The four weeks in our private woodland retreat – or, as I liked to call it, 'Survival with a Hormonal Teenager and Many Mosquitoes' – flew by like a certain, irritating blue cat with its tail on fire. And, oh my, the difference in Mirajane Strauss was something even a stone golem with vision problems would notice.
It wasn't just her magical power that had taken a quantum leap, which, let's be fair, was already impressive and a bit frightening, considering the nature of her magic. It was her posture, the confident glint in her blue eyes, the way she moved with a new, elegant lethality.
That subtle insecurity, that almost imperceptible hesitation she previously wore like an invisible suit of armour? Poof! Gone, swept away like cosmic dust or Natsu's dignity after taking a pasting from Erza. In its place, there was a confidence that radiated from her like the heat of a well-fed fire, a surprising maturity that made her seem almost… a functional adult. Almost. There was still that occasional demonic smirk.
"Magnolia, you noisy city full of incompetent mages, at last!" I sighed, with a mixture of relief and resignation, stretching my arms with a satisfying crack as we entered the city gates, which seemed to have been recently repaired after some guild 'incident'.
The familiar air, a peculiar mixture of flowers, spilt ale, and the occasional distant magical explosion, the chaotic hubbub of the streets, even the suspicious fishy smell from the nearby market that always made me question this continent's dietary choices… it was, in some twisted, inexplicable way, good to be back.
Mirajane walked elegantly beside me, a light, enigmatic, perhaps slightly smug smile playing on her lips, observing everything around her with a new, almost palpable appreciation. Or perhaps she was just glad to finally have access to a decent lavatory.
As we headed with tired but firm steps towards our communal home and official gossip centre, Fairy Hills, I discreetly – or at least, I hoped it was discreet enough not to attract the attention of any overly curious Magic Council members – accessed my system inventory.
With a casual movement, as if wanting nothing and just looking for a lost piece of chewing gum, I pretended to take something from my battered shoulder bag. It was a small, elegant dark glass vial, which I had 'acquired' in some past life from a particularly unlucky alchemist, containing a few pearlescent pills that shone with a subtle, promising light.
"Mira," I called casually, and she turned towards me, her blue eyes shining with a curiosity that was both innocent and a little dangerous. I extended the small, mysterious vial to her. "For you. A little graduation present from our… intensive retreat."
She took the object with a look that was a mixture of suspicion and intrigue, shaking it gently near her ear as if expecting the pills to sing some forbidden opera or reveal the universe's darkest secrets. "And what exactly would this newest, …deliciously suspicious treat of yours be, Azra'il?" she asked, with that playful tone of hers and a subtle inflection of flirtation she had been perfecting over the past few weeks, much to my growing, slight embarrassment.
I chuckled softly, a sound I hoped sounded more like indifference than nervousness. "They're just some medium-grade Purification Pills. Nothing major, really. They help to cleanse the small, irritating impurities from the body, you know? Make the system more… efficient and less prone to blockages in natural energy absorption. In your specific case, my dear demoness, it will aid in the absorption and control of Ethernano, making your magic even more potent and, hopefully, less prone to going out of control and turning someone into a frog."
I explained, with the patience of a saint or someone who really didn't want to be turned into a frog, for her to take one a week, preferably before her meditation and cultivation sessions, to optimise the results. "And when the vial runs out, which probably won't take long considering your current rate of power consumption, just let me know and I, with my boundless generosity, will arrange some more for you. I have a considerable stock."
Her large, expressive blue eyes widened in genuine surprise and admiration.
"Wow! Azra'il! I never even imagined something so incredible and useful existed!" She carefully opened the vial, sniffed the pills with understandable caution, considering my previous offers of 'exotic snacks', and then smiled, a smile so genuine, so warm, so full of sincere gratitude that, to my utter, absolute astonishment, it warmed something ancient, almost forgotten within me. Damn it.
"Azra'il, you are absolutely, utterly incredible! And the best master in the universe!" And then, to my even greater, growing surprise, and to Eos's secret delight, who I was sure was recording everything for future emotional blackmail, she gave me a tight, strong, unexpectedly comforting hug. "Thank you, truly! For everything!"
"You're… you're welcome, Mira. Glad to help with your… development," I replied, a little flustered and entirely unprepared for such a display of affection, giving a few awkward, entirely inadequate pats on her back.
She seemed to linger a second longer in the hug, her soft body pressed against mine in a way that was both innocent and dangerously suggestive. Or perhaps it was just my fertile imagination and teenage hormones going haywire again.
We continued on our way in comfortable silence, and it wasn't long before the familiar, somewhat chaotic rooftops of Fairy Hills came into view. We had barely passed through the wrought iron gate of the residence when a stampede of hurried footsteps, sounding more like a herd of wildebeest in flight, echoed down the main corridor.
Suddenly, before we could even process what was happening, a small, surprisingly fast albino blur leapt towards Mirajane with a shrill cry.
"MIRAAAAA-NEE!" Lisanna, Mirajane's younger, adorable sister, clung to her like a small, desperate koala reunited with its favourite eucalyptus tree after a long, terrible drought. "You baka! You idiot! Where have you been for so long?! It's been a month! And you only left a short, mysterious letter saying you were going to 'train in an isolated location' with this one," she pointed a small, accusing finger in my direction, with a scowl that would have been adorable if it weren't so genuinely worried, "without any further news, no sign of life! I was so, so worried about you! I thought something terrible had happened!"
Genuine, large, bright tears were already streaming freely from the corners of her blue eyes, identical to her sister's. Cute, no doubt. But a bit too dramatic for my cynical taste. Children.
The noisy, emotional commotion, of course, as always happened in that dormitory of mages with keen hearing and an insatiable curiosity for gossip, did not go unnoticed in the slightest.
In a matter of seconds, which felt like an eternity to me, it seemed that every single resident of Fairy Hills had magically materialised in the entrance hall, as if summoned by some secret spell for an 'urgent meeting for interrogation of new arrivals'.
And leading the inquisitorial crowd, in her shining armour, her imposing posture, an aura of incandescent fury that would make a dragon think twice before facing her, was she: Erza Scarlet, Titania herself, in all her armoured glory, with an expression on her face that promised nothing good.
"MIRAJANE STRAUSS! AND YOU, AZRA'IL WEISS!" Her voice, normally so firm, controlled, was now a contained thunder, a promise of pain, suffering, but the invisible pressure emanating from her was more than enough to make the air around us vibrate dangerously, my hackles rise in an instinctive warning sign.
She glared at us, her brown eye sparking with cold, calculating anger, alternating her focus between me, a Mirajane who, to my surprise, seemed strangely amused by the situation, as if slowly deciding which of us deserved to be incinerated first with a withering look, or perhaps just dismembered with one of her many swords. "Where. Have. You. Two. Been?" Each word was a hammer blow, an accusation.
I felt a small but treacherous bead of cold sweat trickle slowly down the back of my neck. This, definitively, was not going to be good. Not one bit.
But Mirajane, ah, the new, improved, surprisingly confident Mirajane Strauss, fruit of a month of intensive training, energy cultivation, probably, much secret admiration for her genius master (me, in this case), didn't flinch for a second.
In fact, to my growing, slight dread, a mischievous, almost feline, deliciously devilish glint appeared in her blue eyes upon seeing the ill-contained anger stamped on her eternal, hated rival's face.
She gave a small smirk, a smile that I, with my vast experience in demons, dangerous things, could only describe as wonderfully, deliciously wicked. Oh, this was going to be fun. For her, at least.
"Well, well, Erza, my dear, ever so… intense friend. What a warm, welcoming reception," she began, her voice now as honeyed as the sweetest nectar, but with a subtle hint of poisonous pepper hidden beneath the surface.
"We were just… shall we say, delving into some very… particular, rather effective training techniques. You know how it is, our dear Azra'il here has some very… intense, very… focused teaching methods that require… total dedication."
She paused dramatically, entirely intentionally, letting the double-entendre-laden implication hang heavily in the air like a dense, sticky fog full of embarrassing possibilities. That little demoness was amusing herself at my expense.
I coughed discreetly, desperately trying to disguise my growing panic, the blush I felt spreading across my cheeks. "Mira, my dear, now overly enthusiastic student, I don't think you need to go into so many… intimate details of our training, do you?" I tried to intervene, with a forced smile.
"Ah, but why not, Azra'il, my wise, patient master?" she shot me a look that was pure, crystalline teasing, a look that made me seriously question all my life choices leading to that exact, embarrassing moment. And, to my horror, she turned again to an Erza who now looked on the verge of exploding.
"We spent entire days and nights… intensely honing my skills, exploring new… horizons. She truly pushed me to my absolute limit… and, I must say, a little beyond it, on more than one occasion." She winked long, lingeringly at Erza, who now seemed to be choking on her own air, her armour beginning to give off small sparks of anger.
"I discovered new, incredible… talents I didn't even know I possessed. Some of the… positions, exercises were, I admit, a little… challenging, required a lot of flexibility on my part, but Azra'il," she turned to me with a sweet, entirely false smile, "was incredibly patient, very understanding, surprisingly… skilled in guiding me."
My brain, which had already processed the collapse of stars, the birth of new realities, simply suffered a complete, total system crash. Positions? Flexibility? Skilled? Patient? What in the blazes was that little she-devil on about?! This was going to cause so much, so much shite I could fertilise a small planet with it!
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cana Alberona, our resident expert on alcohol, dubious quality gossip, take a deep, satisfied swig from her inseparable beer barrel, an immensely mischievous grin slowly spreading across her face, that unmistakable smile of one who already knows, with almost prophetic certainty, the delicious, intoxicating taste of the chaos about to ensue.
"Well now, my dear, mysterious Azra'il," Cana commented in her hoarse, drawling voice, laden with an almost palpable amusement, as her experienced, incisive gaze scanned my body from top to bottom in a way that made me feel completely inspected, judged, probably found guilty of some delightful crime.
"You, with that innocent air of yours, those pleading kitten eyes, must have enjoyed these last few long weeks very, very much indeed. Several hot, starlit nights alone with our dear, now visibly… reinvigorated Mirajane, hmm? She seems to be positively… radiating a new energy. And you too, to be honest, don't look half bad, you know. Even got a bit of colour."
Cana gave me a long, meaningful wink, a wink that promised legendary gossip to echo through Fairy Hills' corridors for generations, possibly, a full, detailed interrogation later, washed down with plenty of ale.
I felt my face heat up in a way that dangerously rivalled Erza's flaming red hair. This was getting completely, utterly out of control. In a hilarious, embarrassing, terrifying way.
"I-it's n-not what you're all thinking! It's a complete misunderstanding! We were only, solely training magic, Ethernano control, meditation, all that normal, utterly boring power, fighting stuff!" I stammered pathetically, sounding guilty, desperate, entirely unconvincing even to my own ancient ears. My usual, carefully cultivated coolness, indifference was melting faster than an ice lolly in hell.
Erza, who until then had just been watching the scene with an expression of growing confusion, a fury that seemed about to explode, snarled, a deep, guttural, genuinely threatening sound that made even my hackles rise, the dust on the ceiling tremble.
"Training what, exactly, you two depraved sorts," she practically spat the words, her gaze now fixed on me with an intensity promising a slow, painful death, "to leave her with that satisfied cat-that-got-the-cream smirk, you, Azra'il, redder than a ripe tomato, stammering like an idiot?!" Oh, dear heavens. She was really, truly jealous. And I was done for. Well and truly done for.
And then, as if to complete the disaster with a very red, juicy, entirely suggestive cherry on top of the cake of misunderstandings, embarrassments, Mirajane, with impeccable comedic timing, a smile that was the personification of purest, most crystalline demonic innocence, delivered the final, definitive coup de grâce.
She turned to me, her face the epitome of purest gratitude, almost childlike affection, but with a mischievous, utterly devilish glint in her blue eyes that belied every trace of her supposed purity, innocence.
"Azra'il, my dear, patient, incredibly talented master," she said, her voice soft as silk, making the word 'dear' sound incredibly, dangerously, entirely intimately suspicious, sending a cold, ominous shiver down my spine. "Thank you once again. Truly. For everything. You… you made me feel things… ah, wonderful, entirely new things I, honestly, never, ever had felt before in my entire life." Her voice was an invitation. An invitation to disaster.
And then, before I could even fully process the tsunami of double entendres, malicious insinuations, sheer, simple confusion that had hit me with the force of a meteor, she leaned in with feline grace and, to my absolute horror, Eos's silent delight, planted a quick, sharp, utterly unexpected peck on my now flaming cheek.
A peck that, to me, felt like it burned like the purest coal from hell, lasted an eternity.
Silence.
A silence so thick, so heavy, so charged with static electricity, shocked stares that you could cut it with a rusty bread knife.
I stood there, completely, utterly petrified, like an ice statue in midsummer, feeling the phantom, entirely innocent, yet now terribly compromising warmth of the kiss on my skin, the crushing weight of dozens, if not hundreds, of curious, shocked, amused, accusing female gazes painfully boring into me.
My mind, that ancient data-processing, strategic-planning machine, simply blue-screened, awkwardly rebooted, crashed again into an infinite loop of pure, absolute panic.
Erza, my little, now probably ex-best friend, had her eye wide as saucers, her chin slightly dropped in an expression of pure, crystalline disbelief, her armour, I could swear, seemed to be vibrating, too small to contain the titanic fury, monumental confusion, a suspicion now of epic, cosmic, probably apocalyptic proportions.
Even little, usually so sweet Lisanna had stopped sniffling, was looking at us, alternating between her older sister with a triumphant smile, me with an expression of pure, absolute astonishment, who knows, perhaps even a tiny, ill-disguised hint of envy.
"I-I… I can explain…" I began, in the weak voice of a condemned man heading for the gallows, but no minimally coherent, logical word, nothing that wouldn't incriminate me further, managed to escape my throat, which felt as if suddenly, firmly lassoed by an invisible rope made of pure embarrassment, desperation.
I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say. I just wanted, more than anything in the universe at that moment, for a gigantic, dark, very, very deep hole to magically open in Fairy Hills' impeccably clean floor, swallow me forever, without a trace.
Preferably, a hole leading to another dimension, far, far away from an astonished, hurt Erza Scarlet who, I was absolutely, terrifyingly certain, was approximately one nanosecond away from exploding in a fury of a thousand suns, requipping all her armours at once, turning me into a very small, bloody jigsaw puzzle.
Ah, sweet, unpredictable social life. Always a treacherous, booby-trapped minefield… especially, it seemed, when your newest, talented, apparently very grateful student decides, out of pure, simple sadistic amusement, or misunderstood demonic affection, to play a little, innocent prank on you.
In front of everyone. And especially in front of your jealous best friend with access to an arsenal of swords. Marvellous. Simply marvellous. I urgently needed more tea. And perhaps a good solicitor.
--------------(*)---------------
After that rather… 'heated' reception, to say the least, in the welcoming, now potentially very dangerous Fairy Hills, I, with the agility of a frightened rat fleeing a pack of hungry, murderously-inclined cats, finally, miraculously managed to escape the clutches of a visibly jealous, hurt Erza, who was probably already planning my slow, painful death with many screams, and a gaggle of other guild girls who were, to my growing horror, despair, diabolically gossipy, incredibly curious, with a special, irritating talent for asking awkward questions at the worst possible moments.
I managed to sneak stealthily into my room, my only, precious, now more-necessary-than-ever safe haven of peace, tranquillity, absence of judgement (at least, audible judgement with witnesses). I closed the door behind me with a sigh of relief so deep, sonorous it probably could have filled the sails of a small ship, or startled a few resident ghosts.
[Wow, Azra'il! What a spectacular performance! I must say, your social panic levels hit a new record today. It was almost as amusing as that time you tried to explain the laws of thermodynamics to a bunch of drunken Goblins. Almost,] Eos's voice, my faithful, irritating, omnipresent, ever-so-timely AI companion, emerged in my mind, with her characteristic tone of analytical mockery, utter, absolute lack of compassion for my recent, public humiliation.
"Shut it, Eos," I grumbled, chucking my battered bag onto the bed, slumping into the desk chair with the grace of a sack of rotten potatoes. "Haven't you got anything more useful to do? Like, I don't know, calculate the trajectory of my plummeting dignity?"
[Actually, I'm updating my files on 'Awkward Human Interactions: Azra'il Weiss Case Study, Volume 734'. Your relationship issues are a fascinating field of research. And this clear, crystalline inability of yours to deal with basic human emotions like jealousy, affection is particularly intriguing. Need some relationship advice from a superior artificial intelligence with access to trillions of data points on romantic compatibility? I have some excellent algorithms for that,] she offered, with a generosity that was pure, simple provocation.
"The only thing I need from you right now, Eos, is silence. Or, worst-case scenario, an escape route to the nearest, uninhabited planet," I retorted, massaging my aching temples. I swear, one day I'll switch this old tin can off, replace it with a particularly quiet abacus. Or perhaps a goldfish. They're less prone to unsolicited psychological analyses.
But, before anything else, before even thinking of retorting to Eos's acidic jibes, before starting to plan my strategic escape to an uninhabited planet with a good tea supply, before seriously considering the possibility of hiding under the bed for the rest of my current life, I needed, with an urgency bordering on physical desperation, one single, blessed thing.
After almost an entire month camped in the wilderness, eating fish roasted over a campfire (which, I admit, I prepared myself, it was delicious, modesty aside), sleeping in a tent smelling of mould, broken dreams, with minimal, or rather, total, absolute absence of any kind of basic sanitation, modern comfort, unnecessary luxury, I, Azra'il Weiss, ancient entity, connoisseur of small comforts, now socially traumatised, deserved, with interest, inflation, an apology from the universe, a long, hot, relaxing, possibly therapeutic bath.
A bath that, hopefully, with the help of some very potent magic soap, would wash away not only the accumulated grime, the persistent smell of smoke, the sticky feeling of untamed nature, but also, more importantly, the equally sticky feeling of public embarrassment, the cold, threatening aura of deadly jealousy our dear Erza Scarlet had certainly left hovering over me like a curse. Ah, the ineffable and often dangerous joys of community life. They were to die for. Literally, sometimes.