maple

Giselle is still in her cabin when Bibury comes back from her not-so-relaxing island vacation. 

“Oh, you’re back!” Giselle greets her as she stumbles into the room, Iru tucked under her arm. Bibury’s fellow general rises from the chair she was sitting in (Bibury’s chair!) and rushes over to her with what looks like concern in those green-blue eyes. “You look awful, what happened to you?”

“Why would I tell you that?” Bibury snaps. 

“At least let me take a look at you. What if you’re hurt?”

And for some insane reason Bibury does, sitting down in her chair while Giselle fusses over her. It’s weird; Elisio and Grave would sooner make sweets than help another general. This isn’t going to make her Noir’s favorite. She tells her that.

“I’m not here to be Noir’s favorite,” Giselle huffs, inspecting a bruise on Bibury’s cheek. “I’m here for my brother.”

“Funny story,” Bibury drawls, “I actually saw your brother today.”

Giselle’s eyes light up. “You did? How is he?”

“He was with the other Precure,” she spits out that last word like it’s a curse, “getting all buddy-buddy with them at the beach. Seemed to be doing disgustingly well for himself.” Ignoring the fact that he refused to fight her, but Giselle doesn’t need to know that. 

“Oh,” Giselle says, tone dipping despite what are clearly her best efforts at keeping it upbeat. “Très bien. I’m glad he’s doing okay.”

“Tres what?” Bibury repeats the unfamiliar words.

“Très bien?” Giselle repeats, looking a bit surprised at the shift in conversation. “It’s French for very good. Do you not know French?”

“Why would I know French?” Bibury snaps. It’s not like she’s ever had the chance to learn some fancy-pants language while she’s been stuck here for a century, and anyways, why would she have bothered in the first place?

“D- Sorry,” Giselle apologizes. “That was a bit rude of me, wasn’t it? Sometimes I forget that I’m not surrounded by other French speakers anymore.”

An apology from one of Noir’s generals? Hell must be freezing over.