures on the bus did not help.

69-61

Going to the same angle, Ryoshu goes to Rodion and borrows a deck of cards, one of a few unmarked ones that she had. But after three days of card games, she starts to think about going back to her and asking for a cheating deck because the stability with which Don Quixote keeps winning starts to seem unnatural.

74-66

At a certain point Ryoshu gets tired of waiting and is ready to kill to get a weapon in her hand. So, she suggests a cooking contest. They get banned for a week, left to eat only canned food and their own creation. She still thinks her dish was quite edible. Don Quixote looks at her with a very pitying expression, earning leftovers thrown at her.

80-74

Ryoshu would assume that abnormality trivia suggested by Faust offhandedly would be boring, but it turns out that when you set a very short timer and make questions sound less scientific, it starts to be kind of exciting. Ryoshu even raised her voice once when they asked what abnormality had three E.G.O. suits, and Fell Bullet didn't count because "we do not count suits from rival companies”. Which, you know, is complete bullshit, as it was never mentioned in the rules before.

84-79

"Methinks I would fain engage thee in combat once more." A nonchalant voice breaks the silence. That tone is a quieter and calmer thing than Don Quixote usually shows, still, but Ryoshu got used to it.

Ryoshu shifts her gaze from a canvas to the figure lying on the floor of her guest room, which seems to be more comfortable than the bus beds. She's not sure if she heard it correctly. They spent last month exhausting Ryoshu's imagination over nonviolent competition, and she is, after all that time, starting to get a taste of it. She started to think about teaching her to paint. It would be an awfully one-sided competition, but she couldn’t help but wonder what her mind could create.

But Don Quixote looks up at her calmly drowning in the sea of red fur, and Ryoshu sees a familiar glimpse in her eyes, not as feverish as she had in her memory, but still quite bright. Ryoshu remembers her gaze being bolder and hungrier, but this flame is enough to light her up too.

Her head feels light from excitement, and it takes a moment for confusion to break in again. Tonight they weren't even planning to have anything, at least from Ryoshu's understanding, whose turn it was to choose a challenge. They finished their last one this morning, and students still were better at learning historical facts than getting along with the kid.

She just assumed that Don Quixote came because she doesn't want to stay alone.

But perhaps it was Don Quixote's plan from the beginning, and she spent the last hour in Ryoshu's room doing what? Collecting courage? Ryoshu isn't sure, despite thinking that she knows Don Quixote fairly well. And she doesn’t want to assume. Wings knew assuming anything about Don Quixote led her to horrible results, like a card debt. If anything, this little break was a learning experience about things she should avoid.

She turns to Don Quixote, and she starts to rise up slowly, doing stretching, as if the idea that Ryoshu can say no doesn't even cross her mind. Ryoshu wonders if she’s petty enough to reject this idea just because of this confidence. She made peace with the thought that she wouldn’t be able to comprehend Don Quixote fully, and she should do the same.

"And for H.L.?" She asks, tugging out a cigarette with deliberate slowness. Don Quixote's eyes flash with annoyance when she understands the delay, and it feels like a nice compromise between her desire to put Don Quixote in her place and desire to fight. She lights the tip up, and Don Quixote's smile colors in irritation, getting a charming edge.

"Just a few seconds," Don Quixote says, shrugging her shoulders. "Somewhat in the firmament did stir within my thoughts of battle, and I did apprehend that revulsion held me no more.” She sounds marveling at herself by this discovery, and Ryoshu remembers her words with trying to get to know herself. It's a strange thing to feel like a stranger, she thinks. “Belike, readiness had tarried longer, yet 'tis but now I mark it."

Ryoshu snorts. "Glad to hear that my presence can still unnerve you." She ignores an annoyed golden gaze, taking a deeper drag; for the first time in her life, the cigarette feels too long. "Well, I guess we can try today, and I will try to hold back a bit to give you a chance." Her trash talk is a bit dusty, but Don Quixote's eyes spark brighter and shoulders tense.

Don Quixote laughs, anger and delight mixing in this sound, and for a moment Ryoshu thinks she is mistaken.

"Having obtained yon Cinq Identity, I yet possess divers knaveries within my sleeve." She rises up from the floor, a beautifully dangerous smile splattered across her face, full of playful confidence and challenges. “Wouldst thou behold it thyself?

Ryoshu is excited; her head feels too light before Don Quixote manages to land any blow on it. She gazes over the room that Jia heir gave them, thinking about collateral damage, and decides that she does not care about it. She doesn’t care about anything but a person in front of her and, biting down on her cigarette, launches herself forward.

Don Quixote dodges as if she expected this, with a sharp step back, before changing her stance and throwing a perfect kick at Ryoshu's head that she barely manages to block with her wrist. Seems like her Cinq id is actually sticking around. But it's not enough. Ryoshu pushes her limb off and punches with the same hand before Don Quixote can return her balance. Her fist flies to the throat, but Don Quixote shifts her body just a centimeter away, and a brutal strike lands on her shoulder with a dull sound.

The second punch Don Quixote dodges completely and throws her own in a perfect fast arc, but Ryoshu tracks the trajectory in her mind, understanding that there is no power or aim behind the faux attack.

Instead of falling for it, Ryoshu ignores an aimless gust of wind and shows her like a proper kick looks like. Don Quixote tries to escape but only manages to move her temple from trajectory. Still, the damage definitely will make her ears ring. But Don Quixote merely flashes a smile at Ryoshu, lowering her stance and breaking a distance in the blink of an eye.

Her fist lands at the bottom of her ribcage, sliding off a block that manages to protect Ryoshu's solar plexus; her mind flashes to the clawed paw that could pierce her stomach with a simple touch, but she discards this mirage. She fights Don Quixote in front of her and not a ghost of her past. Ryoshu uses her other hand to hit the bared wrist with her elbow. Don Quixote drops and shifts away, launching another series of attacks, this time targeting Ryoshu's throat with her strikes, like a wild animal, but misses each of the strikes, allowing Ryoshu to drag her out of her proper stance. Ryoshu swings her foot straight into Don Quixote's head, forcing it to turn on the side with concerning speed. But before she can enjoy her labors, she feels a sudden impact on her stomach and gets thrown back. As she gasps for air, she feels almost nostalgic and tries to regroup for an attack, but Don Quixote is already raising her fist again.

But she is also annoyingly predictable, and Ryoshu just perfectly blocks another punch in her stomach and immediately counterattacks, breaking Don Quixote's tempo and trying to keep her in place. Which she does not let happen, awkwardly pushing herself away from Ryoshu with her hand. Ryoshu decides mercifully to help her and returns a kick in the stomach with enough force to throw Don Quixote over to the wall. She does not fall, however, but shifts her stance in a perfectly smooth motion to keep herself up even if her hand flies to the sore spot instinctively as if trying to protect from already spreading pain.

But her palm presses against her stomach only for a brief moment, and then her hands fall back into a proper position. Don Quixote is fully ready to return to action, which Ryoshu greets with a sharp smile and another strike.

They trade a few more light punches, barely scrapping each other, when Don Quixote suddenly catches a moment when she lowers her defense and finally hits Ryoshu in the stomach again without holding anything back, forcing air out of her lungs. Her eyes are watering, but Ryoshu manages to dodge Don Quixote's following attack and even throw her own fist. But Don Quixote moves back a distance of a few centimeters from a length of her hand as a gust of wind hits her chest and, without giving her a moment to breathe, swings her leg this time way higher, landing a blow in Ryoshu’s temple.

For a quarter of a moment, Ryoshu just stands there with hair falling over her eyes. Don Quixote shifts anxiously as if afraid that she hurts too much, and that's when Ryoshu moves, landing a punch on Don Quixote's torso. The response sparkling in her hand is painful and immediate, fueled by anger for deception, but Ryoshu still tries to use this hand for attack, ignoring the stiffness of rioting from abused nerves.

It does not land.

Suddenly there is a ringing in Ryoshu's head, a salty taste in her mouth, and a weird change of angle in her vision. This time her tempo actually hitches for a moment.

Ryoshu slowly raises her head and, without breaking eye contact, spits a mix of saliva and blood on the red carpet, and suddenly there is no gold in Don Quixote’s eyes.

She's distracted, and Ryoshu uses it, swinging her hand on her thigh, trying to throw Don Quixote again. But she only hisses, barely paying attention to pain as if it were just a slap, and tries to attack Ryoshu again, sloppily this time, still affected by the sight and smell of blood. Poor starving thing. Not like Ryoshu's attack lands either; her head is still reeling from the merciless strike.

Then Don Quixote catches Ryoshu's shoulders and tugs her in place, launching her knee up to hit her in the stomach. In a few brief moments Ryoshu goes through her variants and uses one hand to block her attack while at the same time twisting her torso to press her shoulder against Don Quixote and push forward.

She awkwardly drags back for a few meters before finally stabilizing her footwork and escaping the Ryoshu route, a second before she gets slammed into the wall.

But not for a long time, as Ryoshu catches her hand and twists it to an uncomfortable degree and then a little more. Don Quixote gasps for air, but when Ryoshu raises her free hand, ready to strike, she twists her hand even further, swallowing a cry of pain, putting tension on Ryoshu’s hand too.

But Ryoshu, while pleased with the taste of another person's pain, does not let it distract her and does not let her escape and, in a brief second, changes the trajectory of her strike from her stomach to her knee and forces Don Quixote to stumble. The woman immediately tries to change her stance, catching her balance and swinging her fist back, scraping Ryoshu's cheek. But it's too late and too desperate, and Ryoshu already won.

She can see panic sparkling in Don Quixote's eyes when her fist does not reach Ryoshu, and then before she can regroup, Ryoshu’s left leg slams into her chest with enough force to shatter bones.

A single smooth motion and Don Quixote back hits the wall, but she manages to brace herself for impact and gets ready to move, giving herself only a second to catch her breath. But Ryoshu is using this single second fully and throws herself into Don Quixote, stopping the attempt to escape in the bud, slamming her back in the wall as one of her wrists presses against her throat with a threat of choking and another twists her dominant hand under the angle that makes it useless and drags another gasp out of her throat.

Ryoshu also pushes her knee against her leg, leaving her no way to escape. She feels her entire body against the bloodfiend's cold frame. She wonders if Don Quixote can feel the heat of her body or hear her blood moving. It feels fascinating to have her under control with the last two duels ending with Ryoshu’s very fast and very plentiful deaths.

For a few moments Don Quixote still fights desperately, still drunk on the battle fever, and Ryoshu, while enjoying it, simply stands, allowing her opponent to attempt, and after a second or two Don Quixote exhausts herself against her, only heavily breathing with her eyes stopping their search for a way to escape and finally rising up, focusing on Ryoshu’s face.

She can see every segment in her iris, a rich mosaic of gold, amber, and ochre surrounding the black hole of her pupil.

That’s the closest they were in weeks, and there are only a few centimeters between their faces, she understands suddenly.

Don Quixote looks good like this, ragged by a good fight, with her hair in a mess, wetly pressing against her forehead.

Suddenly something in Don Quixote's face changes, and from fierceness it goes to something suspiciously resembling panic. She shuts her eyes tight and throws her head back, pressing against the wall in a desperate motion.

Ryoshu blinks and steps back, wondering if perhaps Don Quixote overestimated her readiness and the blood still making Ryoshu's mouth pink drives her too insane. At least she tries to step back. But the second she starts to shift away, Don Quixote's hand catches the edge of her shirt and grips tightly, not letting her go. That makes the situation even more confusing. "What do you want?"

These words snap something in Don Quixote, and suddenly she again pressed close again to Ryoshu, her breath scraping her face, and then her lips touch Ryoshu's, followed by her tongue, which slides softly over the slit of Ryoshu's mouth, coaxing it to open. And after a second of consideration, she does.

It turns out Don Quixote is good at kissing. Turns out Don Quixote is extremely fucking good at kissing.

Ryoshu isn't sure how much time passes before they separate, both breathing heavily. She tries not to think about the way her face feels hot or the fact that her hands are still clinging to Don Quixote's back. "That's quite a direct answer." She says after a moment of silence.

"Thou has my most humble apology, Lady Ryoshu. I couldst no longer contain mine own self." Don Quixote’s voice trembles, but after a second of collecting herself, she continues. "I must, in sooth, avow that my doing was born out of a hopeless affection toward you and not,” she licks her lips as she shifts her gaze away and her tone drops down to a low note that makes Ryoshu’s skin feel electrified, “a fell yearning to savor thy blood again.”

Ryoshu blinks slowly, staring at this person still locked between her and the wall. Her mind, still fogged partly from kissing and partly from head traumas, takes longer to comprehend Don Quixote's manner of speech and the meaning behind her words. Luckily for her, Don Quixote doesn't rush, only looking at her from under frowned eyebrows like a prisoner ready to be executed for her crimes.

"Is it a confession, Don Quixote?" She asks in a low tone and watches how Don Quixote’s eyes widen at shock and face becomes even redder before she swallows and hesitantly nods, then again more certainly. For a second Ryoshu stays quiet, fighting the urge to claw her nails deeper in this fool’s back. "I see," Ryoshu hums thoughtfully, and before Don Quixote can try to add anything, she leans in and places a kiss on a tightly shut mouth, allowing her own fangs to scrape pale lips.

Don Quixote makes a surprised sound, and Ryoshu drinks it, deepening the kiss, tasting her own blood on Don Quixote’s tongue. It starts to move as if reviving after Ryoshu’s touch, and she sinks her palm in Don Quixote’s hair and drags, not allowing this bastard to get control back. The body in her hands immediately goes limp, and another pitiful whimper escapes her throat as Don Quixote obediently throws her head back. This simple gesture makes Ryoshu’s own blood feel like hot magma rushing in her veins, ready to burn her.

It's a short, fast attack from which Ryoshu retreats before Don Quixote can come back to her senses and then enjoys a view of large, owl-like, surprised eyes and a shaking frame. Don Quixote looks positively shocked at getting her feelings reciprocated. Ryoshu feels something similar but has sense not to show it, pressing her palms against the wall, steadying herself, and cutting all ways for Don Quixote to run away. Not like she should want to. After all, that is the best scenario for her little confession, isn’t it?

"I like you too," she tries to say nonchalantly, but her voice trembles. However, Don Quixote looks like she's experiencing a stroke and not paying attention to the tone of her words. Can bloodfiends even experience a stroke? Can her body be moved by these things, or is this all just a shock of her mind? Ryoshu doesn’t mind doing a few experiments to see what will make bloodfiend tweak. The ideas bloom in her mind, and Ryoshu has to put more weight on her hands to stay up, waving closer to Don Quixote.

"That's great to hear," she shudders again, now hiding her gaze away from Ryoshu, as if their closeness is suddenly too much. "Thank you." She adds, and Ryoshu stares at the lines of her lips.

"But I still win," Ryoshu remembers suddenly, "The fight and confession too." She thinks a moment and then mercifully adds. "But I can give you a point for initiating the first kiss."

Don Quixote laughs light and sincere, and this time Ryoshu does not ignore a pleasant sensation that blooms in her stomach, allowing herself to enjoy the moment properly.

"Fret not, mi amor," Don Quixote says with a beautiful bold smile. "I will be able to catch up with thou very soon."

Ryoshu smiles sharply and competitively, pressing closer against Don Quixote until the distance between their lips becomes almost absent, and she feels a shaky breath escaping Don Quixote’s, "We will see about that."

The next kiss makes her forget about any competition.

But just for a moment.