Kirsikka Edelfelt (
girlwiththegandrshot) wrote2012-08-26 06:12 pm
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Backstage
On the day Saber went the theater, Kirsikka Edelfelt wrote a letter in her head. Dear sister, she would write. Saber is exceptional. There are none alive, I am certain, who could measure against her. The men and women of this age are too small-minded and mean, but she! She is a creature of sheer strength and ambition. She will not stop until her legend is made immortal. She has inspired me, sister, as only legend can ...
Then Saber came home, bloody and happy and in need of healing.
Dear sister, she could have written instead. Saber is a fool.
This was not how Kirsikka expected her entrance in the war, and it was her entrance, for Saber's blade was her destiny -- was that not what she sang, at the summoning? It should not be drawn in vain. She argued with her Servant, insisted that from now on each battle should be strategic, and that Saber should be as close and obedient as a right hand, or else venture out under the watchful eye of a familiar.
But truth be told, Saber's specialization was melee combat. It must have been glorious to witness, Kirsikka thought to herself, for the second time. And she missed it.
Then Saber came home, bloody and happy and in need of healing.
Dear sister, she could have written instead. Saber is a fool.
This was not how Kirsikka expected her entrance in the war, and it was her entrance, for Saber's blade was her destiny -- was that not what she sang, at the summoning? It should not be drawn in vain. She argued with her Servant, insisted that from now on each battle should be strategic, and that Saber should be as close and obedient as a right hand, or else venture out under the watchful eye of a familiar.
But truth be told, Saber's specialization was melee combat. It must have been glorious to witness, Kirsikka thought to herself, for the second time. And she missed it.
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Her voice has risen over the course of her tirade, and when it cuts off like a muffled bell, the reverberations ring through the empty room. Her eyes are wild, her cheeks flushed with feeling; she calms herself in a twinkling, though, and speaks into the echo. "And you can't play a man's feelings with anything but your own."
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It's Saber, she thinks. Saber takes you off-guard. Pretend she's like anyone else.
"I am what I am, an Edelfelt," she explains, "and an Edelfelt is in everything the soul of elegance and composure. But we are far from meek. We are fighters first, and if the battle must be fought through acting, I will act! I joined the War not so I could hide behind my Servant, but so that I could create a world where no mage shall ever have to hide! But you say --" She frowns."You say I must do it through with my own feelings? Isn't acting all pretense?"
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"Then give me something else to shout," she says.
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To one side, by the hard-backed chair in which Julie had only minutes ago been sitting, a spear-carrier in a plumed helm stands mutely by.
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But she's meant to enraged, and that's easy enough. "Wretched thing," she says, of Lancer, turning to the spear-carrier. "I should strike him down myself!"
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