* SCARLET MAGE!

“Famous last words of a fool.”  She hisses, “But you’re incredibly lucky, you don’t need to go to a hospital.”  gloved fingers shove the Master back into the nearest seat, and tries to ignore the curious and looming shadow of one Alucard over her shoulder.  Persephone peels her glove off, looks up at Integra with a curt notice:  “This is going to hurt.”  And digs her fingers into the bullet wound.  

-- A clean exit.  That’s good.  

The familiar slime and slip of scarlet on her fingers is a disturbing comfort.  She calls the heat to answer her, and it does.  The blood sings, and stitches veins back together.   When she pulls her fingers free, the hole is barely more than a scratch.  

⠀⠀           clever woman. rather then to test patience, she knew to obey. tenseness of moments before thinned. the blade eventually lowering from the neck. remaining in hand however, as a lingering threat.

⠀⠀           eyes then lowered to the ‘gift’.

⠀⠀           disgusting.

⠀⠀           the single thought upon the mind.

⠀⠀           ❝ tell me. are you truly so brave to offer the spirit you summoned the very item that caused their demise? do you seek death this earnestly? ❞ swiping at the outstretched hand to snatch the item, the Vengess inspected it closer.

⠀⠀           dark oak. even if lacking knowledge of nature, and having the inability to name plants on sight, she could never fail to recognize this.

⠀⠀           ❝ you ought to explain fast for what reason you have summoned me. your rapidly shrinking life may depend on it. ❞

“I thought you might want to destroy it.  To dispose of it. If not, I can throw it in the hearth.”  Persephone offers explanation cautiously, taking a deep breath when the sword is removed from her throat, and the offensive oak snatched out of her grasp.  “Such a relic of your suffering shouldn’t exist, right?” 

“I sought the service of ... your myth, for the Grail War.  But I wasn’t aware summoning an Avenger would even be such a possibility.  I thought ... if there was anyone who I could fight beside to win, if anyone could help me crush anyone in the path of my desires -- it would have been you.”  It’s clear that Avenger was not what she anticipated.  She thought Joan of Arc would be a Saber, or a Lancer.  

This shade of vengeance will be harder to bargain with. 

’ hm . ’ the  bell  chimes  as  alabaster  hands  rest  upon  her  lap  as  she  ponders  on her  answer  .   that  is  quite  the  question .   she  is  not  born  of  the  flesh  ,   in  fact  her  birth  was  something  of  a  mishap  -  in  spite  of  that  she  had  a  purpose.  pools  of  carbuncle  gaze  toward   the   master  ,   perhaps  this  is  sufficient.  ❝ i  was  not given  the  capabilities  to  feel , that would  have  been  poor  craft  to  make  a  construct  ’ feel ’.  ❞  she  paused.  ❝ despite  what  i  lack  , i  do  not  feel  the  need to ’ belong ’ but , i  do  have  a purpose   among  the  Einzberns.  i  cannot  understand  your  feelings  ,   i  cannot  empathize  ,  but  you  are  here  for  a  purpose .  what  is  a  body  of  anything  but  a vessel ? ❞

“You don’t ... feel?  At all?”  While that might seem sad upon first impression, there is the knowledge that being unable to feel means it can’t be sad not to feel at all.  It begs a philosophical question that Persephone doesn’t have the answer to-- she doesn’t know what it means to be as Justeaze is.  She cannot fathom it.  

She makes a good point all the same;  What is a body of anything but a vessel?  The seat of the soul.  Without all the confusion of feelings, are Homunculi perhaps closer to the true nature of their souls than humans?  Perhaps that’s what makes them such effective mages.  Philosophical indeed. 

     … bold, she is.  he turns to look at her with furrowed brows and a tightened grip on his staff.  the weight of a legend… no, many legends.  his own; artoria’s; the knights; the paladins… every life he’s ever touched, he is interwoven into their narrative like a painfully off-color thread in a grand tapestry… to put it simply, it’s unbearable.

     ❛   do you ask hard questions to everyone you meet, or am i special?   ❜     comes a playful, teasing response.  merlin’s face relaxes, and then shifts into a deflective grin.

     ❛   i quite like the attention, really~,   ❜     a bold-faced lie,     ❛   i don’t feel human things like ‘stress’, so i’m pretty completely chill all the time!  it’s also why my skin is so clear!   ❜     

“Not ... usually.”  She’s grateful for his graciousness.  It just slipped out!  Blame it on the shock and awe of seeing Merlin himself in the flesh.  In a real grail war, who could possibly hope to ever summon a spirit so well known?  Chaldea is flocked to the brim with them, names and spirits and vessels of such reknowned, who could help but be overwhelmed within their presence.  

She smiles at his good natured jest, and despite a distinct feeling that such may not be the entire truth, it isn’t her place to question him.  

⠀⠀           upon the speaking of that name gilded eyes sends their regards with the sharpest glare.

⠀⠀           in a twisted sense, yes. this was indeed Jeanne d’Arc. however, in this instance, this form, being addressed with that name… 

⠀⠀           within a moment blade was drawn, swung with murderous malice, halting at the edge of the magus’ neck. ❝ do not ever refer to me by that name. you will address me as ‘Avenger’. make this mistake once and no more. ❞

She doesn’t flinch, by some miracle.  Good thing, too, the edge of the sword against her neck might cut if she does.  But honeyed eyes go wide.  It certainly isn’t the most Masterly thing, when Percy holds up her hands in a display of peace and quietly acquiesces:  “Yes, of course.  I’m sorry, Avenger.”  

“Avenger.”  She’s heard about this class;  individuals of great power who loathe the lives they lived so much it carries them on after death ... how unexpected.  She thought -- well, what she thought doesn’t matter.  It isn’t the truth.  ( Oh, doesn’t it turn the saddest spin upon it all?  A woman put to the pyre burning with hatred for everyone who put her there.  The story has always made Percy want to cry, it’s somehow so much worse to know how much malice came behind it all. ) 

She doesn’t imagine her pity would be well received.