An Impactful Meeting

Mash is, generally speaking, on good terms with the servants of Chaldea.

It’s less of an intentional result so much as it is a habit; since she’s spent her whole life in the same facility, she’d grown to know every staff member who lived here, even for a short time. The staff may be… greatly reduced now, but she still made a point to chat with whoever she ran into in the corridors, making her on speaking terms with most people. That’s obviously great, considering she fights alongside them. Sometimes, though, it leads to very awkward situations.

Such as right now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Castoria- because it is very obviously Castoria, even if she’s wearing an (admittedly sick) oni mask- “I have never seen you in my life before. Now if you’ll excuse me, I came to make a trade, not to have a chat.”

Mash sneaks a glance to the side, looking at Morgan. Her lover, perhaps unsurprisingly, is fully focused on the heavy trunks the merchant brought with her. She reaches down to retrieve a whip, testing its flexibility. “These are quite high quality.”

“Thank you! I made them myself.” Onitoria responds, as if it wasn’t a dead giveaway for her identity- gee, who else in Chaldea dabbles in smithery, leatherworking, magecraft, and has a reputation for having every kink known to man? (To be fair, Artoria’s reputation is actually more on the very innocent girl side, but Mash has seen Senpai’s bruises. She knows way more about Castoria’s and Oberon’s preferences than she ever cared to.) “I guarantee they’re safe as well. I have personally tested them.”

… Something tells Mash that that she wasn’t on the receiving side during these tests.

God. Breathe, Mash. Breathe. You will never be able to look at Castoria in the eye ever again now that you both know each other’s preferences, but since it’s too late to change that might as well come out of here with some new toys.

On the side, Morgan sets down the whip, then takes hold of a- is that a branding iron?? “Self-heating?”

“Indeed! Just pour some mana in this bad boy, and it’ll work perfectly.” Onitoria nods. Mash can’t see her face, but she sounds very proud of herself. “Of course, I know the anticipation of watching it heating up in a fire naturally is also appealing, so I have normal ones as well. They’re rigged so they won’t go past a heat threshold, for safety reasons.”

Morgan tilts it up, looking at the tip of the iron. “Can you customize the brand?”

Onitoria huffs smugly. “Obviously. I’m no amateur. Whether you want your name, your sigil, or even a good ol’ serial number, I can make it happen.”

Morgan gives a half-inch nod, which Mash has learned to read as interest, and that’s her cue to put her foot down. “Can- can we maybe, uhm, start with something simpler?”

“Ah. Of course.” Morgan sets down the branding iron, and though her demeanor does not change her fingers linger just a bit longer on the handle than she had to. Mash doesn’t even know if she’s interested in the fetish or just in the craftmanship- either is likely, knowing her. “Very well. Is there anything that catches your eye, my knight?”

Her gaze rakes the toy collection, left, right, left again. Yes, yes, she thinks there is. “This one,” she says, pointing at a small riding crop.

Onitoria perks up. “Didn’t you want something simpler? These hurt more than paddles.”

“Oh. They do?” Even though it’s so small?

“Since it’s small, all the impact is centralized on a single point. A paddle or a flogger, on the other hand, spreads out the impact, so it actually hurts less.” Onitoria elaborates, clearly speaking from experience. Whether on herself or on others is a question Mash does not want the answer to.

Next to her, Morgan shakes her head. “It matters not. I can take it.”

“I did not need to know this information.”

“Then unknown it.”