La Pucelle

D I R E C T O R Y

RP Blog for Jeanne d’Arc of Fate Apocrypha Indie. Private. Selective. Crossover & OC Friendly Beloved by Kaerene.

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There it was. 

The confirmation he needed. Although it wasn’t visible from his form, Lancelot felt relief wash over him. He could feel slightly less pain from knowing that he at least wasn’t encountering her again. That name was familiar. He knew very well she was from France now with the full title. Though, he never encountered a Ruler class beforehand. It was new to him. 

     “…” 

Silence again. Now that he knew her name, he realized he was obligated by his own code to introduce himself, no matter how hard that might seem. Clenched teeth let go as he relaxes his form again. He had to focus so that his speech would at the very least be comprehensible to Jeanne. One of his concerns would be if she recognized him name. He wouldn’t have been a legend of Europe if the name alone didn’t cause a reaction. 

     “Lancelot… Du Lac…”, he utters, but clearly enough to further the conversation. When he spoke, his body trembled to a certain amount. Speaking wasn’t exactly something that came easy to him now. He thought that, if she recognized him, perhaps there would be less tension knowing someone like him. Though, that name… he didn’t exactly know it or what she had done. She was definitely after his own time a great many years ago. Medieval, but clearly much, much later on than he was. 

There seems to be just a bit more ease in the air after that exchange. And taking note of the fact that he had managed to disclose his identity in a coherent sentence despite the struggle that Madness Enhancement must have caused--She was about to thank him, only to find herself coming to a startled pause upon hearing his name.

“Lancelot...of the Lake? Then, you are....”

A Knight of the Round Table. How strange it was, that fate would allow for La Pucelle and the Knight of the Lake to cross paths against all odds, and across the boundaries of time. Blinking slowly, eyes having widened--Jeanne soon manages to regain her composure, and looks downwards for but an instant, before looking right back at the other with newfound respect. A fellow countrymen, one who had performed great deeds even if his sins matched in gravity--But she was hardly one to talk, and only the Lord could truly judge others at the end of the day. 

It was simply not her place.

[ HE SAID SPANK ME, SO I SLAPPED HIM WITH THE WORD OF THE LORD ]

+ indie rp blog for Jeanne d’Arc+

+ don’t even look at me if you’re not praising it +

+ 10+ years of roleplaying experience, why am I here just to suffer +

Disclaimer: This humble Kae creature would like for Jeanne to slap her with the word of the Lord

#What’s a girl’s best friend? God. (Self) #Dick is alright but have you tried filling your mouth with the words of the Lord? (IC) #Astolfo stop running around naked in front of my draggo boyfriend (Angst)

tfw he feels guilty, that it's all his fault and that he caused Camelot to fall, that his love for someone else harmed his closest friend he also loved. That he must suffer now as a malformed 'heroic spirit' unable to even form proper sentences or walk like the very earth beneath him isn't trying to kill him

His disposition is hard to read. Both in his status and his general demeanor. He could very well understand Jeanne with little issue. His problem with the fellow servant was the assumption he had to follow her order. Lancelot remains in his spot as he stares at Jeanne. There was something that he wanted from her, now that his memory piqued interest. He had hoped his assumption was correct. With that, a taloned finger points at her.

     “Name…”  he asks, a destructive filter over his voice from both the enchanted madness and his helmet. A name was all he wanted. 

For the reason of wishing to know… wishing to know he at least come across someone of the similar origin to him. If he could muster the strength, maybe even speak more to her. But, there was another problem he had. Her face reminded him of… her. He’d at least want to disprove his own suspicion. He had hoped she wouldn’t speak the dreaded name that caused him anguish and anger. He was sure it wasn’t the same person. Her appearance, while of a similar face, contrasted completely. The off-chance this was her… he needed to dismiss it entirely. He wouldn’t want to make a mess of this strange organization, after all. 

“My name?”

Through the haze of distortion, she can clearly understand his words at the very least even if his intentions escape her. Pausing as she contemplated answering, she surmised that as allies within Chaldea--It was acceptable to give her name, for they were not enemies. And, well--Should they ever turn to become such, she would bring him down. 

Of that she was certain, should such events ever come to take place.

“--Very well.”

Her hand continuing to rest upon her chest, Jeanne looked towards him, her gaze unwavering despite the imposing and arguably menacing he figure he cut by simply standing there pointing at her. Gauntlet covered hand resting upon her chest, the saint spoke.

His visor only emits red rays of his own madness as he stares down the Ruler with zero intention to abide by her wish. Standing in the middle of these halls were done with simply no reason at all. Perhaps, the pain of his  body demanded rest. Perhaps he just wanted to. Regardless, Lancelot keeps himself hidden beneath the veil of his noble phantasm. Black mist in an aura constantly biting at him and the very air they breathed. The blonde did strike him deeper within his memories of his former home. A fellow countrymen from a different era, it seemed. Even then, he could recognize his home when he could see it. 

     “…”  

Still, no movement. It was uncanny how he could be most erratic at his worst, but still retain the self control to hold completely still. As if it were an instinct to freeze up like this. But then, a slow, distorted sound of an exasperated sigh is let out. He tilts his head upwards to look at Jeanne directly. As if his eyes were right unto hers. 

      “..?” 

The look he gave– it was almost as if he only just realized he was in front of her and in her way. His own madness drove him to staring off into nothing and not acknowledging others, after all. But, even now as he was fully aware, he parted his legs and almost bent his knees. Was he intentionally doing it now? 

@saintharted

It was strange to say the least, for the Berserker to bar her path in such a way. She recalls not a time when she did something that could have possibly incurred his wrath or disdain. On the other hand, Berserkers could be quite...unreasonable, simply by nature as a result of the Madness Enhancement that all of them survived. Though she could not perceive it even with her Ruler status, she was fairly certain of it: The parameter on that specific status must have been fairly high.

“....Is there something you desire of me?”