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lucifleeuur · 1 year

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A Chance Encounter - Chapter 2 - 2,200 words - 12.5k characters

Michel accepts Didier’s offer for personal training, but it would appear he’s in worse shape than he thought.

Chapter 1 here. Plain text available under the read more.

"..." "..." "........" "........Michel... How long are you just going to stand here for?"

Michel stared at the building before him, a grimace plastered firmly on his face. Giselle had come with him on this day to wish him well, but it would appear that he was in desperate need of more than well wishes at this time. He stood in place, his body showing absolutely no sign of moving any time soon.

"You uh... You're um. You're making him wait! Yeah! You don't want to make him wait, right?" "...Ugh he is... isn't he..."

Giselle nodded, perhaps a bit more enthusiastically than she should have. She placed both her hands firmly on Michel's back and gave him a gentle push forward, his feet almost not keeping up with his momentum, leading to an awkward stumble and almost falling to his knees. Giselle stared, eyes wide, watching as Michel struggled to hold on to the bag he had brought with him.

"...D-Did you bring rocks or something? You know everything you need is there... right?"

Michel stared at Giselle, an expression set in his face that could only be described as a mixture of embarassment and the face a sopping wet kitten might make upon being noticed in the rain. It was, in a word, a pathetic expression.

"T-This was a bad idea I should just... Tell him I changed my mind... Yeah..." "Whaaaat?! No no no no no absolutely not. Michel Bollinger you are going to walk your little bony butt in there and you are going to exercise today! You promised him! You never break your promises!"

Giselle puffed up her cheeks in protest, staring up at Michel. He couldn't help but stifle a laugh at the sight. With her face all scrunched up she looked like a stray kitten hissing and swatting at anyone who got too close. He couldn't say no to her, not to a face like that. With a heavy sigh, Michel leaned over and placed a small kiss on her head, turned, and reluctantly began to walk in to the gym.

"You'll do great! I'll come pick you up when you're done so just call okay! Or call if you need anything at all! I believe in you Michel!!"

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"So uh. Not to be rude or anything... But you're pretty new to this whole thing aren't you?" "P-pretty new... would be... putting it l... lightly..."

Michel was hunched over, hands on his knees and panting heavily. He glistened with a rather large amount of sweat, his skin flushed a bright red. One would assume upon looking at him that he had run a marathon or just finished a rather intense workout. The reality, however, was much more depressing. He had simply done only 20 minutes of light cardio.

"Okay we need to get you out of... this position. You're not going to catch your breath like that. Cmon, shoulders up."

Didier wrapped his arms around Michel from behind, his arms slipping beneath Michel's, holding him in an upright position against his chest. Michel groaned in pain as his body was pulled in to position, every muscle in his body screaming against even the slightest movement. However, as soon as his back was pulled against Didier's chest, he felt a small pang in the back of his mind. He struggled still to catch his breath, though his breathing became easier, the instructions Didier was attempting to give him flew in one ear and out the other. This sensation, this panging sensation in his mind, this feeling of a ball dropping in his gut. His heart felt like it was twisting, being drained of every ounce of blood, he felt sick, unable to do anything but try to catch his breath and grimace at the uncomfortable feeling. But what was it? What was bothering him so much?

"Michel? You can hear me right? Because if you can't, that's pretty serious." "...Y-Yeah. Sorry I was... Thinking... about something... lost in thought... sorry..."

Michel swallowed, the excess saliva in his mouth sliding down his throat about as smoothly as stones, his lungs burning. He had recovered physically somewhat by this point, pulling himself off of Didier's chest, standing by himself once again. Upon no longer making contact with Didier's physique, that was when it hit him. Dysphoria. That's what he was feeling.

'But... why? I haven't felt it this strongly since I was a teenager. I'm... a man. No one can deny that. No one would look at me and think otherwise... Giselle knows I'm a man. She sees me as a man, as her husband... We were joined as man and woman... Husband and wife... I'm... a man... I-'

"Maybe we should call it here for today. Normally I'd want you to do a bit more, but it's best if we work with your body and not with what you brain thinks your body can take. Maybe a cooldown walk would help? Nice and slow, I'm sure even you could handle it."

Didier's voice snapped Michel out of his thoughts, looking up at Didier.

"O-Oh uh. Perhaps you're right... I might have just thought that I could... handle more." "You have to try things out to learn your limits. You work within those limits, then push past them little by little. That's what training is for. You're not going to sprint a kilometer in 2 minutes right out the gate, you need to practice. Sorry to be so blunt, but you're horribly out of shape. Right now, the best we could get you doing is just starting off with some light walking, build up your stamina, and then we can get in to more intense things. I'm sure that's disappointing to hear, but it's the reality you live in right now. I'm more than happy to help you reach your goals, though."

Michel crossed his arms, looking off to the side, then down, then to the other side. Anywhere but Didier's face, his body. He was right. Everything he was saying was true. He was out of shape, he did have low stamina, but why did it bother him so much to hear it out of Didier's mouth? Giselle had told him as much before, Maria had straight up laughed at him for getting winded walking up the stairs before. So why was it only now bothering him so much?

"I'm sorry, Michel. I'm sure you're not too happy to hear that." "...Oh uh... No, you're uh... you're right, Didier. I am... out... of shape..."

Why was it so hard to admit something that he knew Didier absolutely knew? He had said it himself first. His face twisted in disgust at himself, at his body, at how... weak he felt at this moment. Didier's brow twisted in confusion, tilting his head slightly at Michel.

"Is... Everything alright? You've been acting kind of weird for a while now." "Have... I? Maybe I'm just more tired than I thought..." "Yeah... Maybe. Let's just call it here then and get some fuel back in you."

Michel nodded in agreement, turning to collect his things from off the floor. As he bent over, however, the world began to spin. His vision blurred, his hands shook.

"Hey maybe I'm just not... used to what you normally look like but... You look kind of pale. Is everything oka- Michel?!"

Attempting to regain his composure, Michel attempted to straighten back up. As he did, he heard a very quiet snap in his ears, his vision going white. He fell back to the ground with a thud, his body going limp. He could hear, but it felt and sounded as though he were underwater. His pulse pounded in his ears, he could hardly catch his breath. There's no way he was so out of shape that he was... dying? Was there?

Michel felt his body being rolled on to it's back, the world spinning and churning and mixing as he moved. Through the haze, he could see Didier's panicked expression, watching as his body locked up. Michel's vision began to clear, feeling return to his limbs. A simple drop in blood pressure from over-exertion, it would seem, and yet. Didier remained locked in place, a horrified expression on his face.

"D...id...ier?" "............" "Did...ier...? Is... Are you... alright?" "........Um... Yeah I uh. Sorry... W-Wait I should be the one asking that, not you! Y-You just... passed... out... for a second. Just... passed out. You passed out. Just passed out..."

Michel's brow furrowed in confusion, his already muddled mind staring at Didier's still rather distressed expression. His expression was... familiar. Michel recalled seeing an expression like this on Didier's face once, but when? And where? The Didier he remembered was always strong, always in control, he never faltered.

"You're... Fine? You're... alive?"

Alive? Sure, fainting could give the illusion someone had suddenly dropped dead, but Michel remained lucid. He responded to Didier's touch, to his words. His eyes followed Didier's eyes, his hands, his body's tremors. Why would he be anything but alive?

"A...live? You thought I... died?" "Y-You... Slumped. You slumped over and you... stopped moving... You laid on the ground, not moving y-you..." "Didier...?" ".........I. Don't know what that was about. Listen, we need to get something in you so that doesn't happen again. Give me a minute, I'll get you something."

Just as quickly as it began, Didier snapped out of his trance-like state. He rose to his feet, walking over to his bag nearby, lifting it from the ground and placing it on a nearby windowsill. His hands shook as he unzipped the bag, clearly still unsettled. He pulled out a sports drink, cracking open the cap and handing it to Michel. Didier stayed crouched beside him as he took it, taking a rather sizable swig from the bottle. He was much thirstier than he had realized.

"Promise me... if you feel sick later... to go to the hospital... okay?" "Is that... your advice as a personal trainer? Or..." "As your brother."

Wait. Brother? Michel, of course, remembered Didier as his brother. How could he forget? His memories of Georges and Didier were all that held him together in his previous childhood, and it was Didier who had brought his previous life to an end. But considering he had quite obviously not recognized him not even a month previous, this was rather jarring for him to hear.

"...Why did I say that?"

And it would appear Didier was just as confused. Michel smiled slightly, raising a hand to rest on Didier's arm.

"I... feel better already. So don't worry about me too much anymore, okay?"

Didier's eyes widened slightly, staring directly at Michel. His hand eventually raised to his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. A sigh of exasperation escaped his lips.

"...Sheesh I've never had someone faint on me before, and now it's got me acting all... weird. Glad to hear you're alright, Michel. Lets try and get you to your feet again."

Didier rose to his feet, holding a hand out for Michel to grab. Michel accepted it, rising to his feet shakily.

"I'll grab your things, let me give you a ride home. It'll be safer that way." "...Oh right I said I would call Giselle when... I was... done... Crap." "What's wrong?" "I've... I haven't even been here for an hour... I don't want her to think I'm that hopeless..." "Oh... Uh... I don't know, she doesn't strike me as the kind of girl to judge like that... Am I wrong?" "N-No no! You're not wrong! ...but..." "Ahhh. Your pride. No I totally get that, I do the same thing sometimes. Absolutely."

It would appear Didier hadn't changed too much from back then. He was still a horrible liar. Michel chuckled, a warm smile coming to his face. Things had changed, they had lived very different lives this time, and yet... It was still Didier. He hadn't changed, not too much. He was still the Didier he remembered, he was still the Didier he loved.

"Huh? What's up?" "Oh, nothing... Don't worry about it. Just reminiscing."

Didier stared at Michel in silent confusion for a moment, shrugging it off in the end. He bent over and collected Michel's belongings before collecting his own, carrying one bag on each shoulder.

"If you want to burn some time before going home, I was planning on just going home after this so... You could come over, if you want."

Michel smiled, silently nodding. The two walked out of the gym together, one noticeably more wobbly than the other, out towards Didier's rather old-looking car. He loaded up the back seat with their belongings, helping Michel in to the passenger seat before sitting behind the wheel on the driver's side.

"She can be a bit moody sometimes. Don't treat her nice and she refuses to do much of anything. Super reliable otherwise, though."

Michel chuckled, a warm smile remaining on his face. He had said something similar to him before, in a time long since past. Leaning back in the seat, Michel relaxed his aching limbs as the car rumbled to life, taking him off towards the place Didier called home in this new life.

#The House in Fata Morgana #FataMoru #The House in Fata Morgana Reincarnation #FataMoru Reincarnation #Honestly writing this and having to research Didier's personality made me like him a lot more as a character ngl #Hes pretty interesting when you actually really think about it tbh #I like him : )

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connandoods · 3 years

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I made one for Georges last year so why not him too!

Happy birthday~

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connan-l · 2 years

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More than a millennium - Day 1: Wedding Day

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Michel Bollinger/Giselle

Summary: So that he could keep on holding her hand for more than a millenium.

Michel and Giselle's wedding will take place in less than an hour, but things get more complicated when Giselle suddenly starts crying out of the blue.

[A collection of unrelated one-shots for the @gischelweek prompts:

Day 1: Wedding Day

Day 2: Cooking/Baking Together

Day 3: Roleswap

Day 4: At the beach

Day 5: Proposal

Day 6: Bad End

Day 7: Domestic Family]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: Heya! I will post here a collections of unrelated one-shots I wrote for Gischel Week (if you're curious, it's here on Twitter, and here on Tumblr). I will likely be late for some of them sadly so please be patient as to when I'll complete them lol.

So, this takes place following the short story Happily Ever After from Requiem and Reincarnation’s canon, though you don't need to read either to understand it honestly, there's not really any spoilers.

I’ve actually hesitated to includes Iméon in this, but for some reason I’ve always headcanoned that they gets to meet Michel again only after he got married. Can’t tell you why, that’s just how it is in my head lol, I think I just like the idea (and find it funny) of them meeting again after Michel really got his life together with a pretty wife haha. But there’s still the Bollinger bros at least!

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“It’s too tight. And too dark. It doesn’t fit with the rest.”

The white-haired man in a tuxedo was staring straight back at him in the mirror. He wished he could say he looked ecstatic, fulfilled, delighted — it was, after all, the most important day of his life, technically. But the only true apparent emotion on his face was stress, afflicting his features and shining uncomfortably in his red eyes. He sighed, then grabbed his tie once again to loosen up the knot in an annoyed movement.

“Dude, what the hell are you doing? Leave it! It’s perfect, I’m tellin’ ya!”

Another man flew in Michel’s direction, jumping on him from behind and grabbing his wrist before he could alter else to his outfit. Wavy black hair flew all over his right shoulder, and then dark brown eyes crossed his own.

“It’s not perfect, Georges. I look like an idiot. I need to find another one before—”

“Jesus, you’ll never find the perfect one. We’ve already set our sights on this one, don’t start to make things more complicated now! The ceremony will start in what, half an hour? We don’t have time for this!”

“But it’s just—”

“For once, I agree with Georges.” A deeper, sterner masculine voice resonated from behind. “It already looks more than fine that way. Leave it be.”

Michel turned around to glance at Didier who was sitting on the couch a bit afar from them, and then towards Georges, who grinned broadly at him.

“Sorry, but I just… It has to be perfect, you know? And right now it’s…”

“It’ll never be perfect the way you hope for, no matter what you do, Michel,” declared the oldest man. “So just focus on enjoying yourself and making Giselle happy. That will be more be enough, I promise.”

“Yep! No need to fret over stupid stuff!” Georges added, grabbing and shaking Michel’s shoulders cheerfully. “Let’s just have fun! We have to pop up the bottles, play the music super loud, then gets so wasted we end up dancing on the tables all night!”

“…Right, maybe don’t enjoy yourself to that level.”

“Why not?! That’s what weddings are made for, no? Mine certainly was!”

“Didn’t you told us your wedding had been an ‘accident’ at a college party and that you were so drunk at the time you didn’t even realize you’d gotten married?”

“W-Well, yeah, but like, that still counts!”

Michel sighed. He knew that, theoretically, they both were right; Giselle wouldn’t care or even notice if his tie was too tight or too dark or whatever. But he couldn’t prevent himself from being anxious and perfectionist.

It was a day they’d both yearned and waited for so such a long time. He didn’t want to let anything, even the slightest detail, ruin it in any way.

At least he was thankful that his brothers were able to be there for him when he got too stressed. Well, even if they weren’t his brothers anymore, technically speaking — at least not by blood.

In this era, all three of them had been born from different parents, grown up in different families and different houses, and lived very different lives until they met again about a year ago now. Michel didn’t know if it was fate or something else that had brought his siblings back to him once more, but whatever it was he was grateful for it. They’d been able to bond and get close very quickly even despite the fact neither Georges or Didier seemed to remember anything of their past lives — there were maybe some residual, lingering feelings left between them, but the only trace of it he’d been able to gather was Georges joking that it felt like they’d known each other their whole lives, and nothing more.

It felt sad, sometimes, that their entire childhood together as brothers had seemingly been erased, and that Michel was the only one who could remember it. But at the same time, there was a part of him who felt it might be better this way; and he decided to just focus on the happiness of being able to spend time with them once more, which already was a miracle in and on itself.

So of course, they had been among the first to be invited to his marriage; especially after Giselle had instantly gotten along with them. Georges had even been able to bring his two young sons with him — what had once been Michel’s nephews, the boys he’d never been able to meet in person and had barely known the existence of in the Middle Ages. He didn’t really had the occasion to know them well yet, but they seemed like nice kids. (Thankfully, the mother wasn’t Aimée this time but a random woman Georges met in college, with whom he quickly got married to and divorced — he had no idea where Aimée was in this era and if she was even here to start with, and he had no intention to ever find out, either.)

It had been decided their wedding would be a small, intimate ceremony. At first, Michel had wanted to do something big, but Giselle was against the idea, so they simply choose to stay on a simple event with a committee of just a few relatives and friends. Asides from his brothers and Georges’ sons, they’d both invited their families, a few of Giselle’s friends from college and high school — four including her best friend; Michel had met all of them about a year ago now, though admittedly he still didn’t know them very well — and then of course Morgana, Maria, and Nellie. Mell did drop by to congratulate them as well but didn’t stay — Michel had become relatively friendly with the Rhodes siblings again, but given Morgana still refused to see Mell in any capacity, he’d quickly left. Maria had also passed on best wishes from Pauline, Yukimasa and even Jacopo, although none of them actually came. Michel thought it was probably better like that anyway. All in all, they were eighteen, which was already a fine number — and more importantly, there was everyone he wanted here for this special day.

Well, there was one person left he hadn’t been able to invite, which he was still sad about — Iméon. The diseased man he’d befriended at the mansion before meeting Giselle. Their relationship had been complicated to say the least, but he’d left a big impact on him and to this day Michel still hoped to be able to meet with him again, no matter how unlikely it would be.

In any case, this and his perfectionist issues asides, everything had actually been going on smoothly. More than anything, Giselle, while a bit anxious here and there during the preparations, had looked absolutely delighted and smiled the brightest of smiles ever since this morning.

So, maybe his brothers were right. Maybe he should just… relax, and enjoy the day, marrying the love of his life and try to make her as happy as possible as he should’ve had done a thousand years ago. He looked at himself once again in the mirror — his long white hair tied in a tighter ponytail than usual, his impeccable black and gray tuxedo — and then finally he nodded to himself, deciding that maybe he didn’t look all that bad.

Yes, this was fine. Everything was fine; there was no way this day could turn out wrong.

That is, until the door was burst open by a short blonde woman.

“Shit, Michel! We’ve got a big problem!”

Maria jumped inside the room, her red and white bridesmaid dress almost getting stuck in the door in her panic and her green eyes wide open in a concerned gaze. Right on her heel appeared Nellie, just as or maybe even more upset-looking than the other woman. Michel instinctively felt his stomach turn at the sight, and a dark hand grabbed his heart and squeezed.

“Wh-What’s wrong?”

“It’s Giselle!” Maria kept on, saying the last name he’d wanted to hear in this moment. “She’s… Well, uh, you see, there’s—”

“She’s crying!” Nellie cut in for her, her voice shaking. “She just started crying out of the blue!”

Michel blinked, stunned, as he tried to keep his composure and wrap his mind around this new information. “What? Why?”

Maria shook her head. “We don’t know; that’s the problem! Everything was going fine, we were talking with her sis and bestie and all and suddenly… she started sobbing as if she’d just lost her entire family.”

“Where is she now?” He immediately asked, already about to leave the room.

“Still with Morgana and her sister,” Nellie replied. “They’ve been trying to console her for a while now, but… it doesn’t work, so we thought we should get you as well!”

An exaggerated gasp leaked from behind Michel’s back. “Oh god, is that going to go like in those TV shows? Where the bride run away dramatically right at the last minute?! I’m currently watching one of those and the bride actually fell off a cliff, got kidnapped by aliens and ended up having an affair with one of them!”

Both Didier and Michel shot him a glare, but Nellie actually let out an excited ‘Ohh!’ with sparkling eyes.

“Wait, really? I watched that show too!” She exclaimed. “That’s why I’m worried now!”

“Huh, you did?! I still can’t believe she chooses to end up with Gellando and go back to Mars instead of Alfred, even after he killed her brother! Even the cowboy who was in love with her twin sister would’ve been a better choice!”

“I know, right? That’s was such a bad choice! No way he’ll ever makes her happy! They’re just such an awful fit!”

“What kind stupid soap operas are you guys watching…?” Maria commented, narrowing her eyes, and Michel could only feel his brain starting to burn between all the topics changes and his increasing worry for his wife-to-be eating at him — with the hope that she was still his wife-to-be.

“All of you, calm down,” Didier finally intervened, making Michel infinitely grateful for having at least one sane person present in the room. “Explain more properly, please. What happened exactly? What do you think Michel should do?”

“Well, if a gal’s crying the day of her wedding then good chances it’s related to the dude she’s going to marry, so it’d be cool if he could come with us to have a chat.”

“It’s against the tradition and disrespectful for the groom to see the bride before the wedding,” Didier warned, but Maria rolled her eyes.

“Man, what time period is it? The Middle Ages? Pretty sure God doesn’t give a shit about whether he goes to see her before or not. They’re likely going to do some much more disrespectful and unchristian things later on anyway.”

Nellie shot her a confused look and Georges let out a falsely offended gasp, but Michel simply shook his head and decided to focus on the problem at hand.

“All right, I’ll go. Sorry, I’ll try to make it quick,” he added to his brothers, before the got out of the room with the two women.

“You’re sure it’s not just one of her usual mood swings?” He asked to Maria afterwards as they trotted down the corridor. “She’s been very emotional about the wedding lately, so it wouldn’t be odd.”

As Maria and Giselle worked together and as such saw each other almost every day, he knew that she was very acquainted with Giselle’s burst of emotional tears that she had for the past few months now, and he had hopped that was still all this was about; but to this dismay, Maria shook her head.

“No, it’s something else. I feel it’s more… I don’t know, more intense .”

“She was very upset,” Nellie confirmed.

Well, that certainly wasn’t helping to ease the anxiety he’d had since this morning.

As they walked past the chapel where he was supposed to get married in a few dozens of minutes, Michel’s eyes got drawn to the lustrous bits of blue, purple and red, shimmering like crystal in the back of the room — a stained-glass depicting the archangel who shared his name.

It had been Giselle’s idea. She’d hadn’t asked for anything for this wedding, but she had been insistent on exchanging their vows in a chapel, in front of Michael.

Michel still had mixed feelings regarding this angel, God and Christianity to this day — and this despite having been raised by fairly pious parents. Even before he got back his past life’s memories, the uneasy emotions regarding his faith would always sat at the bottom of his stomach, and he’d never been able to stand any depiction of the Christ and crucifixion ever since he was a toddler — triggering actual panic attacks in the worst cases. As a result, he’d hesitated to hold a Christian marriage at all in the first place — but his parents really wanted them to, and Morgana had openly treated him of ‘blasphemer’ for considering not to. Giselle and her family, who weren’t particularly religious, didn’t mind either way, so in the end they decided to settle it by following his parents’ wishes.

Still, for as much as he used to dislike the archangel and being named after him back then, it was undeniable that he had a meaningful importance to their past — and he knew he specifically was very significant to Giselle and to her life as the Maid, so he could understand her desire to have it present for this occasion.

This particular stained-glass of Michael was much less sophisticated and beautiful than the one that had been in the mansion; and this church, situated in a rural little town an hour away from Paris, was much smaller, but it was enough for them.

“They’re here!” Maria’s voice suddenly got him out of his thoughts, and he realized they had indeed reached the room Giselle had been prepared in.

When he stepped in, the first thing he noticed was his fiancée sat down in front of a mirror, all dressed up in her white gown and her long black hair tied up in an intricate, braided bun with a rose decorating the top. Michel would’ve paused to contemplate just how beautiful she was — his heart did miss a beat for an instant, and even if he kept gently making fun of her for her burst of emotional tears over their wedding, he was certain he would end up crying on the altar too — but her red, sore eyes and her make up spread all over her cheeks stopped him. She did, indeed, look very upset , and his heart deflated instantly upon the sight. Kneeled next to her was her older sister Clémence, wearing a bridesmaid dress similar to Nellie and Maria’s and holding her sibling’s hands. Clémence was gently whispering consoling words he couldn’t hear from where he was, but it didn’t seem to work as Giselle’s tears still continued to roll down her face without any indication of stopping.

“At this point you might as well cancel the wedding. I mean, do you really intend to show up at the altar looking like this ?”

It was an acerbic, arrogant voice that had spoken; one deceptively as sweet as honey, that Michel could recognize anywhere. Turning around, he saw Morgana slumped on the couch and scrolling through her phone with a look of complete disinterest in the events currently occurring in front of her, probably looking either at Twitter or playing one of her gacha games.

Her sentence only seemed to make Giselle cry harder though, and Clémence glared at her.

“Could you stop saying things like that?” She asked in an angry voice, and Michel guessed from it that Morgana’s cutting remarks must’ve been a recurring thing since earlier. “You’re only making things worse!”

“I’m only saying the truth. She’s the one who suddenly burst out crying out of nowhere and ruining what’s supposed to be the biggest day of her life.”

Morgana shrugged without even lifting her eyes from her screen, and Michel could see Clémence doing her best to restrain herself from getting up and slapping her right here and then. Thankfully, she seemed to notice Michel’s presence at this moment and a relieved expression crossed her face.

“Can someone please get this girl out of here?” She asked.

Maria grimaced, threw a desperate look at Michel and then stepped in to grab Morgana by the arm.

“Right! Sorry! Let’s go now, Morgana. We’ll go find some food to stuff ourselves with. Surely that’ll be more productive than trying to destroy poor Giselle’s self-esteem.”

Morgana opened her mouth to protest as Maria pulled her out of the couch, but in the end seemed to decide she was right and simply stood up.

“I’m not trying to destroy anything, I’m just annoyed. At this rate, these two will have to wait another thousands years before finally getting married.”

“Yeah, yeah, now come on, over here.”

The girl sighed while Maria was hurriedly trying to drag her out of the room, but stopped just when she passed next to Michel.

“It’s not a big deal. She still want to marry you, she just needs a push in the right direction — so stop looking as if someone gave you a death sentence.”

Without waiting for an answer, she then disappeared in the corridor. Nellie seemed to hesitate to follow them a little, looking back and forth between the room and the hallway; Michel guessed she was probably fighting between knowing it was better to leave them some intimacy and her desire to see what the drama was all about — but finally she ended up patting Michel’s shoulder in a comforting manner with an awkward smile.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’re just the cutest, most perfect couple, after all; there’s no way something like that could ruin your wedding! We’ll wait for you in the chapel!”

And then she was off. Michel let out a sigh, before finally joining Giselle and her sister; the first one didn’t seem to be able too look at him in the eyes, sobbing quietly, while the former stood up and shot him a distressed look.

“We tried all we could to cheer her up, but she doens’t seem to want to tell us anything,” she said. “Naïla and Aurélie and went to seek out Mom. But I think you’re the one she needs to talk to the most.”

He nodded silently. “All right… I’ll do what I can. Thank you.”

Clémence smiled uncomfortably at him, running her hand in her black hair — practically the same as Giselle’s, but shorter and tied into a ponytail — before finally adding hesitantly: “…You know, I was angry at you at first, but I don’t think it’s your fault anymore. So… don’t blame yourself too much.”

He simply nodded again; an admission like that was actually a big deal for Clémence, as it had took her some time to warm up to Michel and that she often tended to be pretty protective of Giselle. She gently put her hand on her little sister’s shoulder one last time in sign of support before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

Despite her words, however, a part of Michel couldn’t help but think it was, in fact, his fault; even if that didn’t make much sense. He always had that reflex to blame himself for whatever thing that might happen to Giselle, regardless of how true it was — and today was no exception. In fact, today felt even worse than usual, in a way.

He stared down at Giselle, then finally kneeled down next to her, gently taking her hands in his own much like Clémence had done earlier. She didn’t try to fight him off, which he took as a good sign — and then, as softly as he could, he murmured her name.

“Giselle.”

His fiancée didn’t respond, but he could see her bare shoulders ease up a little.

“Giselle… please, talk to me. I cannot help or do anything if you don’t talk to me.”

Of course, she must already know that. He heard her sniffle; one, two, five times. Finally, she was able to muster her courage to lift back her head, and her jade eyes crossed his ruby. One of her hand let go of his so that she could rub her eyes, trying to prevent anymore sob from escaping her.

She seemed to struggle to find her words. He waited.

“I…” She coughed a little. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s just… I mean. I-It’s silly, really. Morgana’s right. She’s always right.”

“Well… I don’t want to contradict you, but she’s actually often been more wrong than right about a lot of things.”

Giselle chuckled at this, which relieved him.

“I didn’t want them to get you,” she finally added in a very quiet, very muted voice; so much that he wouldn’t have been able to hear her if she hadn’t been right in front of him. “I didn’t want to— I didn’t want you to worry…”

“Well… If that can comfort you, I was already worried.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t want to make it worse. But it’s… I don’t want you to think I don’t want us to get married anymore. It’s not like that.”

“I know.”

The confidence in his voice actually managed to bring a timid smile on her face; and as such, it automatically brought one on his, too.

If there was one thing he wouldn’t waver on anymore, it was on the certainty and strength of her love.

“But you’re still crying.”

The smile dropped, and she looked down again. For a while, she didn’t seem to be able to add anything; so, trying to encourage her to go on while still not pressuring her, he gently cupped her cheek in his hand — caressing her skin, wiping the tears at the corner of her eyes with his thumb. He hoped she could feel the tenderness in his gesture, the solace he sought to bring to her heart.

And maybe she did, because her features then seemed to relax and she opened her mouth again:

“Michel, do you remember… Do you remember that conversation we had at the mansion, that one time?”

She looked at him, and then closed her eyes. He frowned, but waited patiently for her to clarify her words.

It always felt like a double-edged word whenever Giselle evoked their past lives of her own volition; even with the happiest of their memories. Maybe was it a product of her experience as the Maid, but it had always seemed like her recollections of their time together at the mansion was blurrier than his — that they were often jumbled, changed, out of order. It was like a puzzle she had to recompose every time in her mind, and sometimes, even all that effort wasn’t able to remind her of every occurrence. It wasn’t like Michel remembered everything that had happened back then perfectly either, but his were distinctly more lucid and defined than her own.

“Back then… after you’d… sent that letter to your family, for us to come back to the capital. Before we get… raided by the knights… We had a conversation together at night, in your bed, about the future… Do you remember?”

“…I do.”

“I… I actually think I forgot most of it. But… I do remember the feeling of anxiety I felt then. And earlier, I realized that was the exact same feeling I felt then. I… I think… that at that time, you talked about how… surreal it all felt. That it was like… the world outside the mansion never existed and was just a figment of your imagination…”

He did say that. In fact, he remembered this conversation very well; in strangely odd details. Maybe one of their discussions he recalled the best.

She laughed softly. “It’s funny. I said I could understand what you meant back then, but to be honest, I only truly understood it after becoming the Maid. That was how it always felt at the time. That the world outside the mansion never really existed, and that everything… our live, our past together… was nothing more than a story…”

Giselle looked out towards the window, her gaze suddenly seeming a little empty, and by instinct he grasped her hand more tightly; as if hoping that her feeling his grip would ground her here, in their reality — remind her that she wasn’t the Maid and that they weren’t stuck in that mansion anymore.

“It still feel that way, sometimes. I still feel… I don’t know, like I’m just dreaming. Even with my memories of my life here, I still feel like that’s just something I made up out of boredom. I did that a lot as the Maid, you know. Create stories that are not my own. Happy stories. Happy endings. All of them fakes.”

He paused; deciphering her words, emphasizing with her; making sure he could find the right thing to say without dismissing her feelings, though in the end the only he could mutter was the most simple of assurance: “…But this one is not fake.”

Of course, there was no way to truly prove it — and both of them knew it.

That was why Giselle simply looked back at him and smiled sadly without replying anything.

The memories of their past lives was a double-edged sword; a curse and a blessing.

It had brought them together, but it still inevitably tied them to the past.

For people like them who desperately tried, needed to move on and reach a new, better future, it was like a chain around their ankle — one they had no way to break now that they remembered.

“That’s true. I did say this, back then. But… do you recall what you said then, Giselle?”

Her face darkened a little. She frowned, and he could see the gears in her brain turn, trying to remind herself of a clumsy discussion between two broken, lonely lovers living in a decrepit cursed mansion from a millennium ago.

“I… I’m not sure I…”

“You said… that it was natural to be nervous, to be scared of what the future might be… but that as long as we were together, we’d be able to overcome anything. That as long as we had each other, there was no need to be afraid of the future.”

She stared at him with an unreadable expression; and he had actually no idea if that meant she was able to remember or if something else had come up to her mind. Regardless, he only gave another squeeze to her hand, and smiled bitterly.

“I don’t think I can promise you the same thing now. I can’t prove to you that this is reality unless you accept it for yourself, and there’s no way to know what might await us in the future. We’ll probably run into other struggles, experience some new painful moments. I can’t even promise you I’ll never hurt you again. We were naive to believe we could do so back then. But…”

He took a deep breath, making sure to not break eye contact with her— and then gently pushed his forehead against hers, their noses brushing each other’s.

“Back then, like during that conversation, you were always the one pushing me forward. So, I want to do the same for you now. What I can promise you, is that I’ll always try my best to be there for you and love you, so that we can share this burden and make it at least a little less heavy.”

His fingers pushed away some of the strands of her black hair that had fallen out of her bun. Tears welled up in her green eyes again, but she didn’t look as upset anymore. In fact, she seemed relieved… content. He hoped that’d meant he had been able to find the right words to ease her discomfort.

After a long moment of silence, she finally let out an exhausted sigh, then nodded imperceptibly, smiling.

“Yes… That’s right. You’re right… We can share that. We can try, at least.”

A smile of his own spread on his lips. “Good.”

There was slight moment where none of them said anything, simply basking in the other’s presence; before Michel opened his mouth once more.

“So… I really want to kiss you right now. Do you think that’d be against the tradition to kiss the bride right before the ceremony?”

Giselle laughed; a pleasant, slightly trembling melody.

“You’re an idiot,” was the only comment she made before pushing her lips to his own.

And so, still cupping his future wife’s cheek with one hand and holding her own with the other, he playfully kissed her, once, twice, thrice; and wished, upon all the gods and the saints he knew, that no matter what the future had in store for them, he would still have the occasion to do so to compensate for the millennium he spent without her.

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yasuda-yoshiya · 5 years

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Parents in FataMoru, especially in the original game, seems to be a bunch of unapologetically abusive, insolent, selfish jerks, maybe excepting Giselle's parents. It's like it was meant to be thematic to the story as a whole. Nellie being forced to marry, Michel's obviously grotesque parents, and also Morgana's parents as well. It becme apparent with Michel and Giselle that they can live happy now that the rest of the Bollingers and Aimee aren't with them anymore. Not even Georges and Didier.

There sure are a lot of bad parents in Fata, it’s true! Jacopo also seems to have had really bad parents in both timelines, as well... I think it sort of makes sense, though, since the original Fata especially is very much a game about isolation and loneliness and people who felt rejected by the world and the people around them. From a writing perspective, there’s probably not all that many ways to get a character into that situation without either having them feeling alienated from the rest of their family or separated from them in some way, so it’s probably not that surprising that most of the cast don’t have particularly great relationships with their parents.

I'd say that the game generally does a very good job of differentiating each individual case and giving each character’s sense of isolation its own nuances, though, so that it doesn’t really come across as a cheap device for tragedy or anything like that, at least to me!

#the house in fata morgana

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viedemaigre · 5 years

Text

#3 En disant

HBD HDW

Cette année tu as dix ans. Même si

Tu as eu bien des vies auparavant.

Tu es le noir sous mes yeux

La colère dans ma voix

Je n’ai jamais cru en dieu

Mais j’ai toujours cru en toi

Crédit photo: Sébastien Bollinger

Crédit photo: Groupe La Poste

Crédit photo: Aérien

Crédit photo: Maxime Jamaux

Crédit photo: Inconnu

youtube

Crédit vidéo: Sébastien Vaucel

youtube

Crédit vidéo: Pierre Manier

Merci à tous les gens qui ont embelli cette décennie. Artistes, publics, amateurs, professionnels, ils sont bien trop nombreux à citer. J’aimerais tout de même remercier plus particulièrement Didier Gouhier, Jean-François Baron, Sylvie Hagen, Louise Gravez, Julie Bordas, Pierre Sarzacq et David Groison. J’en aurais bientôt d’autres à mentionner. Rendez-vous dans dix ans.

- Crédit photo d’illustration: inconnu

- Musique: “Dix ans de nous” - Ben Mazué

#anniversaire #birthday #célébration #hdw #SLAM #slam poetry #artiste #écriture #poésie #littérature #théâtre #création #scène

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thespiritedandthewise · 5 years

Text

The Fox and the Bird

“Again...” Michel muttered to himself, his face even more sunken than usual.

It was the day he received his monthly delivery of supplies, and with it, another letter from his mother. He was presently staring at the letter on his desk, his ruby-red eyes gazing upon it from directly above, his back straight, as if he were trying to keep his distance from the words on the page.

“What was that, my dear?�� I asked, sitting leisurely in a rocking chair by the fireplace, although he could not see me.

“It’s exactly the same as last month’s. Right down to the last word. It’s as if she prepared multiple letters in advance or something…” he mulled.

“Now that’s a sound explanation. Clearly, she’s putting the bare minimum into keeping up appearances with you. Doesn’t it just make you retreat into yourself with loathing? Doesn’t it just make you want to—”

“Let’s not do this today, please,” he interrupted, in an imploring way more than a commanding one. That was odd. He usually ignored me.

“No? But you didn’t even hear what I was going to say,” I said, feigning disappointment.

“Curse them?”

“…Was that a request?”

“No.”

“What a shame.”

With that, I turned away again. There was a moment of silence that hung in the air, accented only by the crackling of the embers in the fireplace. Suddenly, Michel stood up from the desk, his chair skidding across the floorboards as he did.

“I’m going to go put the supplies in the cellar.”

“...By all means,” I said.

That, too, was strange. He didn’t usually announce himself. But this was at a point in time where he was almost treating me like just another person living in his home, and not like someone endlessly beckoning for him to curse everyone he’s ever known and loved. Or perhaps he was remembering a comment I made in jest about being in every room at once—including the bathrooms—and took it to heart. Either way, I couldn’t say I much cared for it. If he would not join me, he could at least keep his distance. And besides, I truly did give him his privacy... well, until he was about to fall asleep, that is.

A few minutes later, he came back—but he was carrying something, and inspecting it quizzically. I paid no real attention to him as he entered, but he then dropped it on the table with a thud that gave me a bit of a start.

“What in the world?” I said.

“Did I startle you?” he asked. Surely he didn’t find that funny.

“No matter.”

“Terribly sorry.” He did find that funny. “There was something I missed at the bottom of the crate. It’s... a game board, I think.”

That it was. A rather ornate one, by the looks of it. It had been intricately carved out of wood, and the pieces, as well as the grooves in between the lines on the board, appeared to be... inlaid with gold? Clearly, this was not purchased from a gift shop on a city street corner; it was probably commissioned by a noble.

“Hmm. Did you request it?” I asked.

“I... don’t believe I did, no. There was no mention of it in the letter, either…”

“Then clearly your mother is mocking you,” I said. “She knew you had no one to play a game with and sent it along anyway.”

“I wonder about that, though... it could very well have been Didier. We used to play chess together whenever he had a spare moment. Perhaps it’s another game he picked up...”

He could hardly be faulted for thinking this way, of course. From my perspective, at least, some part of Michel still believed in earnest that his brothers were secretly rooting for him back at the Bollinger estate. Compared to later, before a certain someone showed up, he almost had some eagerness left in him to get through what he believed to be a temporary living situation. He didn’t have much else to hope for, after all. And so I resigned myself to allow him this one shred of respite from my endless torment.

“Well, you are free to hold on to that hope, my dear,” I said with a shrug that Michel obviously could not see, “but the fact remains that a board game is not typically played by just one. Well, unless it’s you, that is.”

Michel sat and stared at the board for a moment, appearing lost in thought. “Well, there isn’t just one of us here,” he finally said, nonchalantly, as if he were talking about the weather outside.

...What. This was out of character—enough that even I was caught off guard.

“You’re not… seriously suggesting that I play this with you? Have you taken leave of your senses? Have you truly succumbed to your solitude? What an absolutely preposterous—”

Paying no attention to me, Michel stood from the table, picked up the board and, walking past me, placed it on a smaller table by the fireplace, the one where he usually played chess by himself. The pieces appeared to be weighted, so they didn’t move around when the board was picked up. He placed it down, sat in one chair, and gestured to the other one—not looking anywhere in particular while he did so, since he did not know where exactly I was.

What in the world was going through his head? Did he not hear anything I just said?

Unfortunately, the board was unlike any I had seen before—not that I had seen many before—so some fleeting curiosity took hold of me. Or perhaps I was taken in by Michel’s obvious desire for something resembling activity with someone else. The details needn’t concern anyone anymore.

I got closer and took a look at the board. It was square, not unlike a chess board, and there were lines on it in the shape of a cross. There were several pieces in the shape of some type of bird, and a single piece in the shape of... a fox?

“There was a sheet of parchment with directions included,” said Michel. “It looks like the objective is for the birds to ‘capture’ the fox... but the fox can capture the birds too, albeit with limited movement.”

“A game of wits, then,” I said. “It doesn’t seem very fair, does it? There are many of the birds, and only one of the fox. They could easily overwhelm it.”

“Yes, well... that’s the point of the game, I believe.”

“But if the fox is cunning enough... it can capture all of the birds and emerge the victor, but only through blood and malice. Curious indeed...”

Just then, I noticed that the fox was painted red, and the birds were painted white—not unlike our hair colours. “So, then, I suppose in this little metaphor… I am the fox, and you are the birds? Am I to outsmart the birds running every which way before they overwhelm me?”

Michel seemed to have caught on to the fact that the pieces resembled us as well. “Well, I doubt that was...” But he trailed off as if he were lost in thought. His eyes darted around the floor. I didn’t expect such a strong reaction... but the irony was not lost on him, which I found quite satisfying. After all, he and I aren’t like normal people. It would befit him to pick up on the finer things. And with that, I released my own curiosity.

“I have no interest in your game. Toss it away.”

“I suppose that’s for the best, yes...”

Similarly, it would not befit me to be caught up in some worldly pleasure, as base and simple as a peasant’s game. I had to hold on to that, at least. There was nothing else, at least so long as Michel kept resisting my influence.

“Morgana?”

“...Yes?”

“Let’s try this another time.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

Addressing me by name? This was truly a day of surprises. Still, this was one of the occasional times I had just become... fickle? Restless? I didn’t know how to describe it... but, begrudgingly, I suppose we did have a brief kinship there, in our own mutually hopeless sort of way.

I did not hate Michel. Truly, I felt sorry for him, which is why I wanted to help him. I simply could not make sense of the aspects of his... personality that occasionally emerged throughout our time together.

Regardless, these feelings did not suit me, or Michel. So if I was to be a fox... I could only hope that my dear birds would find a way to take that fellow feeling away from me.

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