let words and deeds be the essence. let clay be the foundation for our great witch's secrets.
a simple test. a ritual written about in an old family diary; a note in the margins that promises "to grant any wish." so what if it's obviously fake? so what if magic isn't real? even if it's just to cheer yourself up, faking a spell has some magic to it anyway. wouldn't you agree?
the beknighted song becomes a wall of light. the gates in the four directions close, coming from the crown; the three-forked road through the storybook kingdom winds to the castle.
a moment of true belief. a moment of self-deceiving faith. a lie that needs to be real, and thus is the truth. the circle of painted dye, of insect hulls and glass wings crushed by human factories, begins to thrum with an unsung energy.
grow and wither away. grow and wither away. grow and wither away. grow and wither away. grow and wither away.
repeat five times, and feed the soil as you rot.
a photograph of an early concert. the first cd to share all of their autographs together. a bottle of champagne the pres was saving - sorry, sorry! a misshapen star plush, hand-sewed by a boy who could barely look at her. these are her precious memories; these are the sacrifices she has arranged. not blood, but sweat and tears a hundred times more valuable.
the glass shatters; the champagne fills the outlines of dye and corpses. and the circle begins to sing, wind and light and summer sun and winter's chill all in one.
submit to the beckoning of my unblemished wish. answer to my truth, and speak truly in kind.
i swear an oath, on the virtuous truth of my love: in this holy quest, i shall take the hero's happiness for my own. in this holy quest, i shall vanquish the villain's despair.
the force of the ritual is overwhelming - a blast of magical energy less gust and more gale. clothes, blankets, bedsheets - anything not fastened down in ai's room buckles beneath the winds, tearing away without an anchor. the wind grows colder, colder, colder still, knives of ice that almost tear at ai's cheek-
and then a warmth like summer. a caress to the cheek, like the fingers of a lover. words unbidden and unsaid, but the words of a story nonetheless: keep it up. the hardest part's almost over. after this, there'll be nothing to worry about. i promise.
from the seventh heaven, attended to by three great words of power-
the winds gather, slow for a single terrifying moment-
spring forth from the autumn throne, o child of dreams!
-and then blast forth. drywall crumbles; wood snaps. and yet, that sensation of warmth and kindness never eases once as the world around ai momentarily erupts.
and momentary it is. the winds calm, then die away; the circle's light fades into nothingness. for an agonizing few seconds, ai is left alone, with only the dust and fog of a broken apartment left for company.
and then, with the delicate flicker of a butterfly's wings- blue and red and gold and black, tracing gossamer trails through the air-
a man with warm eyes and a gentle smile stands before her. ]
...so this is the human world. [ his voice is soft but energetic, nasal but pleasant; a high baritone, or a low tenor. who can say? he looks at ai with those gentle blue eyes, smiling wide. ] Oh, right. There's an order to this sort of thing, isn't there? So instead of introducing myself, let me just ask:
[ he reaches forward, holding his hand out palm-up for her. and then he winks. ]
[ Just so we're all on the same page, Ai totally doesn't believe any of this fairy tale mumbo jumbo. By the time girls her age were getting into fortune telling, palm reading and magic charms, Ai was learning a very different sort of magic. Hers isn't any more real than fortune telling or casting love spells but everybody plays along like it is – they play along like they believe in it even more than she does.
You have to believe in a lie at least a little bit to make other people believe it – but Ai never ever forgets that she's lying.
So of course she doesn't believe in the silly little spell, even as she goes through the long, laborious process of setting it all up. She tells herself she's just getting it all in place so she has a good story to tell later. The president (sorry again about the champagne) has been nagging her to stream more lately so she has to come up with some cute anecdotes that make her sound more fun and quirky. Everyone played around with this sort of thing in middle school, right?
She doesn't believe it, of course. Nothing that convenient could ever come along to grant her wish. But if it did... then it might be nice. That tiny crack in her heart is all the foothold the ritual needs to lift itself into reality – a twisting up of believing and not believing, hope and disdain, sweat and tears and champagne running like blood. She's convinced that she must be dreaming or making this up, even as the wind rips at her face and hair, refusing to believe in her own lie even as it's made manifest.
Distantly, stupidly – her first thought is just how angry the property manager is going to be when he sees what a mess she's made of things.
Sitting there on the floor amidst all the mess, Ai looks especially small as she looks up at him. Her eyes are wide – less shock and more the alarm of an animal whose eyes have just caught a pair of oncoming headlights. Uncomprehending and yet somehow instinctively afraid.
Even so – she smiles. That's what Hoshino Ai is made to do, isn't it? ]
I... really don't know. Ahaha! [ Even to her own ears, her breathless laughter sounds close to hysterical. ] Is what what I'm supposed to call myself after pulling this off?
i rewrote this tag twice before i decided to stick with my initial principle of "no monologue"
[ he looks at her for what seems like an eternity. the pleasant smile on his lips eases, fades away; for a moment, those beautiful eyes seem- analytic? distant? something like that. less fae playfulness and more the dulled edge of cold iron.
and then he frowns, putting a hand on his hip even as he holds the other out to ai. ]
...mm, something like that? Though I won't complain if we skip the formalities. [ he leans forward, squinting down at ai, and for all the appearance of focus it still seems softer than that moment earlier. ] Hey now, this is just an educated guess, but... You really don't understand what it is you've just done, do you? Are you some kind of magecraft prodigy? Or perhaps a playwright of some renown?
Ai sees her own eyes in the mirror sometimes. Usually when she's examining herself that closely, it's her smile she's focusing on. The perfect angle of a cheeky grin, the exact amount of tooth and tongue on display when she laughs, the precise millimetres the corners of mouth raise – all of it is an exact process and Ai has that calculation down to an art form. But on occasion, her gaze has slipped up to take in the ways her eyes squinch and soften and she sees something there that's cold and flat, just as silvered and reflective as the glass itself.
It's gone just as quick, softened and shielded like a sheet tossed over a mirror. And it hadn't been quite as cold and disdainful as that look she's seen in her own eyes. But she had seen it. It only seems right, then, that she keeps that just-shy-of-unravelling smile on her face in return. ]
I get that I'm dreaming. I mean, I must be, right? [ Another of those nervous laughs comes tumbling out of her. That much, at least, isn't forced. ] Magecraft prodigy? Playwright? You must be kidding. I'm just an idol.
Dreaming, huh... [ a playful smile, one that almost truly reaches his eyes. ] Maybe that's a good way to think about it. All of this might as well be a night's dream, after all. Right?
[ ai's unwavering smile is met by his own. it's beautiful, in its own odd way - like a stageplay, or a movie that's still filming. what magic the actors weave between them! ]
Still, an idol... That's even better than I'd hoped, you know! [ he winks at her - and oh, if that's not just as perfect as the wink she's practiced a hundred thousand times over! ] After all, a magus can't make something from nothing. And a playwright can create a story, but it's just a piece of paper until the play is performed, right? To put it another way, a playwright can create a desire, and a magus can create an outcome. Neither can do the whole thing on their own.
[ he doesn't bother waiting for her to take his hand any longer. instead, he leans forward, delicately clasping her hand in his before tugging her up and out of the wreckage. ]
But an idol doesn't have to create anything. All they have to do is take the wishes that already exist in your heart and pretend to make them real. Sure, maybe it's a little less impressive in some ways... But it's just as much a type of magic as the summoning you just performed. Wouldn't you agree, my Master?
[ Usually, it's Ai on the other end of this equation. Part of the point of Ai of B-Komachi is that she's the one who sets the tempo and gets everyone scrambling to follow the beat of her drum. This time, though, she's the one stumbling – literally, almost, as she's pulled to her feet, trying to remember the usual way she holds her body and how her heart sits inside it. He's talking so much, not fast enough that she can't follow it, but with just enough words that she feels bombarded – or like she's the fool for being unable to keep up here.
If it's by accident, she's used to it. If it's on purpose, that's sneaky. In a strange way, she doesn't mind either one. ]
Maybe I'll ask you to repeat that to some of our critics and see if they come around on us – or maybe not. They'd be pretty mad to hear I'd been talking to a guy without my manager around.
[ Another laugh. Prettier, more delicately tuned. She's getting things back under control. She thinks. ]
Is that really how this worked, then? I pretended this whole thing was real just hard enough that I made it real?
Ah, is that so? I'll have to keep that in mind. I wouldn't want to give anyone the wrong impression, after all...
[ his gaze politely drops away from ai's - though he doesn't let go of her hand. when she laughs, he smiles once again, finally looking back up to her.
ai should already know the answer to her question. after all, pretending isn't enough to make something real, of course. if nobody believes the lies you tell, they're hardly lies at all, are they? but if you really, truly pretend- to the people listening, to yourself, to your own mind- ]
when does the lie become reality, and when does reality become a lie? ]
That's exactly it! I knew you'd catch on quickly. After all, a fairytale may just be a story, but people remember it regardless, right? [ that's a sort of magic in itself - wouldn't she agree? he places a finger to his lips, smiling mischievously; with a brief flutter of his wings, a dozen little caterpillars come forth at his feet. ] And if nobody remembers it, then...
[ the caterpillars head to the wreckage around them, hastily squeaking and cleaning to their hearts content. it's not a magic wand - it's not a simple wave of his hand - but visibly, shockingly, the room is starting to resemble the way it was before. ]
Mm. More or less. That's why they say idols have a shelf life, you know? Once people forget you're around then you might as well have not even existed in the first place.
[ That only works for transient things like fairy tales and girls in pretty dresses on stage, of course. If wishing something away was as easy as forgetting it, Ai would already be an expert at that. But it matches the flow for her to say something pretty and agreeable like that, so she lets it come out of her mouth.
She stays smiling like that even as her room fills with the chirp and skitter of insects, not letting on for a moment that her skin is absolutely crawling. She remembers a scene, suddenly, from a drama she'd been cast in – a flashback where the male lead had stood up to a bully. He'd kept his face passive and pleasant while the kid had given him a snake bite and his supposed toughness in the face of provocation had earned the bully's respect.
Ai wonders which one of them she is right now. ]
But... if this isn't really a dream and you really are here, then... how? What exactly is all this?
[ pretty. agreeable. it'd be the simple truth if it weren't a lie-
a very special lie, at that. not one to hide her feelings. not one to get what she wants. she just is an existence based on lies, a being of fiction and artifice. a perfect idol that could only exist as a story. and so she lies without an ounce of truth behind the words, because every word from her lips is as worthless as his.
butterfly wings flutter. ]
Hmm... Let's answer things one at a time. As for what this is... [ caterpillars clean, and termites fix the wood, and a particularly large ladybug loads rubble onto its back and moves it to the trash. ] Well, you already know, don't you? When you summoned me your heart sang out loud and clear.
[ he squeezes her hand once - a reassurance for her sake. a reassurance for him. and he lets go, almost reluctantly.. ]
For what I am? I'm a servant, born from humanity's wishes to help you grant yours. My True Name is Oberon, King of the Faeries.
[ he grabs his cloak and bows for her. a few of the caterpillars make little cheers and hop for him. ]
And so now you know the truth: that all of this is just another midsummer night's dream. But that doesn't make what you dream of any less real, does it?
[ She does know. For all the put-on cynicism and self-defeating dismissals she'd been performing the whole time she'd been setting it up, there had been a tiny seed of hope half-smothered at the bottom of her heart. She hadn't even allowed it to take root for fear of disappointment but even though she'd played her scepticism so perfectly that she'd half-convinced herself of it the truth was that she had seen the promise of a wish to be granted and let herself think wouldn't that be nice?
Her wish is the sort of thing it would take a miracle to grant, after all. If she'd truly been as dismissive of the whole thing as she'd told herself she was, she wouldn't have slogged through the instructions and put this much effort into it. Again, the thought occurs to her; you have to believe in a lie at least a little bit to tell it to someone else.
Her knees go a little watery and weak. She lets herself sit down heavily onto her bed – a few bugs politely chirp and skitter out of the way to make room for her – and take in a breath. Shakier than she wants it to be, but who wouldn't be shaking and disbelieving in a situation like this? ]
... So, I did this. I brought you here... because I wished for something badly enough to make it happen. [ She has to say it out loud, hear it in her own voice, to start believing it's going on. It's a dream that just happens to be real – she can understand that better than most. That's all an idol is, at the end of the day. ] And that makes me your... what was it you said? Master?
[ she sits - collapses, really, on the bed before him. he doesn't follow suit. it wouldn't be right to share a bed with such a kind young woman, right?
unless- ]
That's right. You are my Master, and I am your Servant. [ a beat. ] Ah, to be clear, I'm only here to do what I can for your wish. I'm essentially useless as a bodyguard, when it comes down to it, and it's not like I have any particularly strong magecraft at my disposal. The only powers I've been given are what I need to make your wish come true. Still, you can order me to do whatever you'd like... if you don't mind me being no good at it.
[ He'd said as much before but having it put in front of her again so plainly makes her stomach curdle a little bit. Master and Servant speak of a level of control that leaves her feeling strangely uneasy. Strawberry Productions aren't quite so strict with her but every idol knows that the tighter an agency grips onto their talents, the harder they struggle to get free and the consequences are always dire.
She gives him a troubled little smile, picture perfect uncertainty and concern. For him and not herself, of course. ]
I don't know if I love the idea of giving you orders - or getting called Master. If you're here to help me, wouldn't it be much better to have you as a friend?
[ It's an almost painfully innocent and naive thing to say - the sort of kindness only a silly, harmless, sheltered girl could offer at a time like this.
But that's how things go, isn't it? In fairy tales, it's always the girl who treats the beast kindly and tenderly that makes it out of the other end without incurring its wrath. ]
[ Ai doesn't turn to look at him, though that would be the natural thing to do - instead, her gaze drifts away and across the floor where the neatly tidied remains of the spell are sitting, innocently inert as if nothing had happened - there was no saving that champagne though. Seriously, Prez, she's sorry.
Her room feels strange and unfamiliar, all of a sudden. Something happened here that shouldn't have happened and there's no way things could go back to normal after that.
At last, Ai turns back to him. She's still smiling - in fact, she hasn't stopped once. ]
My name should be fine, shouldn't it? Ah, but... now I'm saying that, I never introduced myself, huh? [ A nervous, apologetic smile. ] I'm Hoshino Ai. Oh, but my surname isn't public yet so just calling me Ai should be fine.
Ai... [ love. isn't it funny? isn't it a silly little coincidence? ] Ah, that's right. The life of an idol is a complicated one, isn't it? Don't worry. As much as I'd like to speak to the humans of this world, I wouldn't do anything that would jeopardize your future... or your wish.
[ lies stack upon lies, until negations become affirmations and tautologies become twisted. ]
[ Complicated. That's one word for it. She gets the feeling that it's probably about to get a whole lot more complicated, too. She's a good enough liar that she knows she can get away with this - not that anyone would believe any of it, even if she told them - but how long that will actually last is another question altogether.
Aah. She's really gotten herself into trouble, hasn't she? ]
Would that really be alright? [ She sounds uncertain. Or maybe relieved. Somehow, it's hard to tell. ] If I'm the only one you can talk to, wouldn't that be lonely?
Haha. Don't worry about me for a moment, Ai. After all, as long as humanity has dreams... As long as you tell stories... I'll never be truly alone.
[ the last bits of trash get deposited into the bin; the termites finish their work and reconstruction. and just like that, the room is left mostly normal once more.
and oberon fades away in a sparkle of golden dust. ]
So just keep hoping for your wish. Okay, Ai? And I'll do my best to grant it for you.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
just pretend i'm using fancy icons and i'm not at work to make them. anyway
let clay be the foundation for our great witch's secrets.
a simple test. a ritual written about in an old family diary; a note in the margins that promises "to grant any wish." so what if it's obviously fake? so what if magic isn't real? even if it's just to cheer yourself up, faking a spell has some magic to it anyway. wouldn't you agree?
the gates in the four directions close, coming from the crown; the three-forked road through the storybook kingdom winds to the castle.
a moment of true belief. a moment of self-deceiving faith. a lie that needs to be real, and thus is the truth. the circle of painted dye, of insect hulls and glass wings crushed by human factories, begins to thrum with an unsung energy.
grow and wither away.
grow and wither away.
grow and wither away.
grow and wither away.
repeat five times, and feed the soil as you rot.
a photograph of an early concert. the first cd to share all of their autographs together. a bottle of champagne the pres was saving - sorry, sorry! a misshapen star plush, hand-sewed by a boy who could barely look at her. these are her precious memories; these are the sacrifices she has arranged. not blood, but sweat and tears a hundred times more valuable.
the glass shatters; the champagne fills the outlines of dye and corpses. and the circle begins to sing, wind and light and summer sun and winter's chill all in one.
answer to my truth, and speak truly in kind.
i swear an oath, on the virtuous truth of my love:
in this holy quest, i shall take the hero's happiness for my own.
in this holy quest, i shall vanquish the villain's despair.
the force of the ritual is overwhelming - a blast of magical energy less gust and more gale. clothes, blankets, bedsheets - anything not fastened down in ai's room buckles beneath the winds, tearing away without an anchor. the wind grows colder, colder, colder still, knives of ice that almost tear at ai's cheek-
and then a warmth like summer. a caress to the cheek, like the fingers of a lover. words unbidden and unsaid, but the words of a story nonetheless: keep it up. the hardest part's almost over. after this, there'll be nothing to worry about. i promise.
the winds gather, slow for a single terrifying moment-
-and then blast forth. drywall crumbles; wood snaps. and yet, that sensation of warmth and kindness never eases once as the world around ai momentarily erupts.
and momentary it is. the winds calm, then die away; the circle's light fades into nothingness. for an agonizing few seconds, ai is left alone, with only the dust and fog of a broken apartment left for company.
and then, with the delicate flicker of a butterfly's wings-
blue and red and gold and black, tracing gossamer trails through the air-
a man with warm eyes and a gentle smile stands before her. ]
...so this is the human world. [ his voice is soft but energetic, nasal but pleasant; a high baritone, or a low tenor. who can say? he looks at ai with those gentle blue eyes, smiling wide. ] Oh, right. There's an order to this sort of thing, isn't there? So instead of introducing myself, let me just ask:
[ he reaches forward, holding his hand out palm-up for her. and then he winks. ]
Are you my Master?
no subject
You have to believe in a lie at least a little bit to make other people believe it – but Ai never ever forgets that she's lying.
So of course she doesn't believe in the silly little spell, even as she goes through the long, laborious process of setting it all up. She tells herself she's just getting it all in place so she has a good story to tell later. The president (sorry again about the champagne) has been nagging her to stream more lately so she has to come up with some cute anecdotes that make her sound more fun and quirky. Everyone played around with this sort of thing in middle school, right?
She doesn't believe it, of course. Nothing that convenient could ever come along to grant her wish. But if it did... then it might be nice. That tiny crack in her heart is all the foothold the ritual needs to lift itself into reality – a twisting up of believing and not believing, hope and disdain, sweat and tears and champagne running like blood. She's convinced that she must be dreaming or making this up, even as the wind rips at her face and hair, refusing to believe in her own lie even as it's made manifest.
Distantly, stupidly – her first thought is just how angry the property manager is going to be when he sees what a mess she's made of things.
Sitting there on the floor amidst all the mess, Ai looks especially small as she looks up at him. Her eyes are wide – less shock and more the alarm of an animal whose eyes have just caught a pair of oncoming headlights. Uncomprehending and yet somehow instinctively afraid.
Even so – she smiles. That's what Hoshino Ai is made to do, isn't it? ]
I... really don't know. Ahaha! [ Even to her own ears, her breathless laughter sounds close to hysterical. ] Is what what I'm supposed to call myself after pulling this off?
i rewrote this tag twice before i decided to stick with my initial principle of "no monologue"
and then he frowns, putting a hand on his hip even as he holds the other out to ai. ]
...mm, something like that? Though I won't complain if we skip the formalities. [ he leans forward, squinting down at ai, and for all the appearance of focus it still seems softer than that moment earlier. ] Hey now, this is just an educated guess, but... You really don't understand what it is you've just done, do you? Are you some kind of magecraft prodigy? Or perhaps a playwright of some renown?
no subject
Ai sees her own eyes in the mirror sometimes. Usually when she's examining herself that closely, it's her smile she's focusing on. The perfect angle of a cheeky grin, the exact amount of tooth and tongue on display when she laughs, the precise millimetres the corners of mouth raise – all of it is an exact process and Ai has that calculation down to an art form. But on occasion, her gaze has slipped up to take in the ways her eyes squinch and soften and she sees something there that's cold and flat, just as silvered and reflective as the glass itself.
It's gone just as quick, softened and shielded like a sheet tossed over a mirror. And it hadn't been quite as cold and disdainful as that look she's seen in her own eyes. But she had seen it. It only seems right, then, that she keeps that just-shy-of-unravelling smile on her face in return. ]
I get that I'm dreaming. I mean, I must be, right? [ Another of those nervous laughs comes tumbling out of her. That much, at least, isn't forced. ] Magecraft prodigy? Playwright? You must be kidding. I'm just an idol.
no subject
[ ai's unwavering smile is met by his own. it's beautiful, in its own odd way - like a stageplay, or a movie that's still filming. what magic the actors weave between them! ]
Still, an idol... That's even better than I'd hoped, you know! [ he winks at her - and oh, if that's not just as perfect as the wink she's practiced a hundred thousand times over! ] After all, a magus can't make something from nothing. And a playwright can create a story, but it's just a piece of paper until the play is performed, right? To put it another way, a playwright can create a desire, and a magus can create an outcome. Neither can do the whole thing on their own.
[ he doesn't bother waiting for her to take his hand any longer. instead, he leans forward, delicately clasping her hand in his before tugging her up and out of the wreckage. ]
But an idol doesn't have to create anything. All they have to do is take the wishes that already exist in your heart and pretend to make them real. Sure, maybe it's a little less impressive in some ways... But it's just as much a type of magic as the summoning you just performed. Wouldn't you agree, my Master?
no subject
If it's by accident, she's used to it. If it's on purpose, that's sneaky. In a strange way, she doesn't mind either one. ]
Maybe I'll ask you to repeat that to some of our critics and see if they come around on us – or maybe not. They'd be pretty mad to hear I'd been talking to a guy without my manager around.
[ Another laugh. Prettier, more delicately tuned. She's getting things back under control. She thinks. ]
Is that really how this worked, then? I pretended this whole thing was real just hard enough that I made it real?
1/2
[ his gaze politely drops away from ai's - though he doesn't let go of her hand. when she laughs, he smiles once again, finally looking back up to her.
ai should already know the answer to her question. after all, pretending isn't enough to make something real, of course. if nobody believes the lies you tell, they're hardly lies at all, are they? but if you really, truly pretend-
to the people listening, to yourself, to your own mind- ]
2/2
when does the lie become reality, and when does reality become a lie? ]
That's exactly it! I knew you'd catch on quickly. After all, a fairytale may just be a story, but people remember it regardless, right? [ that's a sort of magic in itself - wouldn't she agree? he places a finger to his lips, smiling mischievously; with a brief flutter of his wings, a dozen little caterpillars come forth at his feet. ] And if nobody remembers it, then...
[ the caterpillars head to the wreckage around them, hastily squeaking and cleaning to their hearts content. it's not a magic wand - it's not a simple wave of his hand - but visibly, shockingly, the room is starting to resemble the way it was before. ]
Then it might as well have never happened. Right?
no subject
[ That only works for transient things like fairy tales and girls in pretty dresses on stage, of course. If wishing something away was as easy as forgetting it, Ai would already be an expert at that. But it matches the flow for her to say something pretty and agreeable like that, so she lets it come out of her mouth.
She stays smiling like that even as her room fills with the chirp and skitter of insects, not letting on for a moment that her skin is absolutely crawling. She remembers a scene, suddenly, from a drama she'd been cast in – a flashback where the male lead had stood up to a bully. He'd kept his face passive and pleasant while the kid had given him a snake bite and his supposed toughness in the face of provocation had earned the bully's respect.
Ai wonders which one of them she is right now. ]
But... if this isn't really a dream and you really are here, then... how? What exactly is all this?
no subject
a very special lie, at that. not one to hide her feelings. not one to get what she wants. she just is an existence based on lies, a being of fiction and artifice. a perfect idol that could only exist as a story. and so she lies without an ounce of truth behind the words, because every word from her lips is as worthless as his.
butterfly wings flutter. ]
Hmm... Let's answer things one at a time. As for what this is... [ caterpillars clean, and termites fix the wood, and a particularly large ladybug loads rubble onto its back and moves it to the trash. ] Well, you already know, don't you? When you summoned me your heart sang out loud and clear.
[ he squeezes her hand once - a reassurance for her sake.
a reassurance for him.and he lets go, almost reluctantly.. ]For what I am? I'm a servant, born from humanity's wishes to help you grant yours. My True Name is Oberon, King of the Faeries.
[ he grabs his cloak and bows for her. a few of the caterpillars make little cheers and hop for him. ]
And so now you know the truth: that all of this is just another midsummer night's dream. But that doesn't make what you dream of any less real, does it?
no subject
Her wish is the sort of thing it would take a miracle to grant, after all. If she'd truly been as dismissive of the whole thing as she'd told herself she was, she wouldn't have slogged through the instructions and put this much effort into it. Again, the thought occurs to her; you have to believe in a lie at least a little bit to tell it to someone else.
Her knees go a little watery and weak. She lets herself sit down heavily onto her bed – a few bugs politely chirp and skitter out of the way to make room for her – and take in a breath. Shakier than she wants it to be, but who wouldn't be shaking and disbelieving in a situation like this? ]
... So, I did this. I brought you here... because I wished for something badly enough to make it happen. [ She has to say it out loud, hear it in her own voice, to start believing it's going on. It's a dream that just happens to be real – she can understand that better than most. That's all an idol is, at the end of the day. ] And that makes me your... what was it you said? Master?
no subject
unless-]That's right. You are my Master, and I am your Servant. [ a beat. ] Ah, to be clear, I'm only here to do what I can for your wish. I'm essentially useless as a bodyguard, when it comes down to it, and it's not like I have any particularly strong magecraft at my disposal. The only powers I've been given are what I need to make your wish come true. Still, you can order me to do whatever you'd like... if you don't mind me being no good at it.
no subject
She gives him a troubled little smile, picture perfect uncertainty and concern. For him and not herself, of course. ]
I don't know if I love the idea of giving you orders - or getting called Master. If you're here to help me, wouldn't it be much better to have you as a friend?
[ It's an almost painfully innocent and naive thing to say - the sort of kindness only a silly, harmless, sheltered girl could offer at a time like this.
But that's how things go, isn't it? In fairy tales, it's always the girl who treats the beast kindly and tenderly that makes it out of the other end without incurring its wrath. ]
no subject
oberon's smile widens, gentle and playful. ]
...friends, huh? I can't say it's what I was expecting... But I think that was exactly what I was hoping to hear.
[ he turns, plopping down on the bed next to her. just a quick rest - nothing odd about it. nothing predatory. nothing possessive. ]
Then let's start from the top, shall we? If you don't want me calling you Master in private, what should I call you?
no subject
Her room feels strange and unfamiliar, all of a sudden. Something happened here that shouldn't have happened and there's no way things could go back to normal after that.
At last, Ai turns back to him. She's still smiling - in fact, she hasn't stopped once. ]
My name should be fine, shouldn't it? Ah, but... now I'm saying that, I never introduced myself, huh? [ A nervous, apologetic smile. ] I'm Hoshino Ai. Oh, but my surname isn't public yet so just calling me Ai should be fine.
no subject
[ lies stack upon lies, until negations become affirmations and tautologies become twisted. ]
no subject
Aah. She's really gotten herself into trouble, hasn't she? ]
Would that really be alright? [ She sounds uncertain. Or maybe relieved. Somehow, it's hard to tell. ] If I'm the only one you can talk to, wouldn't that be lonely?
no subject
[ the last bits of trash get deposited into the bin; the termites finish their work and reconstruction. and just like that, the room is left mostly normal once more.
and oberon fades away in a sparkle of golden dust. ]
So just keep hoping for your wish. Okay, Ai? And I'll do my best to grant it for you.