Chapter Text
It was a fine September morning, a day filled with traces of snow, shades of gray lingering upon the framed windows of a particularly bright penthouse far removed from society's eyes. Slipping one leg out from under the covers, Bayonetta reached up and took her glasses from the silver nightstand. With a yawn, she propped an elbow up on her obnoxiously fluffed pillow and glanced at her Umbran Watch.
"Jeanne," she mumbled, annoyed. The platinum blonde didn't even crack open an eye; she was still, as always, out like a light. Perhaps letting her stay up for the night drinking potent wine had been a bad idea. Not the worst idea Bayonetta had let Jeanne get away with, but still a relatively bad one, considering her friend's current situation.
"You're going to be late," she tried, again, this time leaning over to shake the sleeping beauty. On a side note, Jeanne looked very pretty in the mornings. The way the dawn light spilled over the bed illuminated her face and gave her features a softer, almost tender appearance.
Until she opened her mouth, at least.
"Ohhhh," Jeanne rolled over and away from Bayonetta's inquiring pokes, elongating the groan while throwing her pillow over her head. "Fuck."
"Why is the first coherent word that comes out of your mouth almost always some offhanded curse?"
"I think I have a hangover," Jeanne remedied slowly, finally opening one grey eye to glare at her friend.
Bayonetta leveled her own tired stare at her. "Jeanne, do you know what day it is?"
"I know what time it is," Jeanne retorted, reaching out to fumble for her watch. She eyed the time with obvious disdain, almost as if the watch itself had offended her by springing to life and spitting in her face. "Cereza, it's barely five in the morning."
"Yes, Jeanne," she pressed. "It also happens to be September ninth."
Jeanne blinked hazily, processing the information. September ninth was...
Right. First day of school.
Jeanne stretched lazily, blinking the sleepiness out of her eyes. Fluttering her eyelashes at Bayonetta, she gently plucked off the covers and slid out of bed. Though she wasn't in too much of a rush, there was at least an excited gleam to her still-sleepy eyes. Bayonetta knew that look too well to bother continuing the conversation - once Jeanne realized it was her time to shine, then there was no stopping her.
Such behavior brought up unwanted memories. A flash of expanding darkness, glimmers of rows and rows of bloodshot eyes and demonic roars. Turning, seeing, feeling - Cereza! - one moment of tight trepidation as draconic maws snapped shut - No...this isn't how things end...
Yes, she recalled, sparing a glance at Jeanne's exposed, curved backside and the sharp sleekness of her pale arms. She knew far too well what extent Jeanne would go to just to save an old friend.
Pushing the memories aside, Bayonetta rose from the bedside and took a more detailed look at her fellow witch. Letting her grey eyes trail downwards, Bayonetta smirked at the ample, perky bottom Jeanne sported. Mother nature must have wanted to make up for her rather flat bosom - and she did a damn good job of it. It gave her something to look forward to in the mornings.
"Cereza! We have an hour before we must leave. Hurry!"
Bayonetta smiled. Only Jeanne could enjoy mornings during school season, though the woman had been half-complaining only minutes before."I'm coming. Don't get your panties in a knot."
"If I recall correctly," the lighter-haired witch shot back, cleaning her glasses frame, "the only person with their panties wrapped in spiraling ribbons around their ass would be you."
"Jeanne, you bought those for me," Bayonetta replied, smoothing a hand through her short stray black strands. "How could I waste such a precious gift? After all, you were so happy to see me wear them..."
Jeanne snorted, but chose to continue brushing her teeth instead of biting back with another retort. Bayonetta probably didn't actually know how she felt about that but...well...she was right...
With a snap of her fingers, Jeanne's brilliant platinum blonde hair receded, back to a more familiar short cut. She couldn't just appear in front of her students with such an elegantly flowing hairstyle! The school board would have her head for encouraging outlandish standards. After all, no one would be able to match it, and the children might use it to feed their constantly running rumor mill.
(Bayonetta was pretty sure she did it because walking into school with a completely new hairstyle would throw off her students and bring far too much attention to her. Plus, the hair looked ridiculous. Honestly. It did. Sometimes she swore she saw cockroaches and spiders living in there, a stark contrast to the light hair.)
By the time both of them had finished freshening up and taking breakfast, they had a few minutes left to spare. The sun, by then, had still barely risen; what was left of that miraculous early light had long faded into the background and felt as if days had passed rather than an hour. The wave of darkness did not lessen Jeanne's mood, however, and Bayonetta felt something long abandoned stir in her bones.
"We'll be teaching in classrooms right next to each other," Jeanne said, pleased. "Though I do wonder why the board would put a history class besides bible studies."
"Considering this is European history, I'm not surprised," Bayonetta waved a perfumed hand. "The witch hunts do go hand and hand with the Bible, don't they?"
Jeanne raised an eyebrow. "Since when was that established? Don't let your students catch you saying that. The board won't be quite too happy with your performance, then. Your nun outfit gives you no extra credit with them."
"My job as a nun is for relaxation, Jeanne. I wouldn't mind being booted for such a nonsensical thing. Simply gives me more me time, wouldn't you say?"
"Cereza, that is the mindset that will eventually get us both killed. The last time we had such a session resulted in my pseudo-death and you journeying across all three Trinities of Reality before fighting an ancient god for the sake of the world."
"Oh, hush," Bayonetta laughed, uncrossing her legs with her familiar (shit-eating, Jeanne had once commented) smile. "Let us hurry, then, before anyone similarly unwelcome comes calling."
-
"I'll see you during lunch, then, Cereza. Do take care," Jeanne waved, watching her friend shoot her a rather unreadable wink as she slid through her classroom door. Sometimes she couldn't tell the difference between being blatantly flirty or platonically accepting with her.
Settling down at her desk, she unpacked her tools (pens, papers for the first day, tissue boxes for the poor returning students, and...a gun? Fuck, she'd have to hide the weapon in her hair again. Fuck! Her hair was short!) There was still time before the first students would start streaming in, so she allowed herself a moment of respite to revise the material she had to present.
Half an hour passed, and the first few students began to trickle in. A shabby-haired boy, another with a finger up his nostril, three chatting young ladies wearing bright red lipstick, and one lone pajama-wearing senior in a beanie milled about at the entrance. Giving them her most approachable smile, Jeanne gestured the somewhat clueless kids inside. They seemed to be avoiding each other, for the individuals had chosen desks far from the other (exempting the lipstick clique, who Jeanne decided were probably just being themselves and not purposefully giving off a terrifying aura.)
It took maybe another ten minutes before the rest of the student body had arrived. Adjusting her glasses, she pulled up the attendance tab from her laptop. "I believe we've all been acquainted before," she started pleasantly, from her desk. "Though it seems there are a few new faces today. Pardon me if I get any names wrong.
"Jamie Black."
"Here."
"Timothy Briggs?"
"Yeah?" the nose-picking student leaned back in his chair and flicked a booger off his finger. Jeanne tried not to wince at the rude gesture.
"Ah. Leah Clarence?"
The leader of the lipstick clique raised a hand sharply. "Available," she answered, in a remarkably lazy tone, causing her two friends to giggle like schoolboys discovering the existence of pornography. Which, surprisingly, was not the least pleasant thing to hear, but certainly not the most.
This continued, back and forth, until the last student.
"Helen Ziracah?"
No answer.
"...Helen Ziracah?"
Someone punched a hunched figure in the corner of the room, who threw up a hand in surprise. "That's me, sorry," came a surprisingly feather-light voice that sounded just a bit too world-weary for their age. The girl, Helen, cleared her throat and tried again. "Here."
Jeanne nodded absently, reminding herself to keep an eye on a few specific students. Timothy Briggs...from hearsay, was one who wasn't too thrilled with being stacked with homework and had a violently rebellious streak. Leah Clarence, though impeccably attractive and often top of the class, liked to talk back or undermine professors...and, now, Helen Ziracah, who seemed to fall asleep in class at odd intervals.
Class seemed nice enough. The first day wasn't meant to teach any of her prepared material, so she let the students have free reign of discussion and future aspirations, as any good teacher should. Of course, it was partially because of the pounding headache that had taken residence in her head, but that wasn't something she'd show to the kids.
The topics came to an abrupt halt when Timothy whistled hawkishly at Helen's sleeping form, causing the girl to jerk awake and knock her knee loudly against her desk. Swearing under her breath in a language Jeanne couldn't quite make out, Helen put her face back on her desk in an attempt to mask her embarrassment. Jamie snorted into his bottle of water, spilling some on his shirt, and Leah sighed at the sight, putting a hand on her face in mock horror.
Jeanne had a feeling it was going to be those four this year. There was always the One Group who unleashed hell, unwittingly or not, in a class. (she had, technically, been one of those children five hundred years ago, but would never admit it in anyone's presence. Not even Cereza. Definitely not with Cereza around.)
"So...what about next period?" Timothy grinned crookedly. Leah rolled her eyes. Jeanne, attempting to broker peace (she was a witch, not a babysitter), sat with her legs crossed in a part intimidating, part kind manner.
"What about next period?" Jamie had put down his water bottle to scrub furiously at his wet shirt with a tissue.
A few other students mumbled in agreement, some conversing in their own private corners about their next period. Jeanne, to her credit, hadn't really taught senior history in a few years. The first day shouldn't have been so lax...but, for the moment, she couldn't bring herself to care due to the hangover angrily residing in her head. God, she shouldn't have drank the entire bottle. It made paying attention so much harder.
"Aren't you guys mad about getting into bible studies? Let me tell you, I flunked that class last year," Timothy said, reclining even further back in his chair. "I might fly by in math, but man, I can't stand that class."
Jeanne raised an eyebrow, prepared to make a tight comment, but Helen interjected her own two cents before Jeanne could. In fact, it was the first time the girl had participated in the general flow of conversation. "Timothy, have you seen the teacher this year?"
Timothy glanced at her. "Well, you didn't see the one last year, 'coz you weren't at this school," he told her, goofily. "God, she was a monster. Had the whole nun gig going, and slammed a ruler on your desk whenever you closed your eyes for more than two seconds."
"No, she didn't, you're just reliably unbearable," Leah muttered, much to Jeanne's inner amusement.
Helen shrugged. She leaned in, conspiratorially, for some reason wide awake while on the topic of bible studies. Jeanne made a mental note to check into her fascination.
"Her name's Ms. Butterfly," Helen started. "I heard the staff call her Madama Butterfly because she's really ladylike. But did you see her? Like, actually see her?"
"What about it? She's got a nice rack and a cute name," Jamie hooted, causing Leah to whip out a pair of scissors and knock over his water bottle, creating another nicely-sized spill.
Helen gave him a cursory glance. "Having a nice rack and, uh, body besides," the girl said, blood rushing to her ears, "have you heard the rumors around her? You know the bar? The Gates of Hell?"
"From the Dump?" Timothy sat straight up in his chair, excited. "I've been trying to get into that shit since I was little! Ah, I'm, I'm sorry for the slip, Ms. Arc. It won't, uh, happen again."
Jeanne held her breath. "It's of no consequence," she said, far too interested in the words coming out of Helen's mouth to give him any sort of reprimand. "Just remember that profanities will be punished from here onward."
(Later, Jeanne would curse herself for missing such a grand opportunity. She could've dragged Timothy so hard his ass would've landed on the doorstep to hell, namely Fimbulventr, but she'd been too distracted to finish the task. Cereza would probably never let her live this down if she dared mention it.)
"Yeah, that's the one," Helen said, seemingly appreciating the positive attention that was being lavished on her. She was starting to clam up, however, and the one hour period was ending. "Well, you'll see what I mean when you actually get a good look at her. It's an eyeful and a lot to take in, you know. But not her boobs! Not her boobs, Jamie!" Jamie was practically howling in response to Helen's proclamation, and Leah had long quit trying to stop the boy from performing his ridiculous antics. Jeanne, for one, no longer felt comfortable with letting the kids have complete free reign of the topic any more. She was a witch, an angel killer. However, dealing with seniors in an American high school was...a much different experience.
"I mean," Helen said, looking at Timothy, "You guys have heard about what the Gates of Hell really is, right? And that no one has evidence of its contents because of the whole secrecy pact?"
"If you're implying that the nun can get in, I'm out of here," Timothy scrunched up his face.
"Well if you'd just listen to me explain it for another five seconds, maybe you'd get the point," Helen shot back. She glanced at Leah, who seemed interested, for some reason. "See, everyone knows the Gates of Hell are real. People go there all the time. But ever since the Platinum Stars nearly killed themselves in an unexplained flight accident, business there has been booming. The Dump was practically buzzing about it!"
Timothy looked unconvinced. "Yeah, everyone's been talking about it. Last year was a trainwreck."
"No one's actually seen the barkeep around here," Helen continued. "They say he wears sunglasses to hide his eyes because - "
"They're sensitive to sunlight?" Leah raised an eyebrow, and Helen reluctantly paused.
"Err, no, actually," she said. "Look, I know it's pretty implausible and all of you are probably as religious as a freshly cooked pork roast, but it's supposedly a fact that his eyes are red."
"...Uh," Timothy kicked up a foot to rest on the opposing chair, which happened to be the edge of Helen's seat. "So what's the point?"
"You took bible studies already," Helen frowned. "You know the whole dichotomy about heaven and hell, right - "
"Jesus, Helen, you're not gonna trick me into a biblical conversation about rumors around my favorite bar," Timothy said, flabbergasted. "You're telling me he's some fallen angle or some crazy shit? That's a great idea for a story, but look, I wanted real details, not make believe."
"No, but that's not it," Helen pressed, nervously. "The nun. The, uh, new teacher for bible studies. I told you to get a good look at her, right? It's because she might be dangerous. Red fell from heaven and ruled hell, blue like fire watched from above. It's what's in between that's to fear, though. S'what I got from my dad's friend."
Jeanne narrowed her eyes, ever so slightly.
"Who? Aw, man, you mean Enzo? That nutjob's not reliable," Jamie intervened, grinning. "And the nuns. They follow the word of God, and God doesn't serve hell, Helen. Might want to cut back on the weed." At this, Jamie began to laugh, probably at a joke that Jeanne wasn't able to detect. Maybe it just wasn't funny, considering no one else was laughing.
"Her eyes! I'm talking about her eyes!" Helen said, exasperated, as the bell rung. Jamie's laughter had dumbed down into small cackles, but Helen's point still hadn't gone across. Jamie was coughing, wondering how their new teacher's eyes related to the Gates of Hell. Helen turned to Jeanne, eyes flashing in disappointment.
Whatever she saw in Jeanne's eyes in that moment, the platinum blonde didn't know; it certainly shut the girl up indefinitely, though, and she was dragged out the door with the rest of her classmates before Jeanne could even muster up the energy to approach her.
-
"That was the most tiring day of my life," Bayonetta declared, throwing herself upon the lavender couch. She kicked off her heels, letting them land directly at Jeanne's feet as she opened the door to their penthouse.
"Better keep quiet tonight, Cereza, else the neighbors below might get cold feet and call an exorcist," Jeanne smiled ominously, earning her a cheeky grin from Bayonetta.
"How was class today for you, Jeanne? I certainly enjoyed myself, regardless of having to keep track of thirty children at once." Bayonetta reached out an elegant hand to pluck a small rose-shaped lollipop from their designated candy jar on the granite countertop. "Second period especially. The little gremlins couldn't keep their eyes off of me." she shook her head in disbelief, sticking the sweet in her mouth. "And here I thought the nun garb would get me a ticket away from high school infatuation."
"You know how they are," Jeanne said, tiredly. "You have Timothy in your class, don't you?"
"The brown-haired one with a disturbingly large pimple on his left cheek? If so, yes," Bayonetta replied, stretching out on the couch like a sunbathing cat. Jeanne cocked her head to the side. No other comment? Nothing but children constantly hounding her? Certainly Helen's gossip would have reached her ears if the girl had continued...
Taking a seat beside her Umbran sister, Jeanne reached out and took her hand, startling her friend.
"It's not even three yet," Bayonetta mumbled pleasantly, but didn't retract her hand.
"Excuse me," Jeanne raised an eyebrow, "but are you legitimately rejecting a chance to - "
"Fine, fine! At least let me get to the bed," Bayonetta waved a hand before sticking a foot into Jeanne's lap. "Or, you could carry me there," the black-haired witch smiled seductively.
Jeanne pretended not to notice the back of her neck flushing. "If you insist," she muttered, much to Bayonetta's delight. "I am not doing this for you if you get knocked unconscious by a few thrown Affinities again."
"That was once," Bayonetta whined, removing the quickly finished lollipop from her mouth and throwing the stick in the trash. "And I was fighting four Beloved while trying to avoid being eaten by an Inspired. I don't recall you doing anything about it."
"I, at least, was aware of my surroundings," Jeanne scoffed. "Rodin throws things. You should have expected it."
Bayonetta sniffed, and tugged insistently on her hand. As Jeanne leaned over to wrap an arm around her waist, Bayonetta took the opportunity to remind her of her debt. "I picked you up like this about a year ago," she said, with half-lidded eyes.
"I was dead," Jeanne stared back, not sure how to respond. "Legitimately dead in this world, Cereza. That does not count, at all."
"Not yet, technially," Bayonetta said, shrugging in a way that wouldn't disrupt Jeanne's grasp on her. "Though I suppose it doesn't count if you didn't feel it. But it was a very emotional moment, let me tell you."
Jeanne smiled, tightening her hold on her friend's waist and causing Bayonetta to huff indignantly at the gesture of affection. "It is a perfect afternoon to spend in bed," she said, voice low.
Bayonetta laughed, a lilting sound that reminded Jeanne of ancient church bells and the soft hum of fireflies at night. Wait, were those even sounds that matched? What the fuck was she thinking? What the fuck?
"Indeed, if we could manage to get there without you dropping me." Bayonetta swung a leg around Jeanne, as if to annoy her. "And I would prefer it if you changed back to your longer hair. It makes me look far more fabulous."
"Due to contrast of style, or simply because you believe I look horrible?" Jeanne raised an eyebrow as she used one arm to lift her friend and the other to remove the leg hugging her.
"I would say both," Bayonetta hummed, and Jeanne finally took the chance to sling her over her shoulder while transforming her hair back to Bayonetta's preference. Sadly, in the process, her friend received a full smack of hair in the face while slung over Jeanne's perfectly shaped shoulder.
"Oh, dear," Jeanne purred, more catlike than ever. "I'm so sorry, Cereza. My mistake."
"You know, I am officially rescinding my statement," Bayonetta removed a strand of platinum hair from her mouth with a disgruntled hand. "You are more than horrible. Absolutely dreadful. You were practically being absorbed into a demon's vagina before I saved you, and this is how you treat me?"
"That was a year ago, so I've paid you back by saving you from being mobbed by more Affinities while you were unconscious," Jeanne reminded her. Bayonetta casually flipped her off from behind, expression mild. At this, Jeanne had made her way to the bed and unceremoniously plopped her fellow witch onto the brilliant white sheets. Bayonetta made a pleased noise, immediately stretching out on the bed and taking up at least three-fourths of the space.
"Move over, you hog," Jeanne laughed, pushing Bayonetta over. Bayonetta proceeded to roll sideways while striking a few of her signature poses, pointedly aiming her well-shaped legs at her watching friend.
"Practicing your art of seduction?" Jeanne asked, dryly.
"You could say that," Bayonetta turned her head to grin cheekily. "It's working quite well, don't you think?"
"Luka did tell me I had a better ass," Jeanne mentioned offhandedly, looking at her fingernails. "Now I can tell why."
"Oh, stuff it," Bayonetta pouted. Jeanne prided herself as being the only person allowed to see Bayonetta in a state of puffed cheeks and casual hands on her hips. Puffed cheeks especially. Now that was a sight you don't normally see. "You know who really has the better ass, and it's me."
Jeanne ignored her comment and sat down at the edge of the bed, watching Bayonetta get more comfortable on top of the sheets. "Take off your coat," she instructed. "We just cleaned these yesterday."
"You mean I cleaned these yesterday, while you were drunk," Bayonetta corrected, but threw the fluffy coat on a nearby chair anyways. Jeanne followed suit with her own brown jacket and settled down next to Bayonetta, who leaned in on her shoulder.
Jeanne put a hand on Bayonetta's hip and tugged at the robe. "While I'm glad that you took off the headgear and coat, the robes are still a problem," she teased.
"What? Don't like it?"
"I'm not particularly interested in cosplay, no."
In a short flurry of movement, Bayonetta managed to untangle herself from the simple nun garb and throw it onto the chair containing all their clothes for the day. Jeanne, for one, was incredibly pleased by the fact that she had gotten Bayonetta near-naked in less than fifteen minutes. For holy reasons, of course. No underhanded feelings underneath at all. Completely chummy.
"It's your turn to move over," Bayonetta mumbled, placing a chaste kiss on Jeanne's cheek. She placed her hands on Jeanne's shirt, unbuttoning the formal dress shirt and leaving it open.
"This is getting dangerously close to - " Bayonetta put a finger up to Jeanne's lips, interrupting her sentence, and laughed gently.
"Relax, Jeanne, I know what you're comfortable with. Now tell me," she said, gesturing to herself, "What exactly did you want from this?"
"Well, cuddling, for one," Jeanne looked a bit offended.
"We could have done that fully clothed," Bayonetta raised an eyebrow. She settled back into the covers, however. "And here I thought you wanted something more than a nap. I suppose Luka has been rubbing off on me, though he's been very roundabout about it."
"Luka has been perfectly restrained," Jeanne snorted, but laid down next to Bayonetta. "I was meaning to ask you about something," she said, comfortably.
"No sex? Typical," Bayonetta smiled, and Jeanne was temporarily distracted by the little gap in her front teeth. Had that been there when she'd lost her memories? Had that been there a few years ago?
Snapping out of her thoughts, Jeanne refocused back onto her worries. "Quiet, you," she muttered. "I've been thinking."
"Oh, my. Another dangerous endeavor you've only recently undertaken successfully," Bayonetta agreed nonchalantly, before Jeanne smacked her in the face with a plush crow.
"Cereza, I'm being serious," she said. The other witch gave her a lookover and shrugged for the umpteenth time that day.
"Go on," Bayonetta said, this time far less resplendently.
"Recently, things have been far too...easy," she said. "Ever since the disappearance of the Eyes...there have been less and less attacks by Paradiso, and Inferno has nearly cut off all contact."
"Demons could care less, and the angels have no reason to touch this world," Bayonetta leaned back against the soft headboard. "Has that ever stopped them, though? I can't recall a single time they decided to leave us in peace for more than a few spotty days."
"But with the Eyes gone, there should be no way for them to conveniently influence this dimension," Jeanne leaned closer to her friend, who responded by pulling her onto her side. "It's been eras since Aesir's split and, now, his Eyes are forever lost. Should the world be at peace? Or can everything be recreated?"
Bayonetta paused at this, her eyes fixed and glazed at something in the distance. "I don't know," she sighed. "I'm not even sure if Loki was right about how humans may shape their destiny with their own hands. Perhaps the world's doomed to end in a few months. Would be unsurprising."
"...Do we have a purpose anymore?"
"What was our purpose in the first place, Jeanne?" Bayonetta asked, and closed her eyes. "The Umbran Witches and Lumen Sages, working together in harmony for the balance of the Trinities of Reality. Was it Aesir's choice to place the power of change in our hands?"
"The silence is unsettling," Jeanne admitted, to Bayonetta's surprise. "There was always something large looming in the distance. It was reassuring to know that there was something to combat, something to fight for, regardless if we knew how to. But now..."
"Now there is no certainty," Bayonetta agreed, putting her face against Jeanne's cheek jokingly. She smoothed a hand over Jeanne's long hair, and memorized the feeling of her bare hands resting at her hips. "I suppose that's what makes living so exciting," she whispered into Jeanne's skin, causing the lighter-haired witch to turn and sharply bump noses with her.
"Oh - fuck, Jeanne, what was that for? I was trying to be romantic!" she protested, rubbing the growing sore spot on the tip of her nose.
"Save that for Luka! I'm trying to figure out what the purpose of our existence is and you nearly made me melt from secondhand embarrassment!"
"Well, you should've expected it! You're the one who pulled me into bed for an afternoon nap!"
Jeanne opened her mouth to give another snarky response, but visibly drooped at the mention. "Ah, yes, about that..." she trailed off. "We're not exactly getting any sleep, Cereza." she sighed. It wasn't a lie. That was all she'd expected. A nap.
Bayonetta gave her an overtly suspicious look. "...Yes," she agreed. "That's true. My mistake." she nodded, apologetically. Jeanne hoped she wouldn't bring this up in the future. Today was...not her day. "About your all-encompassing existential crisis...?"
"Well, it's not that we no longer appear to serve a specific purpose, but children are catching onto Rodin's scent, and, by extension, yours," Jeanne said, consciously resting her back against the headboard instead of Bayonetta's side.
"That's not - wait," Bayonetta yawned, then threw her an incredulous look. "Repeat that."
"You had Helen in your second class, didn't you?"
Bayonetta frowned. "The gangly brunette that never talks unless called upon?"
"Well, yes. Helen Ziracah," Jeanne said, amicably. "A chatterbox, actually. She was very sure you were some sort of demonic woman related to the Gates of Hell, or, more specifically, Rodin." Jeanne licked her lips. "And she apparently received this information from Enzo, of all people."
"Enzo? We've done business on a regular basis for the past few months," Bayonetta put a hand on her face. "Has he gotten so bold as to spread rumors to the general populace? I have my doubts."
"It could be a different man. Even so, not many would believe him, but it does appear a few kids think it's true," Jeanne said. "Only one so far, but there could be more. Just thought you might want to know in case you find children chasing after you in a way similar to Luka."
"I'll take that into account," Bayonetta pursed her lips. "Quite the predicament we have on our hands."
Jeanne made a mental note to investigate further, but first, she'd have to figure out their schedule for the next few months before acting. "Our only option is to wait," she reasoned. "It may be weeks, even months, before these rumors begin to bear fruit. In all actuality, they may never amount to anything."
Bayonetta's eyes flashed, something akin to concern in her confident features. She could understand the worry that constantly hounded Jeanne, but for it to bother her enough to bring it to her own attention was new. Their interaction usually involved shopping or business deals, nowadays; there was rarely time for bonding like they had in their childhood. Little Cereza and Jeanne now seemed a dream; the childlike happiness had been robbed from them for centuries, and it still appeared unattainable.
"We can wait as long as it takes," Bayonetta told her, allowing one small smile to grace her lips. "Together, Jeanne. There are only the two of us left, after all."
"Only two," Jeanne agreed, her voice quiet. "Of all of our clan, only two remain. What will happen to the Umbran legacy after our deaths?"
"It's already gone," Bayonetta breathed in, a weight settling over her chest. "There's no returning to the past. That curtains have closed on that part of history."
Jeanne lowered her eyes, and leaned heavily on the headboard. "Yes," she agreed, wistfully. "There's no regaining what we've lost."
"On the topic of history," Bayonetta mused, eyes wandering to her friend's nice, angular shoulders, "You may want to get on top of that, don't you think?"
"Ten minutes," Jeanne waved a hand, and Bayonetta pulled her back to her side, a smug grin plastered on her face. "Just give me ten more minutes." Reaching out a hand to tuck in the few stray strands in Bayonetta's hair, Jeanne leaned in and pecked her cheek. She smelled of roses and light honey, a mellow scent that began to ease her into sleep. "You smell absolutely wonderful today," she remarked, closing her eyes to just take in the scent of Bayonetta's perfume.
"As do you," Bayonetta replied, and settled them down underneath the covers. "But you always smell like heaven on Earth. Not Paradiso, mind..."
Jeanne tried not to giggle at the image of Fortitudo attempting to spray human perfume all over his grotesque body and failed miserably. "Flatterer."
"Now let's get some rest, before you pass out without saying goodbye," Bayonetta smiled into the bare skin of Jeanne's tucked arms.
"Very funny," Jeanne mumbled, but the smile was infectious. "I'll see you in ten minutes."
"Have a good rest," Bayonetta chuckled. Jeanne's breath slowed in moments, her red lips slightly open, hair splayed all over the shared pillow. She was a mouth breather during sleep, occasionally. It didn't lessen her attractiveness, for sure, Bayonetta thought. She blinked sleepily, affected by Jeanne's words. She knew there would be more rifts in the future - probably another apocalyptic event that would tear them apart- but for now...for now, she could breath. For now, there could be rest, some broken peace, and it would all be by Jeanne's side. That's all that had ever mattered, in the end.
Her hands curled around pale skin, feather-light. She would never let her go.