Fujimaru Ritsuka was lost. So, utterly, irrevocably lost it could not be described in words.
She felt tired. The world around her was… it felt so unreal. Like with each second it became less tangible. Less observable. Like it would dematerialize any moment now.
She felt weak. She couldn't find any strength to move, to think. She could only roam her eyes around the blank ceiling, any thoughts escaping her like a plague.
She felt, she felt…
She didn't feel anything at all. Like the ability to feel anything at all was sapped.
No, she was lying. There was one thought. That brought with it a constant, unending stream of… helplessness.
'Mash is dying. Mash is dying. Mash is dying…'
These three simple words were able to shake the foundations of her psyche, oh so easily.
Her mind became the few minutes Roman came to her room. It experienced it over and over, scrolling it up and down, forwards and backwards, trying desperately to, maybe, find anything that would say that it was a prank.
It was not. Which meant…
'Mash is dying. Mash is dying. Mash is dying…'
The same words Roman spoke became her personal earworm, her personal torturer and executioner all in one.
The memory went forward. She kept her shit together, just for that meeting. She still needed to get all the details. If Mash was dying, it was only a matter of curing her, right?
She could almost feel how the world, on the periphery of her vision, began to fragment into tiny little pieces when Roman explained the matter in full detail.
She listened to the story. It was an atrocious one. One she would have expected Roland to say about his world. But the cruel reality of Magi came back to hit her, like a semi at full speed.
It did not make her mental state better.
'Mash is dying. Mash is dying. Mash is dying…'
As the words once again passed her mind, she could almost hear the screeching of her brain, trying in vain not to self-destruct.
And it managed. It refocused on another character in this story.
Roland. She did him dirty. Behaved like a child throwing a tantrum. Unlike Mash's case, she had the time to internalize her behavior, and, while she found it justified, she could, and would admit that she just lost her shit and wasn't all there.
She was only really thankful that she didn't do something she would later regret.
But what did it matter? After all…
'Mash is dying. Mash is dying. Mash is dying…'
Her one and only best friend was dying and she could do jack shit about it.
The only person that was there for her, come hell or high water - she was going to die soon.
Ritsuka oozed depression. Her mind slipped back into self-destruction, and then, in a last ditch effort, it did the only thing it could not fry itself.
It made her sleep.
A shame that it would make things even worse.
*****
"ROLAND!"
The first thing she felt was a firm grip on her… (his?) shoulder.
"ROLAND STOP!"
Then, a pull.
Forcefully turned around, she came face to face with a black-skinned man. His face was contorted in that rightful anger she saw on Emiya's face on occasion. His attire was ragged. A long coat painted with mud and dust and dried blood.
"LET ME GO, OLIVER!" she broke his hold with a simple, aggressive motion, full of anger and impatience. But in his voice there was something more. Fear. Fear of being too late.
The emotions, she discovered, felt much like her own. No, scratch that. It felt like they were her own.
A unique experience among her dream cycles. Along with seeing things from the first person perspective. Not that she had much time to dwell on it.
" The Zwei have it under control, Roland. And Angelica can take care of herself. We shouldn't rush in without a plan! It's just plain suicide! " the man - Oliver - tried to reason.
Not good enough.
"I can't leave it up to chance, Oliver! Not when it comes to her! She is pregnant, for fuck sake!" Roland screamed, desperate undertones hidden by the desire to act. To do something.
Oliver leveled him with an intense stare. A look of genuine understanding and rigid discipline clashing against one another, culminating into a stare of conflicted emotion.
In the end, he sighed. His face solemn, he turned around.
"Do as you will."
A thought not her own flashed through her mind:
'He wouldn't stand in the way. But he won't help either.'
But it did just that - flashed.
The next moment, she was already a blur of speed, zigzagging around the uniformed enemies… Or were they?
She only felt annoyed when Zwei (?) tried to apprehend her. And a cold dismissal right after she slit their throats.
Those emotions weren't their own. She would have felt disgusted, scared. But she couldn't feel a thing.
It was after she broke through the perimeter that it finally registered.
The melody.
She stopped in her tracks, listening intently to the masterpiece that entered her ears, enveloped her very nature, elevated her spirit and…
An image. His wife smiling as she caressed her now big belly. Her smile. Enchanting. Sunny. Warm.
Emotions not her own overwhelmed her with affection so deep,it was indescribable.
But then it ceased. The sounds grew muffled.
Ritsuka's mind returned to her.
Right, Roland's gloves. They didn't let any sound go out of range, but could also, albeit weakly, muffle the sounds from the outside.
A bit reality-defying, but, considering how important it was to hear what's going on around you - not unfounded.
A fire burned inside Roland's chest. It was small. Almost nonexistent. And it was familiar to her.
Crushed by the City but refusing to die. It was hope.
He rushed forward, evading the debris falling from the sky, as a big piece of land, from where the thick lines of notes descended and hoisted the ground up into the air [1].
He persevered. His lungs were seared by the cold night's air. His muscles teared despite the heavy augmentations.
Still, he pushed on. Jumping from one platform to another, rendering the notes trying to tangle him null with his wife's gloves.
The kilometers were cut to meters. Dexterously, he jumped on the last piece of debris, and took off into the air, landing on the solid platform of black goo.
His mind was nothing but a frenzy of different emotions. Rage, dominant above all. Hatred, following suit.
How dare this thing try and take his piece of heaven from him?!
'Kill this thing and then find Angelica,' was the only thought replaying in his mind through the thick, red veil. A silent mantra he kept repeating. And perhaps a desperate prayer to no one in particular.
Like a spring, he burst into motion, what little distance they had - broken.
The gloves silenced the piano. The entire district fell silent. Everything became eerily, painfully still.
Then…
* SWISH *
The air was torn.
* THUD *
And the head was chopped.
Without sound, the body dropped on the keys of the monstrous piano. The rays of the solemn moon casting its shadow on the cooling body. Shadows of countless pipes hanging over the scene, felt like a quiet audience, bereft of the promised show.
Roland stood there, motionless. His thoughts long since left the body of whatever unfortunate sod he had just killed. He didn't even spare him more than a second of thought. Or the people that were made his music.
The fear, the urgency. It returned, but ten times worse. A premonition settled. But the hope remained.
The platform was rocked with violent tremors. Roland understood - he had to bail while he still had something to stand on. He wouldn't stick the landing safe and sound from this height.
Racing against time and gravity, he descended, almost being crushed to death in the process but succeeding, nonetheless .
The unease continued to build up. Ritsuka felt an almost physical need to do something, anything.
Else, she would go crazy from all these emotions she had been experiencing.
After dusting himself from the landing, he looked around - the distant sounds of blocks of concrete crashing each other setting some alarm bells off.
He needed to get going. He…
A dim sliver of silver caught his eye.
It was in the place where the Pianist crash landed.
Despite himself. Despite the awful, terrifying, foreboding feeling, he strode towards the light.
Step. Another. Tired, he limped towards what was once a piano. It was hanging above him - the piece of the wretched thing.
And it was only then that he noticed - it too, was made out of people.
Sweat trickled down his spine.
Cold settled in Ritsuka's stomach.
From the pile of flesh, Roland could make out one hand in particular.
Despite the damage, despite being a part of the mass of human tissue, IT was still firmly on the hand's finger.
A ring.
A wedding ring.
His chest constricted.
His mind shut down, unable - unwilling, to process what was in front of his eyes.
And Ritsuka, she felt horror. Somewhere on the corner of her mind, she knew who this hand belonged to. And the feelings induced by the dream…
It gutted her soul. Crushed her heart. And…
"Ah…" made them both let out a quiet, unbelieving gasp.
The world seemed to have turned into nothing. It was only him and the hand. The colors, the sounds, everything around him.
All seemed to have phased from reality.
In their place flooded the merciless, undeniable, and ruthless AGONY.
"Aaahh…" another sound, a shallow breath, this time more coherent, more pained. But still oblivious. Hit with the amount of pain it couldn't perceive yet.
And then, it clicked.
Light left his eyes.
Ritsuka could feel the suffocating, all-consuming void of sorrow ripping at her chest. It was eating her from the inside out, slowly and excruciatingly, piece by piece, threatening to break her one part at a time.
'Roland!' she tried to cry out to him, knowing that it won't reach. Perhaps, more in a futile attempt to save herself from drowning in this misery.
For a moment, everything went black. And then it returned, Roland was still staring at Angelica's hand. On the ring.
On it, was an engraving:
'To my angel. My piece of heaven.'
The realization finally caught up with Roland.
And he could do nothing
But SCREAM.
" AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!! "
Repeatedly.
" AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! "
Violently.
" AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA "
Until his vocal cords turned into blood.
Until he ran out of tears to cry.
And started crying blood.
And Ritsuka cried with him. Wept with him.
But their cries remained their own. The City never heard any of it. The gloves performing their solemn duty.
And from beyond the broken buildings - sunrise.
The City continued living as normal.
Lamentations of the widower left unheard.
*****
Ritsuka woke up.
Not with a start, no. Instead, she lay there, in her bed, perfectly, absolutely still.
Her mouth was slightly agape, eyes red with tears and her throat still experiencing the phantom pain of that scream.
Instead of unending sorrow, she now only felt apathy. It felt like the world itself turned gray.
She didn't want to stand up.
She didn't want to move.
She didn't want to eat, drink, sleep.
She wanted to lay there, for eternity, until there was nothing left of her.
She wanted to become a dot of black nothingness. Just so this feeling finally lost its grip on her soul.
But here she was. Staring at the ceiling. Mind fractured by ordeals, will - worn down by loss. The only person to have been for her this whole time - dying slowly.
And she could have stewed in that misery for a very long time. Was it not for the knock on the door.
"Ritsuka, you there? It's Roland."
Roland.
The nightmare passed by her eyes. His affection, his hope. His anger, hatred. His grief, sorrow, agony.
She found it in herself to stand up, only one thing on her mind.
"Ritsuka? Everything OK?"
Barefooted, she stepped forward. Her gait sloppy, a dull echo of its former self.
Her hand swept over the button and the door whooshed to the left.
Without thinking, or even seeing anything, she lurched forward, arms stretched.
She fell into the black jacket, her hands firmly pressed into the man's back.
"Wow, wow, hey. What's wrong?" a look at her almost dead eyes made him go at full alert.
Nevertheless, he didn't deny the embrace. He was a bit puzzled though.
"I know that I'm one handsome bugger, but what's gotten into you?" he asked.
She hugged him tighter.
"Angelica…" she murmured as if it could explain everything.
Roland's smile fell. Considering he had never mentioned his wife's name and her current state… Only one thing could really explain her behavior.
The memory of the dreadful day passed his mind at ten times the speed. He could still remember it vividly. Almost recount it second by second. He swallowed the bitterness.
But that wouldn't explain the reaction. She had been through a lot. Enough to not get too sad about it. Maybe it was Roman breaking the news to her? He took a quick look at her… and came to a conclusion that no. That wasn't the case either.
Fujimaru Ritsuka he came to know wasn't distraught for long. There would always be a reaction. She would be angry, sad. Try to play things off. She would express herself.
This just wasn't like her. Her eyes were so void of… anything, really. Eerily familiar of...
Click.
A dreadful picture came together in his head.
"Did you… feel everything as well?" he shot in the dark, hoping against hope to be wrong.
A nod.
His head went blank for a second. He knew that these dream cycles could be very finicky in their workings. It was never said, though, that you could feel everything an object of observation was feeling.
But if she did…
They were fucked. They were so very fucked.
Roland was losing his shit in real time, while Ritsuka just stood there, unwilling to do anything.
They stayed like that for another minute. Fixer was hesitant. He didn't know what to do with people in these situations. He never had experience. Best he had to go off of was Angelica, but that was neither here nor there. She more or less did the talking for the both of them.
But… he could still try, right? It's not like it can get any worse so…
He'll act like a responsible adult and give it his best shot.
And after, hopefully, succeeding - he would sick Mash on this sad Master of his.
In the corner of his mind, he knew that nothing could really fix this mess in its entirety.
Didn't mean he wouldn't try.
His hands settled on the orange mane of the girl. It was disheveled, a bit greasy and generally needed some care. Then, he eyed her clothes. It was a standard issue of Chaldea's uniform. An idea, a ghost of a plan appeared in his head.
His eyes then landed on the cart full of food he had been preparing for the last couple hours.
He had made the main dishes himself, in hopes to bribe his way to forgiveness, but if that didn't work - he asked Boudica to make some dessert. She agreed, thankfully.
Well, this would now become his weapon of bringing this girl from the brink of mental breakdown. If she didn't break already.
Deep breathes, Roland.
Main Principle Of Angelica's method - make it painful. The second most important principle - make it physical. The first thing wouldn't do him any good, but the second…
Without any warning, he picked the girl up in a princess carry, making her flinch slightly.
Pulling the cart along, he went into the room, left it by the door.
Closing the door behind him, he looked around. For what he wanted to do he needed… Yep, there's the bathroom.
Walking inside, he spotted the bath along with a shower.
Ignoring Ritsuka's blank stares, he gently put her in the bathtub, took off his jacket, rolled up the sleeves and pressed the button on the temperature regulator, for it to be just comfortable enough. But still slightly colder.
Then, without mercy, he sprayed her head to toe with water.
"Roland…" Ritsuka hissed, but stayed still, not bothered enough to really do anything.
Next, he grabbed the shampoo off the shelf, and started to clean the messy orange mane.
"Hm, you have a surprising amount of gray hairs for someone this young," he said.
Ritsuka kept her silence.
"Not that I can't understand where that's coming from. I used to have some of those in the early days as well," he didn't pay attention to the lack of reaction. He didn't expect her to speak, anyway. Although, being this open made him feel weird. "Back at the time I was just a small-time fixer, wandering from one office to another, trying to get by and all that. The kind of contracts I had to do back then, I swear - from searching for a lost toy in the gutter to getting cats off the trees."
He continued his monologue, hand now reaching to wash the shampoo off.
* WHOOOO *
The coolness comfortably tinged at Ritsuka's nerves, relaxing some of the pressure.
The vapor did its job well, the hair now glistening with light as water slid off of it and fell to the ground.
Ritsuka being wet from head to toe was an unfortunate, but inconsequential result of it. Which Roland didn't care much about.
He went to the room, brought the chair and put it in front of the mirror. Then picked the Master back up again and placed her on it in front of the bathroom's mirror.
Smoothly, in succession, his gloves appeared, then with a sleight of hand - scissors appeared, along with a hairbrush. The next moment, the gloves were gone.
The man looked at her from the mirror with a calculating look, measuring something in his head, his chin cupped.
Ritsuka was… honestly lost as to what he was trying to do here. Not many thoughts registered either way but this, at least made her think. And feel somewhat intrigued.
"Alright, your hair has clearly grown too much, so we are going to be fixing that. How do you want it to look?"
She tilt her head.
"As usual, then. However that is," he said nonchalantly, nodding, and then brushed some of the hair, trying to gauge how much exactly he should cut.
"Yep, this should do," he cut the hair loose, then brushed it again, and cut again. The process was repetitive, but it was soothing in a way.
Minutes stretched. She watched as he walked around her, brushing and cutting. It was flowing in a very calm rhythm, not fast enough, but not rushing it either. It was easy to be lost in it.
He caught her gaze.
"Wondering where I learned how to do it?"
She blinked. She didn't. But it was as good of a conversation as any. She didn't particularly care.
"Well," he cupped his chin, "You see, me and Angelica were living in a place full of 'Artists'. They were all a bunch of sickos. Most of them, anyway. Were all over their art and stuff. Painting, music, cooking, writing, what have you. Unfortunately, hairdressing was part of that list as well."
* CHICK-CHICK *
Some more hair dropped to the floor.
"Well, one day, Angelica returned home with a freaking nest for a head."
He frowned at the memory, his eyes fixed on a strands of hair, "And it was funny the first day. Then, night came and we realized it was impossible to sleep with it. Worst of all, it was done with some kind of patented tech that would make it stay that way for days. Doing anything to it… was also pretty impossible. And Angelica, being a bit of a clutz, totally disregarded the stylist's warning.
* CHICK-CHICK * * CHICK-CHICK-CHICK *
"We had to go to the hairdresser's and ask them to remove it. And they did that alright. For double the price! The only artists I saw there are with the 'con' in front!"
* CHICK *
Roland grumbled under his breath, cutting a bit more than he intended.
Ritsuka, unknowingly, found herself relaxing a bit, a barely noticeable tug on her lips.
"Since then I have also doubletimed as a hairdresser for her," he finished the story just in time for him to be finished.
"So, what'd you say?"
She looked in the mirror. The hair was brushed and cut neatly, returning some order to it. At just the right length too.
Ritsuka looked at his expectant eyes.
"It's alright," she whispered, not wanting to let him hang like that.
"Good, because now we have to braid it."
Annoyance reared its head.
"Leave it as usual," she voiced her wish.
"Na-huh, that won't do. You gotta change things up once in a while. I'm sure Mash would also like that," he pressed on, mischief apparent.
Emotions flared in her chest. She didn't know if it was the mention of her friend or her general unwillingness.
"I like my sidetail…" she murmured under her breath.
Roland smiled mischievously.
"Care to stop me then?"
She clammed up. Either from the audacity of this man or not really feeling like rising up to the bait.
"A braid it is, then," Roland looked really pleased with himself when she let out that annoyed huff, for some reason.
'Really' for the first time today, a coherent thought formed, 'he has such an annoying smile. Surprisingly good at getting on other people's nerves.'
"Your face looks very punchable right now," she blurted out without thinking.
"Oh," he stopped mid-action, but then his smile in the mirror widened, "You are not the first one to say that."
And silence. Like he baited her to ask 'who?'.
She looked at him, unamused.
"Alright, alright, jeez. There are like what? Twenty? Thirty people that had seen me without a mask?The one to note that was my friend - Oliver."
The face of the man flashed in her mind.
"...did you make up after what happened?" she asked with a small pause.
"The Pianist?" his hands stopped, "No, I guess we didn't? Mmm, it's complicated. I don't really know what to make of our friendship now," he shrugged, brow slightly furrowed.
He continued working on her hair, before stopping again.
"Also, remember I told you about the Blue Sicko? Well, he is my brother-in-law. He also said something like that."
Roland recalls out loud while waving his hand.
So the crazy guy in blue he mentioned was Angelica's brother… huh.
"Aaand, done," she didn't notice how Roland finished braiding her hair.
She looked up and turned her head, noticing how he styled it in a crown braid, which leaned to the left, giving just enough space for her sidetail to fit in.
It looked… a bit out of place like that. She liked it though. Just the right amount of chaos on her head. It was new and felt… somewhat refreshing.
Suddenly, she realized that the cool dampness of her clothes had receded some time ago and it became slightly easier to breathe and move.
"Well, with this over, let's get to the main event."
A hand entered her line of vision.
She gazed at it intently, before realizing that it was an invitation.
"You either walk there yourself or I keep carrying you around,"Roland offered, voice with a hint of laughter.
A funny idea of refusing the offer and continuing being carried made her crack a small smile. Nevertheless, she took it and stood up.
With light steps, the man took another chair and placed it in the middle of the room, motioning her to sit.
Then, he took the small, round table and placed it in front of her.
Finally, after clearing his throat, straightened his back and pulled the cart towards her.
"Ma'am," he said, his voice respectful and motions full of stateliness you wouldn't expect from a guy like him, "This servant of yours has sinned, not too long ago. I can only hang my head in shame for my unprofessionalism and offer you this humble, hand-made meal in an attempt to placate your possible ire."
He removed the cloth from the food, exposing the wonderfully smelling, but slightly cold dishes.
Then, catching her eyes again, he bowed a perfect 90 degrees.
She looked at it slightly wide eyed, not knowing what to say.
Maybe, she would have played along before this night. Right now, though, despite the apathy, she found it in herself to be sincere.
"I'm sorry too. I threw a tantrum. Screamed at you, and at Roman and I'm sorry for that," she hung her head in shame, a shadow forming over her eyes.
Roland straightened up again, eyes softer.
"Don't worry about it," he said, and before the agitated rebuttal left her lips, he offered a plate right at her face, "Eat instead. I haven't tried my hand in it for a while and we can cuss at each other any other time," he gave her a lopsided grin and she took it, carefully.
Looking over the delicious looking food (she didn't know what exactly) she realized that… she was hungry, but had no appetite whatsoever.
"Not in the mood?" he asked, arching the brow, "I say you try a bite anyway. It's a commonly known saying in the northern districts, that appetite comes as you eat."
Calmly, Roland offered his perspective, taking a seat opposite of her, pulling another chair from somewhere.
She looked at this very delicious looking piece of meat, accompanied by the mashed potatoes and some salad.
"Khm-Khm, this is Salisbury Steak. I managed to snatch the recipe from one of the restaurants in the western Backstreets. It's simple, just filling enough to last you until lunch and pretty delicious," he said that last part with undeniable pride.
She slurped on the saliva that threatened to leak out. A lid was put on her dampened mood as she took a bite and realized just how hungry she was.
Roland looked at the Master wolfing the portion with a please smile, for not only making a pretty good dish, but also raising Ritsuka's mood somewhat.
It's no wonder really that one of the biggest businesses in the Backstreet are cafes, restaurants, bars and stalls. All the woes of the day tend to be forgotten while you eat something good. Roland could attest to that.
Now, he just had to keep this up. The first part of the plan was to get Ritsuka more in the present moment, get her to think and listen and brood less.
This part of the plan would butter her up a bit. Make her feel less like a sad piece of crap. Put her in a better mood. And maybe, that's where she would return to normal, somewhat, and the day would be saved until Mash gets better.
…He wouldn't be betting on that, with his luck.
So, he observed further.
How her face regained some color. How it became more expressive too. And how her body language came alive.
Ritsuka went through the dish at lightning speeds. Thankfully, he had another dish prepared.
"A basic Cesar salad to get some of those vitamins."
"Oh no, the veggies…" she said, a spark lighting up in her eyes and dying just as quickly.
Her hands stilled and she put her fork down.
She lifted her eyes, unstable emotions locked behind the pools of ember.
"Roland I… appreciate this. Everything," she said, forcing a smile out, "But it feels like we are avoiding the problem."
"That's good," he nodded.
She frowned slightly and tilted her head.
"Feeling, I mean. When I came here, you couldn't even feel anything, let alone have a chat."
It finally struck her that she was feeling better.
The frown deepend.
"How can you… how can you still be sane after that?" she said, barely a whisper. "All that anger and hate and regret and misery and sorrow. I only got to experience it once, for mere minutes and it tore me apart."
She looked at him blankly.
"That's because I wasn't," he replied offhandedly.
She tilted her head.
"What do you think a grief-stricken widower would do?" he asked, his voice a few tones more heavy and eyes so much more piercing.
"...Grieve. Move on. Maybe bury himself in work…" she offered hesitantly, referring to the sensitivities of her time.
She should have figured the answer would be much, much worse.
"He sought revenge, Rituska," Roland distanced himself from the table, leaning in into the chair. "On the person who did that to him. On the City that did it to him. As a result… over a thousand dead. They stopped counting after fifteen hundred. The body count was… really up there."
Her eyes snapped up.
"The Pianist couldn't have happened out of the blue, right? So he went on a rampage, searching for someone to punish. Eventually just losing himself in violence," he clarified the reasoning.
For a second, Master just stared at Roland. Despite what he had said, she… didn't find him repulsing. She had experienced his grief.
She couldn't blame him, even with an understanding that what he did was wrong. Maybe she would feel about it differently, when emotions settle but not now.
Her dour mood did little to her one defining characteristic. She was curious. And she never failed to act on it.
"What happened next?"
Roland fixed her with a brief look, before leaning forward.
"I came up short. No one knew anything. Until… until one day I appeared in the Library. Right in front of the person responsible for my misfortune. Who was just another victim of the damn city," his hands balled into fists, but then relaxed. "A machine I came to befriend."
Ritsuka's eyes lit up with understanding. The timeline connected in her head. The realization did little to alleviate the oppressive atmosphere, or the dull pain in her chest, but it did make her slightly better.
The room fell into silence, neither of the two willing to say anything more.
"Roland, what do I do now?"
"Hm…" Fixer silently picked up the chair relocated next to her.
The smell of uneaten vegetables spread through the air. The subdued jitter of Ritsuka' leg was akin to a chaotic beat of this chat. The bright red scratches on her hands underlined just how hard this conversation, this day, had gone for her.
"After… After watching, seeing what you had to go through I… I can't say I won't break. If something were to happen to Mash I'll lose it. Completely. And I'm so… helpless to do anything. I'm here, saving humanity, doing the right thing but the few I really care about I send to their death or just…"
Ritsuka's voice cracked as she talked, the hysteria slowly seeping into her voice as her breathing started to hitch.
Roland sat in silence, hesitantly pulling the girl closer and embracing her by the shoulder.
Small droplets trailed down her face and her breathing became rough.
"Breathe, girl. Just breathe," he started to draw circles on her back, trying not to look at her crying face.
Turns out, he was still uncomfortable with seeing anyone's tears…
"If…" uncertain, Roland started his speech, "I had to give you any advice it would be… Just live."
A pair of puffy eyes rose to his own, forlorn ones.
"Death is the kind of thing no one really pays attention to in the City. Everyone knows it exists, no one pays it much mind. We brush off with it, but look away just as quickly.
"I knew Angelica could die. But as time went by - I decided to forget about it. Thought our time would last forever. Took it for granted…" as he listed off his regrets, Roland's face soured more and more. "Chose to look away from reality. And reality came knocking."
The man let out a shaky breath, but continued, his only audience listening without interruption.
"If I just… If I could just spend more time with her… But that doesn't matter now." he shook his head, his eyes turning to look her in the eye, "What matters now is that you have the time."
He then smiled slightly, remembering something.
"'What's more to say, pain always catches up to those who chooses to stay…'" he sang, off-tune but sincere.
There definitely was a story behind that. She couldn't interrupt him, though, too enthralled with the speech.
"Don't linger, Ritsuka. Time - is all you have left. Use it." He finishes his thought, solemnly, his shoulders sagging, as memories - sad and happy, echoed in his chest. Sometimes - they were one and the same.
"But…" he suddenly interrupted the silence,"Don't take this from her. You know, singularities, adventures… Have you ever asked what her dream was?"
She shook her head.
"I asked her yesterday. She wants to see the sky of the world you saved together. Pretty corny if you ask me, but hey, I'm a jaded grade nine. Don't know what kids these days want from life."
His attempt at humor was noted with a strained smile.
"This whole thing… This is what she amounts her life to. So don't do the other stupid thing I almost made and try to tuck her away somewhere safe. I learned the hard way."
"What happens?"
"They kick the shit out of you and you sleep on the couch."
Ritsuka started to shake a little.
"You alright?" he asked.
"He-he-he-he-he," small chuckles were his answer.
"Ha. Yeah, that was a thing to remember as well."
Another silence. This time - more comfortable as the two stayed close. One, clumsily attempting to console the other.
"Thanks, Roland," words of gratitude, as weak as they were, tore through the quiet.
Roland turned to her.
"You, emm, you are welcome?"
She elbowed him, getting a single ouch in return. Then, he remembered something.
"Don't think you are in the mood, but I have to offer…" he stood up and approached the lower compartment of the cart.
Opening it, some cold mist started below to the ground.
What Roland pulled out was a small tray with ice cream.
"I've got ice cream. Dessert and all of that. Want some?"
She sniffed and raised her head. Then, without thinking much, nodded.
"Yeah."
They ate ice cream, talked, stayed silent. Exchanged stories, even trained a little.
Fought off the depressing thoughts and a rare fits of hysteria.
They didn't raise any of the important topics anymore. Instead, just soaking in each other's company.
That's how the next few hours went, before Ritsuka dozed off - that night's bad sleep catching up with her.
As Roland put her on the bed, he couldn't help noting, that she looked a lot more at peace.
As he left the room of the already sleeping Master, he pondered. Something needed to be done about this. And just leaving it on Mash just wouldn't cut it. He needed help, though.
By themselves, his legs brought him to the infirmary.
* KNOCK-KNOCK *
"Come in!" came Roman's voice from the other side.
"Whooh," Roland breathed out and entered.
A servant's work is never done.