cherchez la femme

“To find my way home!” As expected, Cherche’s intuition guides her to the correct answer before Henry replies. “I’ve never been to this part of the city before,” the mage adds, as he rises to his feet, his cape gently lifting off of the ground. ”And I don’t remember my way back… This plant wasn’t very helpful, either.”

“I see.” A pale red gaze falls upon the affectionate creature next to her, examining her size, her stature, to see if her size was the only thing that had been affected. He reaches out with a gloved hand, holding it in front of her to allow her to recognize his presence, then lifts up, running his hand along the scales on her back.

“Of course I agree, Cherche.” His smile, radiant and content, beams up at the wyverness, dividing his attention between listening to her and lavishing Minerva with adoration. ”I’m glad you understand! People generalize animals all the time, thinking that they’re all the same! But they’re like people, you know?”

      She smiles at Henry as he pets Minerva, thinking back to all their talks about such wonderful animals and conversations involving the wyvern herself. The Plegian was definitely not one of the first people she'd have ever expected to befriend so easily, still, she's glad for their camaraderie  and the bond they share.

      ❝But, in any case...❞ She digresses back to the topic from before, looking around their surroundings and observing the area. ❝You wished to go back home, correct? Please, allow me to escort you back. Home is a long way from here, isn't it?❞ While knowing that Henry must mean his assigned apartment in the city, she can't help but reference back to their real world--somewhere she misses rather terribly.

And here he is, crouching down to talk to a plant; though it would be best to ask a plant that’s been in growth for longer, such as a tree, or even a crow, if available, none were accessible to him. He asks, and as he crouches down to listen, he hears more than one voice— one belonging to one of his fellow human comrades.

“Cherche!” Eagerly, he smiles up at the woman, and gestures towards a small plant, growing between the crevices of the pavement. “I’m a bit lost, you see… I was just asking this weed for instructions.”

      ❝Minerva is... having a rather rough time, I'd say.❞ She begins her explanation with her typical smile. ❝Of course, I don't know all of the details, but as far as I'm concerned, those who brought us here turned my dear Minerva into what she is now!❞  Initially far from pleased, the two found it much easier to adjust to this size change than originally thought. Still, it's rather tough to remember that Minerva is just not the big creature she was in the past!

At her bright apology, he gently shakes his head, murmuring soft, but curt, words in return. ”It’s fine.” The last thing he’d want her doing now is serving him; even in his time, Cherche had always been one to consider the well-being of others before her own health. A ‘hero’ was what the villagers called her; an overworking, non-present mother was what he thought of it. That was why she had gone from village to village during his youth, helping them ward off Risen instead of spending time with him, that was why—

…she had left him.

“I would not want to leave now, out of all times.” His tone is scornful, as a weary sigh leaves him. He contemplates; his voice carries a different sound, a more reflective one. ”Many a fortnight have I spent wondering what I could have done differently. Could I, at my young age, have broken character and begged you not to leave camp that day? Could I have done something to keep you occupied, instead of allowing you to leave, never to return?”

“There is no doubt that my mother was a great person. Like you, she was kind. Her warmth touched many, and inspired many more. I would say that the townspeople understood her kindness more than I did, for we did not spend much time together.” His hand curls into a fist, as he tries to keep his composure together, despite how he feels it slipping apart by the second. The more of his mother he recalls, the more he struggles, but he continues.

“The woman who sits before me is an imposter.” He comments, scathingly, gritting his teeth. While he understands that his anger is misguided, he can’t help releasing years of pent-up grief. ”You bear her image, but you cannot provide me with the answers that I desire. But… you would know yourself better than anyone else.” 

He leans over to rest his elbows on his knees, hands shifting upwards to bear the weight of his mask, slick with his sorrow, but leaving his features hidden between his fingers, for he wishes not to show her such a disgraceful face.

“Why did she leave me? Why was she never around? Did she… not…

      ❝Oh, Gerome...❞ Cherche whispers under her breath, wincing at the imagery of a younger boy so desperately clinging onto the hope of his mother's return. ❝I am so sorry.❞ Though she figures her words probably don't mean much to the other, sincerity is laced throughout her sentences and her eyes are filled with sorrow. 

      ❝While it is a knight's duty to insure the safety of others... No child deserves to be left alone by their mother like that... And certainly not you.❞ A small sigh escapes her lips, feelings of frustration over herself from her son's period quickly builds up inside her. Though, she isn't necessarily angry at his real mother for not sticking by his side all this time--after all, she had her own duties to fulfill and by what he has told her, she had done a fine job of accomplishing her task to protect others. She just wishes she could've given the best for Gerome, because that's what he deserves.

      ❝You may call me an impostor, dislike me, refuse me all you want, but that does not change the fact that you are my son.❞ Despite his ill thoughts of her, Cherche refuses to give up on him so easily; she cares for Gerome far too much to just let him go like that. She may not be his real mother, nor is she able to give him back the fond memories of childhood that were so abruptly taken from him, but she'll make sure to ease his troubled heart as much as she can. ❝I am not the mother you know nor am I even the mother you want... But I'm here for you and I swear to help you through your struggles. You don't have to carry such a heavy burden by yourself.❞

The sellsword straightened himself up as best as he could and rubbed his right side, trying his best to play down the pain as best he could. he begun looking at the machine again, almost as if the whole incident never happened.

"Hah! Cherche’s worry is kind on heart, like salve on wound, yes? But Gregor is careful plenty, he just found strange statue to be shocking like lightning! Is like big cupboard with no door! Place is strange like maze."

The middle aged man looked back to Cherche, and then to the tiny dragon that once stood thrice his size. He ran his spare hand through his short hair and gave an rather heaty chuckle at the both of them.

      ❝Why, your words are kind and taken to heart, Gregor.❞ With a light giggle, she brings a hand to cup her cheek, glad for the kind compliments from the mercenary. ❝I'm afraid that's no ordinary statue. I believe that's what they call a "vending machine".❞ Cherche is equally unfamiliar with the terminology and machinery that come with this city, though she's trying to understand, it's a bit difficult to get right the first couple of tries.

“I see… Perhaps, one day, if things turn out well… I shall take you to peruse these stores. But that is a suggestion, and nothing more. Do not make anything more out of it.” Though his words are tentative, and he ends his sentence gruffly, the idea of visiting these shops with her, and seeing her happy… it would mean more to him, than anything in the world.

Upon hearing her area of residence, however, he blinks in surprise, at her close proximity. “Interesting… I have been assigned to Z-3; therefore, accompanying you would be no extra effort, on my part.” He steps forward, his dark cape swishing behind him, turning back once to see if she would follow, before he proceeds along the sidewalk, with Minerva keeping up behind the both of them. He makes several turns here and there, though he makes no attempt to rekindle additional conversation, until he reaches the general apartment housing of Sector 3. His quick gait comes to a halt, if only to deliberate, as he taps a finger thoughtfully against his chin. The apartments were arranged alphabetically, so if he was at that end, then she had to be…

      The building itself is rather large, hopefully to accommodate to the needs of its residents, though she has nothing much to say about its appearance until entering the superstructure. As Minerva trots along beside her, Cherche peers around the area and examines the interior; it's no palace, but the living conditions seem to beat the barracks only slightly (as far as she can tell).

      As they bring themselves to a halt in front of a door she presumes is her housing, Cherche fumbles around to find the key she received from those strange people and unlocks the lock to open the door and holds it open to allow Gerome to enter first before following suit.

      ❝Well, we're here now. You bothered to take me all the way here, so why not make yourself at home?❞ She points to the couch in the middle of the room, motioning for him to sit and relax in the comfort of her new home. Without waiting for a response, she heads towards the piece of furniture without hesitation, sitting on the far right hand end of it, crossing her legs in a refined manner. ❝My apologies, if this were an environment I was familiar with, I'd have brought something for us to drink!❞ Her smile is soft as she folds her hands on her lap. 

❝You just might hurt yourself!❞

… Too late. The last pull the mercenary gave caused the boxy machinery to topple forward. In an instant the main put both of his hands out to try to stop is crushing him. The position was painful, and as Gregor turned his head to see who had called him the beads of sweat were already starting to form and make his forehead glisten.

"… Ah, is good friend Cherche and… tiny puppy dog sized Minerva! Is trapped here too, yes? Not as trapped as Gregor is right now though. Oy, luckily Gregor’s back is like sturdy mountain even in tornedo!"

      ❝Oh my... That seems rather unpleasant...❞ She mutters to herself under her breath, though still loud enough for the fallen man to have heard. ❝Would you like some assistance?❞ Without waiting for an answer, as she thought it's pretty obvious what he'd say anyway, the rider leans down to pick grasp the edges of the vending machine. One large heave later, she manages to put the object back into its rightful place against the wall, dusting off her clothing afterwards.

Gregor had travelled the world and seen many amazing sights; he had also fought many people during those travels for a day’s wage. But here in Hive he had met his match.

A vending machine.

The strange statue was just propped up next to a building, and the sellsword was strangely entranced by what appeared to be food behind the window… but how would he get to brightly coloured paper inside? There was no latch to open the window, and knocking his fist onto the pane did naught but give the man an aching hand. It was all very confusing.

      Like little ol' Gregor having a bit of a tussle with the local "vending machine", or so she's heard it's called.

“But, you are not my mother.” He speaks firmly, resolutely, and there is no compassion upon his hidden expression, though he strains vehemently to keep his voice level. “The way you look at me… no matter who I was to the future you, you currently regard me as an acquaintance, and similarly, I consider you nothing more.” Alas, what was the point of progressing into further detail? He could talk all he wanted, but she was someone else. There were no memories of his childhood that she would magically dredge up, because they did not exist within her to begin with.

“Common decency would have it that I have no qualms in showing you around; I do not need to fabricate an excuse to assist a comrade in need.” A faint grin, scarcely detectable, plays upon his lips as he reaches to scratch the smaller wyvern behind the neck (and how radiantly content his mother looks, holding the creature in her arms), though the smile soon vanishes as he notices its presence on his face. He drops his hand, rests it back by his side, and glances back once, to make sure his wyvern was still resting where he had left her, before turning back to Cherche. ”Where do you reside? I shall escort you there, if you will condone it. Our conversation is not fit for the public to overhear.”

      ❝You're as charming as ever...❞ Her words slowly falter as she finishes her sentence, admiring the way Gerome smiles (even if it's just a slight tug against his lips) as he interacts with Minerva. Even if he's not someone this smaller wyvern is familiar with, she seems happy enough to receive this gentle attention, and likewise for her son who also appears to enjoy this show of affection. ❝It's good luck I ran into you today. I was, in fact, searching for a way to my new home but I had gotten far too distracted by all these adorable crafts and whatnot they had strewn about.❞ She begins as she gently sets down the creature once Gerome retracts his arm back to his side. ❝In any case, I was placed into an area by the name of L-3, I believe.❞

“Your assumptions would be correct— I have been here for beyond a month. Though, this premise is not exactly a ‘nation’, per se… It is more of a large, urban city.” He taps a finger against his other arm, thoughtfully. Yes… that was probably right… It was called Hive City, after all. Ridding himself of further thought, he clears his throat. “She, and your ring, as you know… they were all I had left of you back then— and they were all I had left of you here.”

A soft sigh, and then he mutters something quietly, to the side, averting his eyes. ”At least she was there for me, when you weren’t.”

His voice wavers in tone, and he swallows the lump rising in his throat; but, as callously as his words are uttered, speaking to her in such a rude manner still guilts him, and his gaze hesitantly flickers back up, examining her still-cheerful features, before glancing back down.

      ❝There's nothing wrong with this time, or so I believe. In fact, I think it's a wonderful time to smile... After all, I'm able to have a nice conversation with you.❞

      Cherche lets out an amused chuckle, hoping to ease the dreary air around Gerome even just a bit. Normally, this would be a time where she assumes all somberness, but this just wasn't the right place in order to have such a conversation. The middle of a sidewalk near some vendors just simply isn't the time for such things anyway, she'd rather not have any bystanders poking their noses in where they don't belong.

A scream is heard nearby; he ignores it. A wyvern’s roar is heard even closer, as if it stood several yards away from him, and he jumps, caught a bit off guard. He responds instantly, slackening the reins in his grip and allowing the leather straps to fall flat against her skin. Though his vision is limited, he knows Minerva’s call anywhere, and if that call had not come from his own wyvern, then it had come from…

He dismounts, climbing carefully off of her back and landing neatly on his two feet. His footsteps are cautious, but well-placed, as he approaches the other creature, nodding briefly at the woman next to her. Wordlessly, he crouches down, maintaining eye-level with the wyvern, and shows her his hand, before bringing it gently over her head, murmuring soothingly until she calms down. He remarks, softly. ”She is from a time where she does not know me, after all.”

It is after this that he rises to his feet to properly acknowledge her. Surely, one would expect him to be kinder to his own mother. And it was not as if he did not love her— it was the opposite: he loved her too much, that he wasn’t willing to risk remembering how to love her again.

“Mot— No…” He takes his words back, with a shake of his head. ”Cherche…”

     ❝Gerome...❞

     ❝... It's good to see you again.❞ She dismisses Gerome's cold speech, already used to his brooding nature from the passing comments he had made from time to time despite how annoying and saddening it could be for her. ❝It's just as you say; I have been faring well, thank you.❞ They've rarely had the chance to properly speak to each other so calmly outside of the battlefield; it always seems like the other just wanted to avoid her for the most part, which confused her greatly with how he still managed to travel to her time.

     But, perhaps she's been reading him incorrectly, he could have merely just wished to keep a distant relationship and only came back in order to help the future children of that world. 

by シジマ