Minds of Steel

[Historia]

For more info refer to this thread: http://forums.nrvnqsr.com/showthread...on-Fan-Fics%29

Medea has killed her Master, wanting to rid herself of his stupidity. Yet, with every action, there is a consequence. As punishment for her betrayal, she will disappear lest by some miracle she finds another Master in time. And, as she gives into despair, laughing at her fate, comes across a gun-toting woman, and with her, a second chance. Or, so she thinks.

[Historia]

I decided to continue it,



Chapter One

Many miles, a sea away from the port city of Roanapur, and sitting in some shitty bar in Tokyo’s underbelly late at night, Revy took up her drink and downed it down in one gulp. Sliding the pathetically small glass the country of yellow monkeys called a shot toward the bartender and angrily ordering another, she couldn’t keep her mind off the bullshit delivery they still had yet to make due to the sorry excuse this place had for alcohol.

“Fuckin’ hell,” she griped, laying her head on the counter as she eyed her growing collection of shot glasses. Instead of being back at Bao’s and shooting the shit with the fucks and the bastards that regularly hung around there, here they were. On the other side of the fucking world where the only thing drier than this damn bar was the people. Again.

All because the package they had delivered the last time wasn’t the one the client needed. A mistake, he called. Trash. One that, if they had gotten it back, would have sold for even more cash to someone else, but, nooo. That self-entitled, rich prick. All that trouble in getting the damn thing, and the fucker said he had burned it because the sight of it disgusted him. So, he had requested another priceless piece for them to take, claiming this time it would be the right pick.

What he wanted now were some fragments of a broken vase from an abandoned island on the edge of the Black Sea. Getting it had taken even more work than the first. She nearly bit the dust twice—two fucking times in the same day—because the fucker never told them the island was actually inhabited. Oh, as if the traps and deadly animals weren’t enough, the half-naked freaks who tried to eat them alive had taken the cake. It was like something straight out of Indiana Jones.

As her next shot was set down in front of her, Revy scratched the faded bruise she must have gotten when she had bashed in that lion’s head with her Customs, as it hadn’t been there before. Downing what was to be her last shot as Rock got up, tapping his watch and telling her it was time to meet their client, she groaned. It still wasn’t enough.

“Dammit. That fuckin’ Turk. He should go allahu akbar himself up the ass and save us the trouble.”

“Well, there’s no use getting upset about it now,” Rock said, paying her bill and leaving a little extra.

“Fuckin’ sorry excuse for a cave nigger...”

“Come on, Revy, cheer up.” Rock put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s paying us a lot of money. Three times more than the first. If I know one thing about you,”—he flashed a winning smile—“it’s that you never turn down a profit, no matter where it’s from. Besides, you still have payments on your Beretta's, right?”

She shifted in her seat, no longer feeling the familiar weight from her Customs. Both were off getting repaired from one skull-crackings too many—and the cost was straight-up robbery. Not that she could complain since Prai was doing the work and not some nobody as the old fuck would never leave ‘his babies’ in such a shit condition and she knew she was guaranteed them good-as-new, but… seriously.

Which meant the fucking Turk better be satisfied this time around or else she was going to bust a cap in his ass when she did finally get them back. Dutch would be pissed, but, where big money was concerned, the big man was quick to dismiss. Though, she still didn’t like the fact that half her share would go to her Customs alone and the thought of it left her in an even fouler mood.

She shrugged him off. “Fine,” she spat, pushing off her stool and already heading for the door. “But, if he pulls that shit again he’s getting it.” Outside, she lit a smoke and waited for him to hail a cab, then slumped inside as soon as one arrived.

Leaning her head against the window and watching Tokyo fly by, their destination was another ritzy—even by Nip standards—hotel in the heart of that one city she still didn’t care to remember the name of. The last one had pissed her off, and just thinking about going to another of its kind that was probably going to be even more ridiculous in size and scope sent her anger skyrocketing.

It swelled until she felt Rock’s gaze and her mood, already a barrel full of laughs, continued to plummet. She knew what he was thinking, what he was going to say, but, if given the chance, even the slightest, she’d get their client right between the fucking eyes. Bang. Then she scowled, again reminded of the fact that she no longer had her Customs, and sighed. Now twirling an invisible pistol, she blew on the muzzle and took aim at the corner signs, pedestrians, cars, and whatever other target she could hit, knew she would, and took the shots. A kill every single time.

“That game was rigged, I fuckin’ swear,” she grumbled, her mind traveling back to that time when this rock’s underground was rife with strife, struggle, gangs, guns, and violence. If only she could experience that same sense of thrill a second time. Of danger. But, she doubted there were any samurai who could cut bullets in half where they were headed, and, remembering those closing events of that job, there was a bigger reason why she was so out of sorts. More than usual, anyway. While their client was a shitbag and she missed her Customs, this was the main reason why her attitude was down the can. She knew it. Just didn’t want to admit it. And as her foot began to tap in rhythm with her shots, she heard Rock clear his throat.

He nudged her. “Revy, you’re scaring the driver.”

Out the corner of her eye she saw the old man, tense in the rearview mirror, hunched over his steering wheel, eyes on the road, fearful of what she might do next. She holstered her imaginary weapon. Tallied her headcount as Rock apologized for her behavior, saying she wasn’t accustomed to the culture and didn’t know how to properly conduct herself, or something, as she listened to him prattle on. Watched his hand motions as he tried to calm the driver in that oh-so-Japanese way of gesturing that she was basically retarded and couldn’t help it, but, then again, she didn’t fucking know Japanese and, frankly, could care less. Whatever he said, the old man seemed to relax and she was forced to endure the rest of the ride through Tokyo and across the countryside in silence, arms crossed and in an even nastier state than back at the bar.

Years had passed since their last time visiting Japan, the two of them together, and while there was no doubt in her mind he wasn’t going to run away to frolic with his people like some pansy—that drama was over and done with—what was, was the fact that they were here again, just them. Alone, no Dutch or Benny or even that damn bitch Eda to keep them company this time. Where it all started. And, when they finally came to their desired exit she read the overhead sign and rolled her eyes.

“Welcome to Fuyuki, my ass.”

“It’s a lot better than Roanapur,” Rock said, giving the old man some more directions. “The only disastrous thing to happen here was a gas leak ten years ago. Other than that, there’s hardly been any crime, much less any shootouts in the streets and bars or anywhere else.”

“Whoop-dee do, it’s a fuckin’ paradise.” She tossed up her hands.

“The local Yakuza group is a relatively peaceful syndicate, compared to the Washimine and Kousa groups. When I asked, Balalaika said they’re small time and not worth the trouble of taking over.”

She scoffed. “They must be really fuckin’ pathetic, then.”

“Maybe. Regardless, she was interested in establishing a presence in the area. So, if the opportunity ever presents itself, she wants for us to open up negotiations as her official representatives.”

“Didn’t even bother sending one of her own guys? Jesus. Worse than pathetic.”

“Which means we might get a second job here.” He gave her a hard look. “Meaning Hotel Moscow’s reputation is on us. If we screw up…”

She laughed him off. “Sis won’t do anything. Not over guys like that.”

And, before long, they came to their final destination in all its high-class golden bullshittery.

As they left the cab, Revy held onto the false hope that maybe, just maybe, the Yakuza in this city had a samurai who can cut bullets in half too. Something, anything, more exciting than the pansy they were about to meet. She would even go so far as to wish for it.

Now being escorted by a bellboy and shuffled into a fancy elevator, en route to the very top floor because rich fucks always wanted to best view, she ground her teeth as it was all she could do to keep from lashing out at the kid even though he had done jackshit to deserve a busted lip.

It was the only way—short of burning the whole fucking place down—to not lose her mind. To stop gnawing at the thought of the man beside her. That friendly, business-like demeanor he always wore on his person whenever a deal was about to be struck. A suit for his conscious to hide the rotten rags underneath. The damage Roanapur had done to him. What it was still doing. Knowing nothing she could say would ever revert it. Would ever change him back to the way he was before.

Before he had first come to realize that he was just another piece of shit like the rest of them.

Before he had finally seen his ivory tower come crashing down, forced to accept his lot in life, the curve-ball it’d thrown his sorry ass.

Where he continued to stay.

Where he continued to fall and where there were consequences the further down you plunged.

Down in the sewage with the rest of filth, swimming in the muck until you choked on all the shit and piss and drowned.

Not that she wanted to change him back to the way he was before that time, but, once, she thought that maybe…

The elevator stopped.

The doors opened, revealing a lavish abode; the only part of which she cared for was the mini-bar. Setting her eyes on it as Rock fixed his tie, smoothed down his hair, and checked his breath beside her, maybe she could’ve been changed by him instead…

“Shall we?”

A long time ago.

“I’ll be in the back, if you need me,” she said, shoving past the bellboy and going straight for the tonic and gin.

Not that he would.

Helping herself to a bottle of Brunello, she unscrewed the cork with the survival knife in her boot. Pouring a glass, it was dark as her heart and, taking a swig, held a certain spicy kick that set her insides briefly aflame. Though it still couldn't compare to the Yellow Flag's arsenal, at least it was better than those shitty shots from before, and, hearing Rock and their client greet each other, she poured her second glass of what was bound to be a long rest of the night.



Bazett Fraga McRemitz breathed in the cool night air of Fuyuki as she left its airport, taking in the sights and sounds of the city where her latest mission was to be. It was quiet and relaxed and, to her, almost in a momentary state of hibernation. A welcomed change of pace and environment from the ever constant ebb and flow of the London metropolis—a city that never slept—for sure.

Walking the streets, all but empty, she thought more of her mission in detail: the reclamation of the 726th recorded Holy Grail since the days of King Arthur, fictional though he and his knights may be. One given to her by the Association based upon her combat prowess. Though they hadn’t said such, it was a task fit for a dog. Something like this was beneath them, and was best left to an Enforcer. The Sealing Designation Enforcers of the Mage’s Association, to be precise. Their personal cleanup crew for those magi deemed too dangerous to continue, tracking and hunting them down like bloodhounds, then securing any research done along with their magic crest—what signified them as a magus—or destroying either if necessary.

If told.

Not that she was against the treatment.

Being an Enforcer hadn’t been something she wanted to do originally, but, after a certain incident involving her family she had chosen to walk down that road, content to be held back by a leash so long as she was given solace and provided with a means to exact her pent-up emotions. Channel it into her fists and beat it out of her system no matter what she had to do. Anything to rid herself of the hurt she felt. The anger at what happened and what she should have done to prevent it, forced to suffer with the reality that things would never go back to the way they were because she hadn’t. What her participation in this Holy Grail War might correct. Even if only on a superficial level.

If only to mend her broken heart so she could finally begin to heal. She had to be strong, for both their sakes.

And, before she knew it, Bazett found herself at the front gate of the local church, the first stop on her mission.

Shifting the container slung over her shoulder, she entered the premises. Finding who she wanted to see praying before the altar—as was only customary for a priest—she sat on a pew in the back and waited for him to finish.

When he finally did finish, he spoke without turning to look at her. “I see you that you have been chosen.” His name was Kirei Kotomine, the Father of the Fuyuki Church, official overseer of the Holy Grail War, and an old friend.

She waited for him to stand to his feet and turn with Holy Bible in hand. “Only because of your recommendation.” One she was truly grateful for, despite the man’s nature.

Kirei closed the bible and set it on the podium. “One they were right to heed,” he said afterward, hands behind his back and betraying a faint smile.

She got up. “I came here to thank you for the opportunity,” she said, pausing to look down at the bruise-like mark that had yet to fully form; her Command Spells that officiated her as a Master, once she was in possession of a Servant.

Normally, affairs on the other side of the world, especially rituals considered to be backwater attempts at reaching what all ‘true’ magi strove for, the Root, were not within an Enforcer’s jurisdiction. Therefore, while the Association had an obligation to send one of their own to participate, it had no reason to send someone such as her. It was only by way of suggestion from her old friend, whom she had served with numerous times during his last days as one of the Church’s infamous Executors, that she had been even considered.

And, so happy had she been to actually be chosen, the least she could do was offer her thanks to the one mainly responsible. That was her reason for coming to the Church instead of making a mental map of those sights and sounds from earlier, setting-up her safehouse, summoning her Servant, and pinpointing the locations of the other Masters. Something she was now ready to do and nearly out the church doors to start when Kirei called to her.

“If it isn’t too much trouble, I would like to give you a piece of advice.”

She stopped. "That's very generous of you, Kirei,” she told him, keeping her tone neutral. “But, I believe it would be best if from here on out we don't communicate outside of the designated rules. It might cause problems, and while I'm indebted, I don’t require any assistance."

"I insist. You won't be disappointed."

Though he was indeed her friend, it didn’t mean she would so easily let down her guard. Wary of his silver-tongue, she didn’t respond, but also didn’t leave. Not because she wanted to hear what he had to say, but because she felt a presence in the room that wasn’t his. One that she hadn’t before and cursed herself for letting her emotions cloud her better senses and not noticing sooner.

Seeming to be unaware of it himself, Kirei continued. "If you would allow, there is a location I believe is perfect for you to set up to summon your Servant, so to speak. It's not far from here."

It was seemingly harmless, both Kirei’s suggestion, which was a sewer line that ran underneath the bridge connecting the city to a more rural area on the other side, and the presence she felt back at the church. Neither were a threat to her, she surmised.

Within this sewer line, no longer hearing Kirei’s voice nor feeling that presence, an incantation circle painstakingly inscribed on the floor, Bazett, without fanfare and much to her chagrin for going against her previous words, yet again thanked her old friend for informing her of such a location. Directly below the hustle and bustle of the city above, it was a very well thought area to summon her Servant indeed. Any noise of the summoning would be dispersed not only by the thick concrete walls of the sewer line, but also the river nearby. The man was as sharp as ever.

She gripped Cú Chulainn's earrings in her palm. This was it.

With these two little, seemingly insignificant ornaments she would summon one of the greatest spear-wielders of legend as her Servant and thereby become an official participate in the Fifth Holy Grail War as his Master. To meet Cú Chulainn in the flesh, to speak with him and find out with her own two eyes what such a man was like rather than just reading about his deeds in storybooks—the anticipation was almost enough to kill her.

How different was he from the storybooks? The tragedy that was his story, was it really true? Could she alter it somehow? Save him? Would she be able to?
Holding out the earrings, her thoughts wandering to the one person other than Kirei she had to thank for making it this far, the reason behind the person she was now, Bazett knew that without him back then she never would have been able to stand where she was right now; the wish she was going to grant would never have been realized.

She was going to return what he had given her.

When she won the Grail and found him again, she would finally give him a smile equal to his own, and proceeded with the chant, confidence filling her voice as she finished that last verse that would be the first step in making her whole again.

“Arrive from the ring of deterrence, O keeper of the balance, Hound of Culann!"

In a flash of light, under cover of smoke, Cú Chulainn himself stood in the center of the incantation circle. Short, youthful, and beardless, his skin was fair and features slender, blue-black hair thick and smooth, grey eyes like the color of dreary rain.

There was no telling what personifications the Grail had chosen to piece together the mythical hero standing before her, thus she would have to go with what she read about. His appearance was in line with The Phantom Chariot of Cú Chulainn and Fled Bricrenn, at least.

That being the case—and if those tales of him were to be believed—she knew that sorrow gripped at his heart and wouldn't let go. Looking at him more closely, just by his eyes she could tell his head was no longer filled with a belief in the grandeur and purity of the world from his younger days. Instead, it was clouded in a swirling mist of shame and grief as a man in his early thirties. The weight of his deeds kept him grounded to reality, and his temperament was like a storm cycle, playfully raging around one minute and calm moments later.

A way of life that rang all too true with that of her own.

Regardless, now wasn't the time.

Moving away from his face, he wore a fur mantle with partial scraps of leather and metal armor over a tight fitting body suit for a balanced mixture of speed and protection. His spear made from the bone of the sea monster Coinchenn, the infamous barbed spear Gáe Bulg, lay across his shoulder, and it was most likely his Noble Phantasm. She would have to confirm this after they got situated somewhere else.

Putting his earrings back on, she watched the spear-wielder's eyes shift, wary of danger, before he relaxed and rested his spear across lean, muscular shoulders. "I am Cú Chulainn, Lancer-class Servant, and I have answered your summons." He flashed a grin. "Lookin’ forward to it, Master.”

Lancer was one of the three knight classes that a Master had a chance of summoning. They were second only to the Saber class, which was regarded as the strongest Servant overall.

A card she wasn’t about to let go to waste.



They were still talking. She was still drinking.

Not the type to check the time, Revy counted the empty bottles arranged like bowling pins and guessed they had been talking for awhile, unsure if Rock was just spewing bullshit to butter him up or if he had already made the exchange and now they were simply chatting like old pals or what. Glancing over in her stupor, Revy could swear they were locking lips with each other, but, then again, those could also the two cows she had seen pass by earlier going at it, and squinted.

About to take another swig from the bottle in her hand the realization slowly hit her that this was actually the last and her only solace and why waste it all now when she could save it for later because fuck the saké those small fry Yakuza were bound to have, That was when she heard Rock tell her he was finished and that they could move on.

“Ah. Fuck it,” she huffed, slurring her words, chugging it and then tossing the empty bottle so it shattered against the wall behind the hooded figure in the corner.

The whole night—or morning, she didn’t fucking know anymore—the woman had just been there, doing fuck all. Probably some rich asshole’s expensive stuckup bitch of a daughter from the Baltics given to their pansy-ass client for the money. Or marriage. Or whatever. And, by the looks of it, the woman didn’t want to be here nor did anybody else seem to want her around because they all ignored her and yeah, well, that made two of them.

Rock called her again.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you the first time!” she called back, deliberately knocking over the mini-bar before lumbering away and joining her partner at the elevator.

“Let me help you,” he said, taking a hold of her arm as she swayed a bit.

“Lay off,” she growled. pushing him aside and going in first. He hurried in after her as the elevator doors closed, but, not before she and the bride-to-be’s eyes met for the first, and, hopefully, last time.

Next stop, the fucking Gandhis of Japan’s underworld.

[Draconic]

I'm not familiar with Black Lagoon, unfortunately, but I very much enjoyed the part with Bazett. There was this sense of dread hanging over everything that you implemented so well. Just the fact that she hasn't lost her hand causes tension as to whether or not it'll happen. My favorite moment was the part where she senses Gil lurking about.

[AkaiNeko]

You misspelled "toting" in the description. Do you have a beta , or anything like that?

[Historia]

Do you have a beta , or anything like that?

Nope.

I'm not familiar with Black Lagoon, unfortunately,

Here's all you need to know: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKwaPSkjXp0 and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dvimYz_C26k

[Draconic]

This f***ing series looks like it is simultaneously the f***ing best and f***ing worst fuckin' thing I have ever seen in my entire goddamn f***ing life.

Okay, I censored most of it. I'm still me.