The Five
A Cold Spring Evening
A Room of a Mansion in the Outskirts of London
The Lord turns his gaze to you.Originally Posted by Baker Witfield
"There are, at time of counting, somewhere in the realm of eight hundred separate Holy Grails that exist in this world."
He closes his hand and the cup vanishes. The Lord leans forward, arms tensed as if he wishes to stand up, but instead rests his back against the headrest and continues normally.
"Most are imitations, forgeries, meant to reach some aspect of the original, whose tale I expect all of you know at least in passing. Those of you with ties to the Church could likely tell me the results of many of those investigations. I presume most, if not all of them, were found to be lacking."
He crosses his arms.
"Of those eight hundred, the one I seek is the fifth."
The Lord pauses, as if wondering what to say next. His bodyguard clears his throat, seemingly ignorant of his employer's silence.
"In terms of ability, the numbers assigned to these Grails are worthless. Each one is different, with varying functions and purpose. Numbers are but records of the order of appearance. However, in terms of distance from the original, the smaller numbers would have been made first. They can be thought of as closer to the real thing. The term 'Holy Grail' has been warped over the years, drifting away from its true definition. The Japanese Grail you mentioned, Witfield, is a completely different item with no link to the true Holy Grail beyond its supposed capacity to grant wishes. While this one..."
The Lord opens his mouth as if to keep going, but then abruptly shuts it.
"It is different."
His explanation cut short, the Lord is content to wait for the next inquiry...
"The circumstances are indeed suspicious," the Lord agrees. "And yes, one normally wouldn't be willing to let go of such a thing. But it's been confirmed that what's being offered is legitimate. For a time some fools claimed the true Fifth appeared in 1783 before being destroyed, but their spurious claims were disproved decades ago. As for why someone would sell a Grail..."
He shrugs.
"It doesn't matter. Your job is clear. You are aware of what you'll be giving me and of what it looks like. The item has no special properties to impede your efforts, can easily be fit in a suitcase or bag, probably won't instantly kill Mr. Trent on contact, and is presumably fragile and thus in need of careful handling. My reasons for desiring the Grail and the seller's reasons for being willing to let it go are completely irrelevant to your mission. Don't trouble yourself with them-."
He is interrupted. Not by his bodyguard, not be one of you, but rather by a drastic change in situation.
"Mr. Murdock, tea's done!"
It had slipped your attention, but as you spoke and listened - mostly the latter - the sun had methodically completed its journey below the horizon, leaving the room cloaked in shadows. Not that it had been all that bright in the first place. The evening, now full-blown night, had lent a moody air to the proceedings, a veneer of no-nonsense professionalism that even Witfield's lazy banter couldn't break.
Three things.
All one needed to completely shatter the atmosphere that had been built up throughout the evening were three simple things.
A light switch flicked on.
A plate of refreshments.
A cheeky grin.
There isn't much to say. All the tension, the intensity of the moment, the darkness of the task before you... all of it is blasted away in seconds. Light from a ceiling lamp illuminates what was once shadowed, bringing the room into light and fully revealing the murky faces of your comrades and employer, along with the person who just barged in through a door balancing a platter on one hand.
She blinks at the sight of five strangers.
"Oops." It is said matter-of-factually, without a trace of guilt, nor with an accent. "Was I late? You said to be careful with today's morning tea so I spent some extra time on it..."
The bodyguard, who you can see more clearly now that the lighting isn't darkening his features (did he always have that ponytail?), lets go of a defeatist sigh rather than the anger one would expect of a person with his attitude. "Dammit, girl, it's..." He rolls up one sleeve and peers at it. "Twenty after ten. You're not just late; you're twelve hours off. And no names!"
The young girl, who appears to be somewhere near Kasumi's age, sticks her tongue out and laughs, an innocent sound that only further fractures the room's ambiance. "Quit trying to show off, Francis. For a lowlife like you that lives in the Night World, morning is when the sun disappears. And I'm guessing it's the same for you people, isn't it? Mr. Murdock, I brought enough for eight." She jiggles the platter a bit as she steps further into the room, now eyeing the table for a free space to set it down. You can smell tea, and see biscuits.
Rather than ordering her out, the Lord also shows an unusual reaction.
"Francis," he says, rather quietly. "Help Akane set the table."
"...aye, sir."
The man is pacified. Grumbling, he clumsily accepts the platter while Akane - presumably a butler or maid of sorts - begins shifting stacks of paper around, and passing out fancy glass cups on saucers, one for each person in the room including herself. Finding her job almost complete, she hefts the tea kettle, letting it dangle over her back on one finger.
"Alright," she says, sounding rather pleased with herself. "Who's first?"
"Akane."
"Oh, right. Sorry, Mr. Murdock." She pours the Lord a cup of dark tea, for once being delicate in her movements and stopping without spilling a single drop. He takes two sugar cubes from the bowl provided (there doesn't seem to be any milk), drops them in, and begins stirring absently with a delicate spoon as he stares off into the distance.
The bodyguard holds up his cup, but gets ignored as Akane turns back to you.
"Okay. Who's second? We'll be spending another evening together in three days, so we might as well get to know each other."
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