A Magical Girl Raising Project fic.
First published December 2016.
Cranberry x La Pucelle, 424 words.
‘I know about you,’ Cranberry says, with a cat-like smile. She doesn’t move; her poise is unchanged, but La Pucelle feels the threat of her.
‘La Pucelle.’ Cranberry shapes the name carefully, and her smile shows teeth. ‘But you’re no maiden, are you?’
La Pucelle takes a step back, into a fighting stance. Cranberry follows the movement with her eyes, but she remains at ease.
‘What do you know?’ La Pucelle asks. Anger thumps in the back of her head. How can Cranberry know anything about her? They’ve never met. Snow White is the only one who knows – the only one La Pucelle can imagine allowing to know – and Snow White wouldn’t tell.
‘I know Snow White forgets what to call you,’ Cranberry says. ‘Sou-chan.’ Her eyes slide down La Pucelle’s body, making La Pucelle aware of just how revealing her costume is. Usually she doesn’t mind.
As if it were an afterthought, Cranberry says, ‘Makes the sword an interesting choice.’ And La Pucelle feels her chest grow hot.
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘You know,’ Cranberry says. ‘What would the other magical girls think, I wonder?’
‘Are you trying to blackmail me?’ La Pucelle is outraged. ‘It won’t work.’ If Cranberry wants to tell the others, so be it. La Pucelle can cope.
‘I wonder,’ Cranberry says. Again, her eyes linger.
‘I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.’
Cranberry meets her eyes. She cocks an eyebrow in a way that makes La Pucelle think she knows more than she says, more than she possibly could, more than La Pucelle would admit.
La Pucelle hasn’t done anything unnatural. This body is her, just at as much as Souta is her. And what she does when she’s alone is nobody’s business.
She doesn’t know, La Pucelle tells herself. There’s no way she could know. And yet just with a look, Cranberry strips her bare. La Pucelle wants to repeat herself: I’ve nothing to be ashamed of.
‘What do you want from me?’ she asks instead, her voice smaller.
‘Nothing,’ Cranberry says. ‘Yet.’ She steps closer to La Pucelle, close enough to touch her. But she doesn’t touch, and La Pucelle doesn’t move.
Cranberry tilts her mouth to La Pucelle’s ear. ‘I just wanted to see how you’d react,’ she says. ‘Give you something to think about.’
If La Pucelle’s face goes red, she can’t help it.
‘No shame, right?’
No shame.
La Pucelle could say the words back. But as Cranberry steps away, her eyes too knowing, La Pucelle can’t make herself believe them.