Chapter Text
Afternoon sunlight filtered through the reinforced glass of the study's windows, already edging into the cool red of evening. Crown stood at attention by his mistress' desk, resisting an uncharacteristic urge to shuffle his feet on the burgundy carpet. Across the room, the woman in question pulled a tome from the carved bookshelf and considered it thoughtfully.
In his decade of loyal service as butler to the Edelfelt clan, and to the Lady Luviagelita in particular, Crown had rarely seen the need to second guess his mistress. Occasionally he was called upon to offer his expertise on security details, or explosive ordnance, or the meaning of an extra ruffle on a servant's livery. Always upon request, or where his confidence justified imposition upon his lady's thoughts.
He could not in good conscience claim such confidence on the battlefield of Association politics, nor its attendant armories of fashion and etiquette. But then, there had never been a need to. His lady had always commanded an impeccable plumage in that arena, a true hawk among sparrows.
Which was why the cough felt so rough in his throat.
"Are you sure, my lady?" The same training that had held him steady under artillery bolts kept the arch from his brow, even as she looked inquiringly up from her reading. "About the dress."
The book snapped shut. Lady Luviagelita smiled brightly as she placed it aside, then gathered up the folds of the skirt and twirled (twirled!), offering it for his appraisal.
"You don't like the beading?" she asked.
"It lends the roses a striking effect," he allowed, and that was true enough. They sparkled a bright silver against the powder blue silk. "As you know, that style was rather in vogue eight years ago."
The reminder should be sufficient. His lady knew the importance of keeping pace with the zeitgeist, how mastery of the winds in one domain implied the same in other, more clandestine ones. How eccentricities had to be carefully curated, lest the wolves scent blood.
"High time for a revival, then!" Her chin lifted to an overly haughty angle, the equivalent of a slap from a dueling glove in his lady's circles. Crown found himself instinctively glancing around the empty room for the target, while Lady Luviagelita patted her fifteen-years-obsolete crystal earrings. "And no one better than my splendid self to usher it in."
"Just so," said Crown, suppressing another wince when he spotted the lace-up heels under the hem of the dress.
A pleased hum as she went back to perusing the shelf.
It wasn't his place to question. His mistress had led the Edelfelt clan with a deft, and often brilliant, hand since the messy business of her ascension. He had to trust that she knew what she was doing, that there were angles unseen to him. This was doubtless part of a plan, a temporary loss of face patiently suffered in anticipation of a greater triumph.
He would aid her in it as best he could, and proudly.
"Shall I trim the hedges, my lady?" he asked, meaning whether he should take steps to minimize word to the family back in Turku. There wasn't as much need for veiled speech in the safety of the mansion, but habits had a way of clinging.
His mistress blinked, then walked over to the window and peered out.
"The hedges look fine," she said, making his brow furrow as she took a seat at the desk. "I think I'll catch up on some reading before the party."
Crown involuntarily glanced at the stack of papers at her elbow, then back at the grimoire in her hands. It wasn't like his lady to engage in casual reading before the daily missives were done.
Unease fluttered in his chest.
"And please have one of the maids bring me tea and a snack," the heiress said absently as she turned a page. "Always be prepared. That way you don't end up stuffing your face at the cocktail table."
His training stuttered on the inelegant turn of phrase, enough to raise an involuntary eyebrow. Worse was that his lady would ask a simple maid to brew her tea, instead of leaving it in his hands. Had he somehow displeased her? No, she would reprimand him directly.
If she were feeling herself, that was.
The unease deepened into a hard lump.
"Yes, my lady." He gave a small bow. "The lavender blend?"
Lady Luviagelita abhorred lavender tea.
Sharp amber eyes flicked towards him. She considered him for a moment, then smiled. "Whatever you think best."
Crown's shoulders relaxed under his suit. That request — half test, half show of trust — felt more like the mistress he knew and was honored to serve. Enough to overlook the earrings.
It was his mistress' prerogative to practice her assumed role however she saw fit, after all.
"Very good, my lady."
The study door clicked shut. Left alone, Rin allowed herself a pleased roll of shoulders under the fashion crime of a dress.
It was amazing, really, what trained staff could get you. Rin only had to point out the various pieces on the laptop over lunch, and the Edelfelt retainers had managed to not only wrangle them up, but have them custom fitted in time for evening cocktails.
A grin stole over her face. She'd only been in control of Luvia's body since noon, and she was already well on her way to making the harpy rage. Showing up to a Clocktower social, even one as comparatively informal as a garden party, in this dress would have the sharper tongues wagging for weeks.
And that was before Rin put the rest of her plan in action.
The triumph already bubbling in her veins was worth the knowledge that she was slamming the door viciously shut on Luvia ever letting her borrow a book.
Not that she'd lower herself to ask, of course! Even if this treatise on igneo-thaumaturgical resonance looked promising for…
Rin gave herself a little shake and set the book firmly to one side of the desk. Keeping her eye on the prize was paramount—especially since she would be walking a delicate tightrope tonight. As much fun as it was to foul up Luvia's oars, she couldn't take it too far. A party was never just a party at the Clocktower. An outdated dress was one thing, but there were far more serious faux pas she could trip into. The wrong wave to the wrong person, a smile made mocking by grudges she wasn't privy to. She wanted Luvia tearing at her ridiculous blonde curls when she returned to this body, not hanging upside down in someone's dungeon.
And that was assuming the spell did wear off. That Rin wasn't stuck here for good, and—
No.
Rin wouldn't countenance it. Whatever Flat did to botch the ritual, it could only have invested it with so much mana. When that ran out, the World would register the contradiction and snap her and that insufferable drillhead back into place. Hopefully. And if not, Rin would fix things herself.
Even if there would definitely be things she'd miss about this body. Rin sighed as she trailed the elegant nails along the rosewood. Not just the gorgeous complexion and full figure — she could admit it, without its cow of an owner smirking in her face — but the unfamiliar yet powerful magic crest pressing on her nerves.
What possibilities might open up, if she had time to properly study the spells stored within? All the coffers of the Edelfelt clan to fund her experiments?
(What could she have done, if things had been a little different?)
She ran her fingers down her left arm—the same place her own crest was located, which meant nothing—and shook her head. That also would be a step over the line. Rin had her pride as a magus, and it didn't stoop to stealing her rival's magecraft in such an underhanded manner. It would be too much like admitting defeat.
Besides, Luvia Edelfelt was a nice vacation house, but it wasn't home. Rin had spent too many years taking care of herself—through growing pains and war and belated smiles and lonely nights—to let either her body, or the life it represented, go so easily.
So yes, she made herself smirk, she'd let Luvia return to this body and charmed life. Once she'd set up a minefield and dug up all the dirty laundry, that was. Enough to shut that smug donkey up the next time she got braying. And if Rin let her eyes linger on the mirror tonight, let them glide over stupidly generous curves and boobs… well. Consider it compensation for the whole mess. No, for that harpy's endless list of crimes against her.
For the intoxicating burn in those golden eyes, right before they beat the hell out of each other.
Soon.
For now, Rin relaxed into her chair—then soured when she saw the stack of reports waiting at her elbow. Of course she'd taken a look at them earlier, but it was hard to make heads or tails of them, even accounting for her rough command of Finnish.
"Coded," she muttered resentfully under her breath. "And no cheat sheet in sight, of course."
Luvia must devote a lot of mental energy to keeping track of it all.
Irritably she leafed through the top one, then threw it back on the stack. Tempting as it was to shove it all aside, some were bound to be time sensitive. Not to mention they would pile up quickly if Rin was stuck here for any significant length of time.
Damn it. She'd have to deal with them when she got back from the party, wouldn't she?
At least the most urgent items.
If she could figure out which those were.
Rubbing her temples, Rin experienced an unexpected pang of sympathy for the Edelfelt heiress. Maybe she wouldn't "accidentally" spill wine down the dress tonight, after all.
She looked idly around the study, wishing for a cup of tea in her hands. Archer—a sharper pang, centered in her chest—would have brought it already. But it wasn't fair to expect the same domestic alchemy from the maids. Though come to think of it, maybe Rin should tut impatiently at them, given how unreasonable Luvia always was about every—
Something sparkled on the wall. It took her a moment to recognize the object hanging proudly inside the glass display case. A necklace, white sapphire on a simple gold chain.
Rin's necklace.
Her fists clenched. She hadn't seen it since the harpy had snatched it in their courtyard brawl, one which had ended in a treacherous suplex and a month's worth of wounded pride.
And here it was, a shameless trophy.
"You smug cow!"
Heat swept through Rin's veins. Right, she wasn't the only saboteur at work on this battlefield. If she understood the spell correctly, and there was no reason to think she hadn't, then the bimbo was in her body at that very minute. No doubt scheming something horrible for her to come home to, the sort of treachery only that twisted mind could dream up.
Her lips pulled back in a grimace, then slowly relaxed into a smirk. Oh, she'd spill the darkest wine she could find right down this bovine décolletage. She would fawn all over that idiot Recoa too, if he showed up from Archeology. The guy already made goo-goo eyes at Luvia so blatant that even Gray had picked up on it. Add a little fuel to that fire, and he'd trail her for weeks to come.
Snickering, Rin ran a satisfied hand through her hair—then cursed when it caught in the drills instead of carding smoothly.
This selection would never do.
Luvia's lips pursed as she dug past blouses and slacks and woolen coats, hoping the closet might disgorge more treasures. The Union Jack stockings she had found tucked far in the back were a treat, as were the adorable cat-print pajamas. Most of Rin's clothing had nevertheless proven disappointingly tasteful, if rather cheap. Bland, too, compared to Luvia's own wardrobe, but there was no denying the simpler cuts and solid colors suited the girl's willowy frame.
Not that she expected any less from anyone calling themselves her rival, naturally! Still, it wouldn't hurt Rin to own a few more guilty pleasures. Of the humiliating sort, though Luvia would have also welcomed more lingerie than an (admittedly fetching) set in black silk.
Perhaps modeling it would give her ideas?
Borrowed fingers brushed against silk before she reluctantly put it aside. Everything in due course, as Crown would say. First the photo shoot for wider distribution, and then she could indulge in a private collection.
Unfortunate that both sets would lack that pretty blush of mortified anger. But Luvia would content herself with seeing it on Rin's face, while the girl spluttered and seethed at another contest lost. For no doubt the barbarian was even now planning some underhanded scheme of her own.
Which meant Luvia needed to make her time count.
Warming further to the task at hand, she held the pajamas up against Rin's body in the mirror. Her smile turned into a frown as she considered. No, they weren't enough to guarantee victory. Not even if she tied the dark hair up in pigtails, imitating the old photographs her agents had sourced from Fuyuki. She needed something bespoke if she truly wanted to see her rival explode into furious scarlet.
How fortunate, then, that the Edelfelt specialized in custom arrangements. A pity there wasn't time for a proper tailor, but much could still be done off-the-shelf if you knew where to look.
Smile back on her lips, she walked the short distance from the tiny bedroom to an equally cramped kitchen. The lack of space felt rather suffocating, but she assumed one grew used to it. It would nevertheless be a relief when Flat's ghastly blunder ran its course, and things returned to their proper place.
A quick glance at the calendar on the wall (and Luvia would have words with Rin about leaving it exposed near the window, where anyone with familiars or even binoculars could learn her schedule) confirmed that there was nothing on Rin's agenda that evening.
Or the evening after. In fact, Luvia noted with some envy, the closest thing to an event was afternoon tea with the Pentel sisters penciled in for that weekend. Though she did wonder about the date circled near the end of the month. No note or explanation, just a red ink circle. As if that were reminder enough.
She pondered a moment more, then gave her cheek a reprimanding tap.
Focus, Luviagelita. You have shopping to do.
And while she perfectly trusted her fashion choices—including the sabotaging kind—it never hurt to have a second opinion. Especially since a witness to "Rin's" new tastes would make the followup photographs that much more delightfully convincing.
Luvia could be forgiven a giggle as she searched for an address book. That gave way to a frown as she flipped through and found it as sparse as the calendar. Well, Rin was a difficult personality, even if she did hold a certain prickly warmth. Perhaps it was to be expected. It was still a bit disconcerting however, not seeing a single 'Tohsaka' among the contacts when Luvia's own overflowed with relatives (including a few she would admittedly have liked to disown).
Perhaps she would mock Rin for it later, perhaps not. For now, she was pleased to find some familiar names. She tucked a stray strand behind Rin's ear (it seemed they needed words about proper hairspray, too) as she considered.
Gray? No, the girl would keep what she'd seen respectfully to herself, however bizarre.
Cabyl? Nearly impossible to tear from her figurines at the best of times.
Yvette was perfect, however, and Luvia happily dialed her.
'Hi Rin! What's new on the south side?"
Luvia blinked, then quickly situated the flat on her mental map.
"Does Lamberth seem far south to you, Yvette?" she asked, dripping some of Rin's sarcasm into her voice.
'If it's past the Wandsworth, it's south enough!' replied the other cheerfully. 'So what can I do you for?'
Luvia curled the cheap cord around a finger, in imitation of her host's uncouth mannerisms.
"I was wondering if you might be free," she said, careful to stay a little standoffish. "I'm going clothes shopping, and—"
'Yes! I thought you'd never ask!' That was certainly enthusiastic, even for Yvette. 'Where are you thinking? Artesia Falcon? Lobo & Brock?'
Most of Luvia's clothes were uniquely designed and fitted for her, as expected of an heiress, but she did enjoy an occasional browse of London's fashion boutiques. The two mentioned offered inventive but ultimately classic styles, in line with Rin's general tastes, and thus of no use. What she needed was a shopping centre with a full range of options, however unpleasant the prospect of dirt and crowds.
"I'll be, ah, 'hitting up' Westfield London—"
'Ooh! Yes, I'll absolutely come! Black Widow just put out a new line of punk ruffle heels!' Punk ruffle…? 'And we can stop by Spiderwick too, and House of Brookings and… oh Rin, you're the best!'
A sudden misgiving stole over Luvia—but no, this was exactly what she needed. She could leverage this local knowledge—and stamina—to her own ends. She only hoped Rin had prioritized endurance as much as hammer kicks in her training.
"I am, aren't I?" she preened as she ran a hand through her hair, self-satisfied as only a barbarian could be. "Then I'll meet you at the, ah…"
Did Westfield London have a fountain? All shopping centres had fountains, surely.
'By the cinema in an hour? I need to do a little 'research' there anyway.'
"Sure," she said, then hastily growled an obligatory, "and I don't want to know."
'Really?' Yvette sounded honestly surprised. 'Well, if you're set on all work, no play…"
"I didn't say that," said Luvia, hoping she hadn't somehow scuttled the operation, but Yvette only giggled.
'Great! Then it's a date!'
The girl hung up. Luvia found herself scowling at the phone before reminding herself that this was the equivalent of 'see you soon' from the Lehrman heiress. It didn't mean anything. Better to bask in anticipation of yet another plan coming together just so, and the reward at the end of it.
Luvia wandered back to the bedroom, practicing Rin's best scowl in the mirror and giggling. She couldn't quite manage that flush of anger in the cheeks, but that would come soon enough.
"Wait until you see what I have in store for you, Rin! Ohohohoho!"