Fate/Reclamation (IC)

[Mellon]

Gendou Matou & Rider of White
16th of December, 2004
Sanny’s Mini Market - East London
Morning (Phase 2-1)

"Cough drops, I need some over-the-counter cough drops, ya got any of those?"

Gendou’s query got some life into the unresponsive shopkeeper, whose eyes flickered away from the flashy magazine and towards the two men. His eyebrow was raised in such a quintessentially British passive-aggressive manner that you could swear that you heard the word “Really?” being muttered, even though in reality the man was dead silent. Instead, he let out a loud, somewhat overblown, sigh as he pointed towards one of the racks near the cashier counter. There, sitting in their box by the dozens, you could clearly make out some yellow packaging.

However, his respite was short, as a moment later both the two bottles of wine and the packet of Lockets were placed on the counter. Finally, the man bothered to actually move, setting aside his magazine and scanning the objects on the counter, accompanied by loud beeps. As his hands moved towards the wine bottles, his eyes turned back towards the pair. You had a sneaking suspicion that your impression in his eyes had dropped even further (if that was even possible), by you buying two bottles of wine this early in the morning. So from a random annoyance to a random drunkard. Lovely.

“That would be three pounds and eighty pence.”

Meanwhile, the phone in Gendou's hand kept ringing and ringing, its call seemingly going unanswered by the other side.

Michael Blackmore & Archer of Blue
16th of December, 2004
East London - Glamis Road
Morning (Phase 2-1)

The snowfall fell on the screen of Michael’s cellphone as the large man sat on the bus stop bench, making distinguishing names and numbers on the small color screen quite difficult. It did make you wish for a phone with maybe a tad larger screen, though your current predicament was probably more due to the less than optimal weather conditions. Besides, if phones got any bigger they would probably be a tad too cumbersome to use, what with the number pad and everything.

A moment later, the Enforcer managed to dial the correct number. As the phone called, your eyes fell on a well-dressed man trudging through the snow towards the bus stop, dressed in a coat that was… well, clearly not sufficient for the current weather. Well, it's not as if you could blame the bloke. London wasn't really known for its snowy sights and most of the citizenry was hardly prepared for such an eventuality. Reaching the bus stop, Michael could hear the man utter a brief expletive aimed at the weather, before noticing the seated brunette and giving him a small apologetic nod.

Just at that moment, your call connected to the other party.



“Yes, hello?"

The sound of a yawn could be momentarily heard from the other side.

".....Is that you, Blackmore? Wait, don't bother answering that. I swear you are the only one who would use this method to contact me at this hour.”

Bazett’s tone was filled with her usual crispness, but even over the phone, you could make out a certain sense of tiredness in the redhead's voice. From the looks of it, she also had a somewhat of a long night herself, one which she hadn’t yet fully recovered from. Not a rarity in your area of work, really. Though... that in itself was rather interesting. Just simply “staying late” wouldn’t have really been anything that should have phased the Irish Enforcer.

[Mellon]

Kanzaki Erika & Caster of Blue
16th of December, 2004
The House in Misty Village
Morning (Phase 2-1)

“There’s no need to be so indirect with an assistant lecturer like myself. As for my companion… she’s under my lead, so I will be discussing for the two of us.”

“You can be frank and tell me what the matter is,”

Vasilisa let out a slight, yet surprisingly melodious, chuckle which left you even more confused at the potential gender of the figure in front of you. While your rather brusque statement might have sparked fury in some of the more… traditional “nobles” of the Association, it would seem that the blond in front of you only considered it to be a quaint amusement, nothing more. Though… in its own way, that might have been even more infuriating than outright anger and rage.

“You are quite blunt for an assistant lecturer, aren’t you, Ms. Kanzaki? I must admit, it's quite refreshing in its own way.” Vasilisa waved his hand in an all too casual manner, almost as if such a thing was none of his concern. “I like it. There are too many gray mice amongst your colleagues as is.”

A wry look of amusement passed over the blonde’s face for a moment.

“Though I fear my own affiliations have somewhat colored my judgment on this matter.”

You were not surprised. Despite being perhaps one of the more “meritocratic” faculties around, the Second Department was nothing if not a nest of poisonous vipers. The factions inside the Second seemingly rose and faded away with each passing month. Which wasn’t really a problem for Lordlings and other senior faculty members whose positions were nigh-unshakeable, but for anyone else….

In essence, the crew sank to the bottom of the ocean, while the Captain and the helmsman rowed away laughing in their gilded escape boat.

“Alas, unfortunately, I can’t provide a satisfactory answer to your question at the moment.” Vasilisa slightly lowered his head apologetically. “I am just a messenger after all, and I can only repeat what I said earlier.”

“There are a number of senior lecturers in the Second Department who would like to meet with you, Ms. Kanzaki.” An almost infuriatingly casual smile flickered on Vasilisa’s face. “And if you are willing to reciprocate their interest than I would be more than happy to organize a meeting.


Aila Einzbern
16th of December, 2004
Aila’s Mansion
Morning (Phase 2-1)

"Good morning, Lapis."

It was rather interesting really to see how Lapis seemed to go through a full emotional spectrum in a manner of moments, starting from sternness and then sequentially moving through shock, happiness, and finally embarrassment. It is this last emotion that seemed to win out in the end as well, as the two of you must have stood there for at least the better part of a minute, with Aila thumbing the ponytailed butler's hand and that very same butler becoming redder and redder in the process.

“G...good morning, milady. It..it’s time to wake up.” Lapis’s tone was shaky, clearly taken aback by this current situation. “Is there anything specific you would like to have for breakfast?”

While normally homunculi were designed with a lowered emotive capacity, Lapis was somewhat of an exception. Not so much by choice, but rather by necessity and her inherent role. The bespectacled butler herself was clearly of the opinion that they were mostly more trouble than they were worth and, as such, tried to do her very best to keep them under a lid most of the time. There were occasions, however, where she seemed to lose control of her emotions in a manner that could only be described as uncharacteristically human-like for an Einzbern homunculus.

Lapis's next words were almost silent, more akin to a whisper than anything else.



“...Could...could I have my hand back, please?"

"Milady?"

[Spinach]

Alexandra Chimeragenos
16th of December, 2004
Clock Tower (Fifth Faculty) - Alexandra's Office
Morning (Phase 2-1)

Once again open windows allowed a cold breeze to enter the quiet office of Lord Chimeragenos. As quiet as a statue, she sat at her desk. Snow-white hair swayed with the breeze, like the leaves of a towering weeping willow. Unfeeling crimson eyes stared forward into the void, committing to memory the existence of various notes left upon her desk.

Of those pieces of parchment, each swearing greater urgency than the last, there lay one that gleamed with a light of majesty that none other could match. Golden ink sparkled, reflecting in her unwavering stare.

The Assemblée.

The parchment penned in golden ink sat isolated from the rest of the paperwork, like a castaway island on the sea that was her desk. It sat alone and untouched. The stone familiars atop her desk keeping their distance from it. The reason for its isolation was its designation as “something that cannot be ignored.”

The gargoyle familiars had already sorted the various papers spread about her desk into stacks corresponding to importance. From those that she could ignore completely, to those that she could force onto someone else, to those that she would deal with later, to those that she would force onto Freogan, to the one inked in gold.

The quiet Lord issued a command to her familiars. Sensing an unpleasant odor drawing closer, footsteps lacking elegance becoming louder, Alexandra ordered her familiars to begin clearing her desk. The unimportant papers were hurriedly shoved aside to make space, the white card penned with golden calligraphy pulled closer to her.

To a spot safe from the odorous, greasy contents of the plastic bag that would soon find its way onto her desk.

As always, a slim, pale arm reached across the desk. Chains dangling from her wrist with their ever present metal clinking, the Lord plucked the lit cigarette from Freogan’s mouth, passing it to one of her familiars, which began disposing of the offending item by devouring it.

“Freogan, must I again remind you not to smoke in my office.”

The tiny grotesque swallowed the smoldering tobacco, released a purely silent belch, and then grabbed the plastic bag. Placing it on the center of the desk, the gargoyle gave the man a stern stare, before turning stiff as a stone. Returning to her seat, the Lord pulled the bag closer with her own hand, though did not open it.

The tell-tale sign that she would reluctantly partake.

“There is a matter we must discuss. By laying claim to the Leyline, I will consider last night to be a success. Your own actions, though unorthodox, were beneficial to that success. However,” for once the white giant turned its head, eyes turning toward empty space, occupied by one that had yet to choose to show herself, “my Servant has concerns it wishes to voice, and those concerns lie with you. As a unique familiar, and with the circumstances as they are, I will make an exception and allow Berserker to speak in a capacity beyond that of an ordinary familiar.”

An unspoken command to speak reverberated between the Master and Servant.

[Zagrin]

Rider of White
16th of December, 2004
Sanny’s Mini Market - East London
Morning (Phase 2-1)

"Anything you want just add it on."

"Hmph."

That was only sound that escaped Rider, in response to his Master's offer. He had seen enough of this shanty hovel to know it had nothing to offer him or his, something which his master should of known well enough. Perhaps it was his strange sense of humour that made him make such a ludicrous offer, but nonetheless Rider was not amused. It also seemed like whomever his master sought to contact via his metallic box was also not responding, which meant that if he came in here so that he may have a more private conversation, it wasn't happening. As such it felt as though the two of them were completely wasting their time standing around here.

Those enemies we met last night, you mentioned they were situated in this area, correct?

Rider didn't even bother to wait for a response from Gendou before he had already walked out the door of the store, leaving it open as he left. There were far more important matters for him to attend to then...whatever it was his master had in mind.

[Kirby]

Saber of 『　』
16th of December, 2004
Einzbern Gardens
Morning (Phase 2-1)

And he finally comes at me. Good.

Now, let’s start our first lesson for real.

He fires, moving faster now, as if suddenly gaining a burst of energy unlike before. He closes in. I see the trajectory, the bullet he fires. Aimed at my chest, between the left collarbone and armpit—

—I shift my body—

—which flies by harmlessly by my shoulder, as I tilt to the side, watching him. Five paces away from me, he attempts to strike.

I shift my body away again, barely moving, his blow barely glancing off as if he had missed. And again. And again.

“Impressive. Quicker than I’d thought you were. And feisty, too. When’d ya become athletic?” I grin. “But I’ve seen monkeys fight with more grace than that.” He strikes again, and I brush his arm to the side, diverting the blow away from my body. He nearly stumbles as the force of his own blows throws him off balance, meeting no resistance, as if that near stationary target he’d been trying to strike was just clear air.

“Here’s your first lecture. You like riddles?”

My turn.

The ninth strike, aimed at my sternum. I grab his arm and pull his extended arm, his body sprawled forward, my knee rising up to meet his stomach.

I ask, as the breath is knocked out of him.

“There’s power in your strikes, I’ll give ya that. So tell me. How do you stop the force of a raging flood?”

[Leftovers]

Berserker of Blue
16th of December, 2004
Clock Tower (Fifth Faculty) - Alexandra's Office
Morning (Phase 2-1)

After all this thinking, Berserker was no closer to settling on what words to speak when she was called to assume material form by her Master. If one thing was decided by Alexandra's words, it was her hesitation over whether she had the right to speak at all. The matter of finding a way to express those thoughts - concerns, as they had been labelled - directly to their subject was seemingly put off until the moment when she was called to confront him; an unavoidable prospect that she had nevertheless put out of mind and consigned to an indistinct future as though she wouldn't eventually come across it once more.

Left grasping for eloquence under the scrutiny of the office's occupants the woman employed all her focus to keep her hands from clutching nervously at her dress and her gaze level with Freogan's furrowed brows and questioning eyes, however much they wanted to roam anywhere else from floor to ceiling. Even when the right words eventually came, just in time to keep her front of contemplative silence from slipping into awkwardness, it felt like an affirmation of what she had always known about herself - what she had always been defined by.

She just wasn't a confrontational person at all. But for victory's sake she felt that she should learn how to become one.

"It is as my Master says," she began. "A tactic that results in a favourable outcome is beyond reproach on its effectiveness. As your actions facilitated my Master's success I cannot fault them, and as I placed myself at your disposal I have no right to criticise how you chose to handle yesterday's confrontation."

No longer able to suppress her nervous energy, Berserker left Alexandra's side and began to pace to the side of the office, drawing a quadrant with the lecturer at the centre.

"However, a tactic is always subject to refinement if it is to become a strategy. Yesterday was only the first night of the Holy Grail War. If we are to repeat it in the others to come then I must give voice to my observations. I believe it would be remiss of me not to."

As a Servant, she was compelled by a singular directive that the Holy Grail had installed into her receptacle: defeat all other Servants and grasp victory. And while she was driven in this fight only by her own will she knew that every single Servant that had been summoned into this war possessed this knowledge; a truth that they all understood, and that some were all too willing to act upon.

Ceasefire, negotiation, alliance - all avenues that were open as long as the other party were receptive to the possibilities. Yet when dealing with Servants one could not assume this. It would be folly to presume that they were even rational beings to begin with, as she could well attest.

Turning on her heels, she resolutely faced Freogan.

"It is not for me to question whether you operate in the full confidence of my Master. If you are sanctioned to offer mercy or alliance to our foes then I will follow down the path that your Lord's will mandates. But let me aver this, not to admonish but to forewarn."

If she could not impress the truth about the nature of Servants upon him, she could only hope his sense of duty was keener than that of danger.

"Lancer could have run your heart through before it had the time to beat at any moment, and you had no way of knowing what the enemy Master's capabilities were. That those two did not take advantage of your unguarded approach, that they were willing to entertain your overtures was coincidental, and chance is the last thing you should stake your life on."

For whose sake she spoke these words, she did not know. Her own, perhaps, and her wish that would be compromised by another's folly, or indirectly Alexandra's, whose victory went hand in hand with hers. But if she were to examine this moment in later reflection, the way her severe mien softened at the man's consternation, she could admit that she did not want his spirit, of which she had seen but a glimpse, to be crushed by those forces that knew neither kindness nor mercy.

"Freogan, I remember your words to them. I know that you understand the gravity of this conflict and your aversion to it is commendable, but I must make clear the true nature of the Holy Grail War. It is a battle to the bitterest end, when death has been dealt to all other foes - all Servants know this, as they are the dealers. If they stay their blade it will only be to sink it in your back, and all that distinguishes them is how long they wait until that moment comes. Without exception, the familiars called Servants are killers that trade the lives of others for the realisation of their greatest wish."

Me included.Me included?

"Never forget this."

[Dranes]

Gendou Matou & Rider of White
16th of December, 2004
Sanny’s Mini Market - East London
Morning (Phase 2-1)

"I can tell this is gonna be a great day."

An exasperated sigh escaped Gendou as he hanged his head before turning his attention back to the welcoming shopkeep. Digging in his pockets he pulled out a few coins before placing them on the table, four Pounds, just enough to pay for his terrible mix of drinking and cheap medication. With a brisk movement, he bundled his 'groceries' under his arm and tore the top off the yellow packaging. Popping one in his mouth gave him exactly what he expected, a surge of sweet mix of honey and lemon... nothing like the real things but hey, good try for artificial flavoring.

Whether it actually helped his throat at all was another question entirely.

"Right, gotta run, you keep the change," He turned on his heel as he gave a half-hearty wave back to living stereotype and just to make the older man's day worse he had to add another quip, "Will be back some other time."

With a push of the doors he was out again, the familiar feeling of ice-cold air hitting him square in the face and snow already taking its place on his shoulders once more.

"Hold on, hold up, wait, wait!"

And just like that he chased after the man that accompanied him, the snow doing a good job to cover his face somehow.

"Can't just run around in this kinda weather ya know!"

And anyways, gotta make a stop at my cousin's. Maybe he can set something up regarding the rest of our team.

A shrug of the shoulders.

If they all survived last night 'course. Unless you're planning something on your own, I won't stop ya.

[Verg Avesta]

Freogan Deofolgeat
16th of December, 2004
Clock Tower (Fifth Faculty) - Alexandra's Office
Morning (Phase 2-1)

The words were heavy and meaningful, and as the atmosphere in the room had already made the man known as Freogan Deofolgeat a little anxious, they only served to deepen that feeling. He had almost reached out for another cigarette, most likely to calm down his nerves, but one look at the gluttonous grotesque on the table made him abandon the idea. Thus, without his usual defense mechanism for when he had to stay silent, and with nothing to busy his hands with, Freogan buried them deep within the pockets of his jacket as he listened Berserker talk, taking in this admonishment about his actions last night.

A difficult expression rose to his face and after a while, Freogan could no longer look Berserker, or his Lord, in the eyes. Instead he was left staring at the intricate pattern on the carpet, trying his damnedest to make it appear he found it interesting. However, by the way the tips of his ears started to redden, it was clear that the man was feeling something; perhaps embarrassment, perhaps shame. Nevertheless, he kept his mouth shut, not interrupting Berserker and her... well, it was not exactly a lecture. Perhaps calling it an intervention of sorts would have been the right term?

But even that eventually came to a close and that left only an awkward silence hanging in the room. As jovial and in good mood as the blonde man had been, that mood was long gone. Instead it was replaced by the muffled sound of him flipping open and closing his lighter in the pocket of his jacket, mouth tightened to a thin line.

A man like Freogan Deofolgeat was never good with words, especially ones that directly went against the type of person he was.

But he knew he had to give an answer. This time he couldn't just ignore what was being said and waltz out the door, resorting to a beer or two to quell that nagging feeling inside his head.

"Well, uh... I guess you got a point there, Bridesmaid," Freogan finally muttered. "Miss Sweatpants from yesterday certainly could've made me go for a Burton. Probably would've, but there was that nutter of a Master of hers. I admit, the reason I did what I did was, well, I was interested to see what the bloody hell was going on in that noggin' of hers, poke around a little, see what pops up... but in the end she sabotaged herself. Just showed off how disorganized those three families are in the first place."

Freogan sighed heavily and scratched the back of his neck, shuffling his feet a little as he did. It was clear he was getting uncomfortable under the scrutinizing eyes of both women, especially he couldn't sit down at the moment. And as he couldn't relax, the situation wasn't helped in the least.

"Well, realized some other things too. Or, well, call them uneducated guesses for now. 'Bout both Miss Sweatpants and her Master. Will have to see how it turns out, but I got a hunch or two. But that's neither here or there, so as long as nothing else happens I'm just a regular twat with no further ideas," the man continued. "But yeah, I know what I did. And I know it ain't sitting well with you two that I just up and invited the buggers to a lunch date. I figured I'd just change scenery in case you two police sirens wanted to go at it, but eh, as it turns out, even Servants can appreciate a good burger. Who knew? So when things went as they went, I just did what I do best: Improvise. So we ate, we shot the breeze, we downed a pint or two... and then we went our separate ways. Like I said back then, them's some old traditions and while I might be a right bell-end for thinking they mean anything... that's just how things went last night."

Letting his hand fall against his body, Freogan finally lifted his gaze from the floor... and now it was a bit more determined. No, there was even some steel there. He locked his eyes straight to those of Berserker, refusing to look away again. As awkward and as go-with-the-flow type of person Freogan was, it seemed that there were times he would actually be serious. This looked to be one of those times, considering how intense that gaze of his was. Just like Berserker had wanted to remind of him of important things, the man now wanted to return the favor.

"But make no mistake, Bridesmaid. I get that we're in kill-or-be-killed war over here, a bloody death match between two opposing sides like this was damn Waterloo. I don't got no delusions we're all gonna get along or that everybody's gonna make it out alive. Most won't. And if I have to off some twat to protect Gigantor over here, I will. No hesitation whatsoever. Same for you, actually. It might not mean much coming from a normal bloke like myself, but if that's the way cards fall, so be it. At least I'll make myself useful," Freogan said, his voice much more confident and stern. "So while I might act like a bloody moron who'll try to get along with everybody, don't sell me short. I've been in this bloody tower for long enough, and even before that, I... ergh, never mind. The point is, the reason I act the way I do?"

His eyes narrowed a bit.

"... Death is constant for me, Bridesmaid. The threat is always there, and it never leaves. I'm no stranger to it, if anything, it's a freeloader in my apartment that refuses to leave. I've seen so many peg off it's not even funny, so, honestly... I'm just used to it. If the threat is always there it loses it's meaning. Because I'm always expecting someone to try to kill me, it's just part of the mundane. You might see me as being naive under this threat, but, uh... I'm not. It's just nothing special anymore," the blonde magus continued. "In that sense, I guess, I don't mind killers or dealers of death or what-have-you. Swing at me from the front, stab me in the back, I'm used to it so I'm always prepared. Hence why I don't have any hard feelings towards them. They're just doing what they need to do, just like I am. So, while you call it a battle to the bitter end... Killing for an objective, any objective, is just a facet of life. That don't make anyone less of a person in my eyes. Even a killer can enjoy a good beer, chomp down a good burger or a be bloody fun partner during a night out."

Finally, Freogan broke the eye contact, and this was because his cheeks grew bright red he scratched that blush awkwardly, unable to look at the woman with blue-hair no more. Even with these... perhaps startling revelations on how Freogan viewed the world, he was still his usual self. A man who could be awkward around a pretty woman despite fully acknowledging them to be a killer with no remorse... it was a strange existence, to be sure.

"... I mean, you were all that, yeah? And you're, uh, you're pretty swell, bridesmaid."

[Reiu]

Arwyn Cadfael Penrith
16th of December, 2004
Einzbern Gardens
Morning (Phase 2-1)

Feisty. Following after that other description of last night…what had that been, hard-headed? That was another word that Arwyn had never quite expected to hear used to describe him.
But there was no time to ponder Saber’s choice of words—

“Here’s your first lecture. You like riddles?”
“So tell me. How do you stop the force of a raging flood?”

His blow did not connect, just like all the times he lost count of—and he had hardly time to blink before registering his arm lurching forward and the wind knocked from his lungs backwards.

…Truthfully, it rather hurt.

His first instinct was to simply grit his teeth and endure, refusing to give into the body’s urge to buckle—to simply bear the power of the blow, and stand fast in the face of it.

Except, of course, there was no way such dogged stubbornness would hold for long against Saber.
Knocked down, Arwyn sinks to one knee for a moment, before staggering to his feet.

A raging flood. Still somewhat in a daze, Arwyn’s mind conjured water waves of near biblical proportions, crashing down…ah, now that he thought of it, there was one such flood years ago back up north in Cumbria, he’d heard, the year after he left for good, when—but now was not the time to be drawn into that.

How do you stop the force of a raging flood?

“You…don’t…?” he stammered unthinkingly.

Flood control, diversion floodways, there were any number of—no, it was not very likely that she would be speaking of civil engineering at the present moment.
…In any case, none of those were truly methods stopping a flood, were they? Only merely—


His mind flashed to the clash of the night previous. Saber against Saver. How, in the face of the unrelenting lightning, Saber weaved, deflected, pivoted; all of her motions as graceful and fluid as indeed water.
…Words were difficult to reach, especially in a setting as unfamiliar as this. But he grasped at the answer to the riddle Saber posed to him, all the same.


“You don’t,” he repeated, tentatively, but this time with slightly more conviction in his voice. “You…you make it…not a raging flood…?”

Not that the blow to his stomach was a literal such force of nature, or course…as much as it may have felt at the time. But perhaps it was of a similar principle…was that what she was implying?


“……”


Mustering truly the last dregs of his depleted stamina, he forced his aching, leaden arm to thrust forward and strike at Saber again; this time, his focus on watching more than the blow itself.


And Arwyn realized then, even as the blow connected—that he felt no force, nor any sign of impact.


There was nothing.


Flow. Continuous motion. Conversion. Redirection.


—And with that, another thwarted blow for the count, he staggered back and came to a panting kneel on the soft lawn, reluctantly.


“I’m…not done yet,” he gasped. “Just…a moment, or two, then I…I will be fine.”

Ideally, at least.

…Even then, not that it mattered even if he wasn’t, really; it would be a simple matter to ignore it if necessary. He always found one way or another, after all. This wasn’t quite the five continuous all-nighters at the headquarters, but really it wasn’t too different, was it? He had a comparable amount of sleep to that of late. Or perhaps, lack thereof…ah, his mind was rambling…
…But no, it was a task of no less gravity to stand up again here.

After all, Saber gave him the time of her day, he had to do all he could, if not more, until…

Until…?


What was her goal? She had told him what she had decided. What she would teach him. But she hadn’t said anything as to something that was of almost equal importance…at least for him.


“…In the meanwhile, tell me, Saber……”

Perhaps it was ignorant of him to ask, or to assume she needed a reason or motivation to do so. So be it; he was ignorant, and it was something he would have to accept for now.
The role of the unlearned apprentice.



—Or perhaps, he was only a fool who hoped to understand something of her.
Whether the mysterious figure who had appeared before him out of the ether, or the swordswoman-teacher who stood before him now—

“…Why had you chosen to take me as your student?”

[Mellon]

Gendou Matou & Rider of White
16th of December, 2004
The House in Red - Residence of the Matou Family
Morning (Phase 2-1)

Honestly, even knowing the location and it’s background beforehand, you couldn’t quite believe what you were seeing. I mean, of course, it was a building, but… what you were looking at didn’t really mesh together with the image you had of your family. Burgundy red? Wasn’t that something a bit more along the lines of Tohsakas? They had a penchant for flashy stuff like this. You could definitely see Tokiomi Tohsaka, in that wine-colored suit of his go for something like this. On the other hand…

Gendou’s eyes fell on the golden letters painted below those picturesque arched windows.

Well, in the end, a leopard couldn’t hide its spots, no matter how hard he tried. While externally it looked nothing like a Matou residence, other parts of it were… well pretty much exactly what you expected.

You could immediately sense entering a Boundary Field as you passed through the steel gate leading into the small paved… area, for the lack of a better word, in front of the red terracotta structure. Calling it a “garden” would be a disservice to the word, really. With the exception of a couple of lonely tufts of grass, there was no “greenery” to speak of. As for the nature of the magecraft you had just entered… Well, it had all the traditional fundamentals, the activation of which you could clearly sense. Detection of intruders, sealing of magical energy - all that jazz. But there seemed to be something deeper in play here as well. It certainly didn’t trigger though. Was it keyed to the family “blood” so to speak?

Pressing the bell button that resided next to the door caused an almost old-fashioned buzzer to ring out inside. Only… you didn’t really hear any type of response. Not totally unsurprising, considering that the only members of the Matou family that had traveled to this place were Kariya, Gendou and that old fossil, but... A minute passed. Then two. Could it be that the old man had finally decided to cro…!

The door opened to reveal someone who most assuredly was not a member of the Matou family.



“... Well, well."

"The winter winds sure brought with them something interesting.” The Servant's ruby eyes took in the pair in front of her for a moment, before a vulpine smile appeared on her face. “Though I suppose the company they brought is fitting for the occasion at hand.”

“A boy with a heart made of thorns and a truly faithful mutt of the World.” Her ruby eyes seemed to glow with amusement. “Ahah… the way you humans can so easily wrap yourselves in these tragic chains of servitude really is a sight to behold. And now you pile even more on top of the ones you already have, binding yourself ever harder."

"Behavior fit for a madman, some might say."

“Tell me, o’ shade of winter.” Her voice was filled with both twisted mirth and a curious fascination. “Has your leash started chafing that much? Is that why you walk these lands? Or is this passing dream simply a divergence, a flash of respite and color in the monotony of it all, before you grasp for your yoke once more?”

“But where are my manners.” The Servant stepped back from the door and extended her arm sideways, beckoning the pair to step inside. “Please do come inside. Allow me to be the first one to welcome you to the Matou residence.”

“The name of my birth is ______.”

“In this Grail War, I have been bestowed the role of Saber for the White Faction.”

[Sunny]

Caster of Blue
16th of December, 2004
The House in Misty Village
Morning (Phase 2-1)

“You are quite blunt for an assistant lecturer, aren’t you, Ms. Kanzaki? I must admit, it's quite refreshing in its own way. I like it. There are too many gray mice amongst your colleagues as is.”

For lack of an invitation to join the discussion between her master and the newcomer, the servant had contented herself by throwing herself back onto Erika's bed, her legs kicking the empty air in an absently energetic fashion. She'd held onto the coat, of course, draping it over her like a warm, nicely fragrant blanket, her face still deeply buried in the interior of the collar.

Even muffled by the coat, what she heard still elicited a small, annoyed and barely stifled growl. While not to the same extent, she could hardly blame Erika for struggling to conceal some annoyance at the newcomer's patronizing tone, throwing around their authority and relying on their titles and rank rather than actually engaging in any productive discourse of their own.

That type of person had always chafed at the girl, even if she accepted it as an unfortunate fact that some people would behave that way whether she liked it or not. After all, it wasn't as if titles and rank alone conferred one any particular worth, in her book. Of course it was part and parcel of the way of life of a 'proper' magi, but she'd never particularly cared about those bothersome trappings or protocols in the first place.

Definitely not the boyfriend, Caster concluded, indulging herself with a deep, relaxing sniff of this Mister Penrith's coat to calm her irritation. Taking in the quietly masculine scent, the girl took a deep breath sorted through her conclusions about their guest not being Erika's mysterious barrister boyfriend.

One.
Even for a prim-and-proper type, keeping your clothes in each other's bedroom is a bit late to be on a last-name basis, I think.
Two.
While this fellow is quite the cute one, the figure is all wrong. There's a world of difference between simply having a narrow waist and a sculpted one and that fellow is entirely too scrawny for my taste on a man.
Three.
While I'm far from the first one to throw stones on this front, Erika doesn't seem like the type to be attracted to bad boys.
Four.

Something of an bootlicker, don't you think, Erika? She asked the last part aloud over their mental connection, stifling a giggle and hugging the coat closer. Yes, all things considered, definitely not the sort of fine young man who'd fill a coat like this, much less leave it in her Master's bedroom.

“There are a number of senior lecturers in the Second Department who would like to meet with you, Ms. Kanzaki. And if you are willing to reciprocate their interest than I would be more than happy to organize a meeting.

When the discussion turned to a meeting, Caster reluctantly peeked her head out from the top of the coat, looking at the open door.

"A meeting, hm... I suppose that would be at the Clock Tower, then," she said softly, a complicated expression crossing her face. She wanted to see the Clock Tower, to be sure. Quite a lot, in fact. It had been one of her (many) dreams for most of her childhood and one of the ones she had been the most reluctant to let go of. That being said...

If it's a meeting at the Clock Tower, I will not be going, Erika. Her voice, even unspoken, was surprisingly low and firm for the Caster that her Master had heard thus far, as rigid as steel. The Association and I are... well, I suspect my presence there would rather complicate things., especially if there's lords involved. You summoned a magus who isn't all that compatible with other mages, as you know. After all, she had given Erika not just knowledge of her identity, but her peculiarities and methods. Walking into the Clock Tower was unlikely to end well, no matter how much she wanted to.

Besides, I have a few matters I'd like to attend to this morning first. Tant mieux.

First, there was the matter of the project she'd been working on since the early hours of dawn. She had run through a few prototypes and was confident that they'd work this time, so she was eager to take a little field trip of sorts and confirm that she'd worked out the bugs.

Mark IV shouldn't blow up after turning it on, surely...

But second, and more importantly... The girl turned over onto her stomach, still wearing the warm coat as a blanket, and made a tugging gesture with her gloved fingers. With a small crackle, an object from the nearby desktop table launched itself into the air and onto the bed, depositing her master's laptop in front of her. She laid out the business card from before, with the name and title of a certain individual, an impish smile growing as she quickly set about figuring out how to invite herself around the password.

If I was the sort to keep a man's coat in my closet, I'd prefer to return it before running off and risking my life. You wouldn't happen to have his address handy, would you?

[Zagrin]

Rider of White
16th of December, 2004
The House in Red - Residence of the Matou Family
Morning (Phase 2-1)

This was not where Rider had intended on coming when he had left that grungy store, however after his departure his master had hurriedly followed after him and informed him of the next destination he intended for them to visit: the home of his "good cousin Kariya," the man he had attempted to contact earlier and one of their allies in this war. Even so, he still felt his time could be better spent elsewhere. It was only after Gendou's urging, something about how he needed to meet his allies (or at least one of them) so that he didn't end up accidentally killing them, that he now stood before an ornate door, waiting for a response from whomever was inside.

As the door opened, Rider sensed a presence, not unlike the ones from the day prior, but he did not bother to call his armour. If what his master said was true, the two of them were not in any danger and if they were, then it would be his master who would suffer for his foolish assumptions.

"The winter winds sure brought with them something interesting. Though I suppose the company they brought is fitting for the occasion at hand. A boy with a heart made of thorns and a truly faithful mutt of the World. Ahah…the way you humans can so easily wrap yourselves in these tragic chains of servitude really is a sight to behold. And now you pile even more on top of the ones you already have, binding yourself ever harder. Behavior fit for a madman, some might say."

Rider's eyes narrowed as he looked at the woman who had greeted them in a manner which one could only call less than flattering. A faint growling began to emanate from his side: a white wolfish creature, mirroring his master's displeasure, made its presence known. It would be wrong however to say that Rider was irritated by what the woman had said, Rider knew full well that all of it was true and he had already made peace with it long before this stranger had laid it out before him. No, rather what bothered him was how she come across this information, as the two of them had just met this woman, let alone spoken a word to her. However all this was secondary in the end, the true problem lay not in the blatant flaunting of knowledge but rather what else she possibly knew about him.

How troublesome...

“Tell me, o’ shade of winter. Has your leash started chafing that much? Is that why you walk these lands? Or is this passing dream simply a divergence, a flash of respite and color in the monotony of it all, before you grasp for your yoke once more?”

He stared at the woman as she delivered her question, his crimson gaze unfaltering and growing ever sterner. The snarling by his side had completely faded away once she had made her inquiry, and even the howling winds of the blizzard seemed to halt in that moment, allowing for utter silence as they waited for a response from their Lord.

"Neither is the answer."

"What I seek is what I have always searched for." His voice was calm, almost to the point where it seemed devoid of emotion, "My benefactor failed to provide me with a conclusion, thus I have sought other means to attain closure. As for freedom, I have little use for it, lest it help me towards my goal."

“The name of my birth is ______. In this Grail War, I have been bestowed the role of Saber for the White Faction.”

Hunh, so that explains it.

"I see, you wear your guise well, demon." Though his words were biting, Rider's expression seemed to be starting to gradually soften, "I am Rider of the White Faction, my name... there's no need to bother saying what does not need to be said, after all with that display of wisdom of yours, I have no doubt you have already discerned who I am, no?"

[Katie]

Kanzaki Erika
16th of December, 2004
The House in Misty Village
Morning (Phase 2-1)

I really am face to face with a snake. Praise me all he wants about my blunt demeanor, but the moment I slip into being too obstinate, that’s when he’ll sink his fangs into me, along with the rest of them. And, to make matters worse, he’s just a glorified errand boy, whether he’ll admit it or not. I have to go, lest everything I’ve worked for easily fall to pieces. From the start, there was no choice involved.

I had to go. As simple as that.

Creation and Modern Magecraft Theory are much more hospitable towards your kind of work these days, I say over the mental link. Though, if she doesn’t wish to come, it’s fine with me. And if he’s a bootlicker, I’m not much better.

“I would never miss on such a wonderful opportunity,” I say, a familiar, false tone coating my voice. I must sound so enthusiastic when I really wish I had none of this crap to deal with. “My schedule is as flexible as can be due to the circumstances, I’m free whenever they request, barring an emergency of some sort.”

If I was the sort to keep a man's coat in my closet, I'd prefer to return it before running off and risking my life. You wouldn't happen to have his address handy, would you?

Drop it, Caster, it’s none of your business.

[Kirby]

Saber of 『　』
16th of December, 2004
Einzbern Gardens
Morning (Phase 2-1)

“…In the meanwhile, tell me, Saber……
…Why had you chosen to take me as your student?”

“...Huh?”

I tilt my head, watching him pant on the ground, out of breath. I brush a bit of dirt off my knee. What a weird question, like asking why the sky was blue, or water was wet. “Why do you think? ‘Cause you’re my Master! Why else would ya summon me, if you didn’t want to learn anything?” I take several steps away, my back to him as he recovers on the ground.

“But anyway. ‘Make it not a raging flood’, huh? Now that’s a funny answer. A bit optimistic, dontcha think? Now how do you plan on doing that?” I grin. “Actually, just show me.”

It’s not quite my style, but…

—Let’s turn these still waters become a raging storm.

A torrent of power. Uncontrolled and unrefined, oppressive in its volume, choking the air and shaking the earth. I turn back around, and slam a foot onto the ground, taking my stance, sending fissures cracks in the soil, my form not of the graceful maiden but the raging beast.

“I showed you the answer; now show me yours. Show me how you stop a raging flood!”

I charge—

[Dranes]

Gendou Matou
16th of December, 2004
The House in Red - Residence of the Matou Family
Morning (Phase 2-1)

"This doesn't seem right..."

That was Gendou's first thought as he gazed at the house, honestly it was a mansion compared to his meager living. Even in this biting cold, the structure before him caused him to stand and wonder if he had made a terrible mistake. A wrong turn at the corner? Maybe he should ask for directions? He was a foreigner after all, he could probably get away with it but then again who knows who else he could run into. A glance and a shrug was all he afforded to his servant before he pushed on the steel gate, red definitely wasn't his color but if good cousin Kariya could make it work for him what was there to complain about? The Matous were good pals with the Tohsakas right? Well maybe not the best but enough that they haven't killed each other yet.

A sudden jolt went through him.

All doubt was dispelled, seemed he was better at following directions than his elders gave him credit for in the end.

Decor needed some work though, definitely more of a 'for use' than 'for looks' thing going on here.

"Right so if a guy that looks like he came out of a war zone answers the doorbell, we're good. If a living corpse does, prepare for an elder's lecture of some sort."

With those words of wisdom, Gendou pressed down on the button next to the picturesque perfect front door. The not-so-pleasing sound of a buzzer going off all was all he got out of it. No other response at all.

A moment passed.

And then another.

...

They had to know he was there, he entered the damn field so what was keeping 'em.

As he reached out to click on the buzzer again, an audible click caused him to stop in his tracks as the door opened.

And was that a sight! Such a warming sight in this cold part of the world!

"I didn't plan for bre-! I mean I didn't plan for this!"

A porcelain beauty with raven black hair and in a sweater like that, did Kariya finally get married? No, impossible he wasn't the type and the thought that a fossil could get together with a lady like this was just straight out! Ain't no Hugh Hefner that one. Maybe she came with the house? Every house needed a maid and when in London do as the Londoners do, right? Though that sure wasn't maid attire, this was a different fetish altogether wasn't it? Was Kariya into this then, not bad taste but...

Those eyes... where had he seen them before...

These were a lot nicer to look at even if they had that certain gaze to them.

Another glance back at his partner confirmed all he needed to know.

Right... that's how it is.

"The winter winds sure brought with them something interesting. Though I suppose the company they brought is fitting for the occasion at hand. A boy with a heart made of thorns and a truly faithful mutt of the World. Ahah… the way you humans can so easily wrap yourselves in these tragic chains of servitude really is a sight to behold. And now you pile even more on top of the ones you already have, binding yourself ever harder.”

"Ah... I don't know what hurts more at this point."

How tragic, how truly tragic. Gendou placed his hand over his heart, as if he had just been struck a mortal blow. His image was in danger!

"To still be called a boy, and by a lady like you no less, or to say that I'm such a prickly fellow. My character is in peril once more and I had nothing to do with it this time!"

Well at this rate he might actually end up in a pool of his own blood. No true sarcasm involved but you never know how these ancient spirits will react.

But that's probably what made this all the more fun.

"The old saying holds true I suppose, 'there's no rose without her thorn'."

And then someone had to do the equivalent of throwing a gas tank on the fire... while someone else was already doing that.

"I see, you wear your guise well, demon. I am Rider of the White Faction, my name... there's no need to bother saying what does not need to be said, after all with that display of wisdom of yours, I have no doubt you have already discerned who I am, no?"

"Ahaha... I'm glad we're all getting along so well already, a start to a beautiful relationship," For a moment he had to ponder if that was the right term for all this, "Of sorts."

"And while I can't say I dislike the view, it's rather chilly out here so lets not tussle with our hosts for too long now."

Playing peacemaker between two spiritual existences wasn't exactly in his resume but he had to try... well if he hadn't probably made things worse by now with that last comment, he couldn't really read either of their expressions too well.

The familiar clinking of glass against glass filled the air as he entered the abode before giving the two otherworldy beings a grin that could only be described as that of an idiot's.

"After all, I did bring wine and it's never too early for wine."

[Reiu]

Arwyn Cadfael Penrith
16th of December, 2004
Einzbern Gardens
Morning (Phase 2-1)


Saber tilted her head at him, as though he asked her something utterly ridiculous. It was not a reaction he hadn’t anticipated, of course. In some ways, he had asked despite knowing the answer he would likely receive, he thought as Saber turned her back on him. One might say it was meaningless to have done so, and yet…

For just a moment, in spite of everything, he found himself smiling.

Even if it was a foregone conclusion—asking the question, in of itself, had meaning to it.
—So he’d like to believe.

“But anyway. ‘Make it not a raging flood’, huh? Now that’s a funny answer. A bit optimistic, dontcha think? Now how do you plan on doing that?” I grin. “Actually, just show me.”

As she said so, Saber turned from where she stood, facing him once more.


Alarms began to sound in his head, as it became increasingly clear his rest was truly for only a moment. He had hardly struggled back to his feet when—

“I showed you the answer; now show me yours. Show me how you stop a raging flood!”

“……!”


Fissure cracks in the soil. An aura of overwhelming strength that seemed palpable in the very air itself, even to Arwyn.

There was no time. It was time to focus, now.
He had arrived at his answer, already, as clumsily worded as it was. It boiled down to one word, in the end, really.


Diversion.


—He had been reminded of water, earlier. Not the turgid lapping of the Thames, but the clear, untouched waters of the River Eden in his memory. A child’s hand stuck into the flowing waters had done nothing to deter the continual stream of river water, which had simply swirled past, he recalled. Saber’s graceful and surefooted movements, her spirited and yet unruffled mien…there were a multitude of comparisons to be drawn there, between the swordswoman and the brisk waters.

But now, when it was his turn to respond in kind—instead of picturing once more of the river, Arwyn found himself drawn instead to images of snow.


The snow of his childhood winters. Snow that, last night, had brought with it an unexpected meeting and new threads of fate. Quiet snowfall, a tranquil white that seemed to envelop all in its tapestry.

A vision of stillness.


“……”


His mind was empty.


Saber charged at him.
…This time, he was ready.

Sound into silence. Force into resilience.

Defining one's own essence, and following the spirit.

Answer what is external, with what is hidden within.

A hand—to grasp the arm, and pull Saber along the trajectory of her charging motion.
A swerve—so that he was no longer there in that line of collision.

Parting, diverting, weaving. Just as Saber had shown him—no, just as Saber had taught him.


And the next thing he knew—

“………W-what?”

A startled noise, that emanated from none other than himself.

Saber’s extended arm and fist, clearly in a motion of attack, held mere centimeters from his neck………to the right of it, in mid-air.

In other words, where his neck had been prior to his maneuver, and would have surely suffered a violent impact had her blow connected.


…Does that mean……



…Had he…had he really succeeded?

[Leftovers]

Berserker of Blue
16th of December, 2004
Clock Tower (Fifth Faculty) - Alexandra's Office
Morning (Phase 2-1)

It figured that the one time she decided to impart her wisdom she ended up preaching to the choir. Not that it was really wisdom; if anything it was a mantra that she repeated hoping it would eventually become her own truth. Such a thing was worthless to one who lived his life in constant knowledge of it, walking side by side with death.

This man was a fighter. Much more than she could ever be. And she had sought to teach him...what, exactly? That the shadow of mortality ever stalks one's footsteps, that those who circumstances cast as enemies must inexorably seek their mutual destruction?

He knew that. Knew it so well that he could face the present in spite of it, as though in every moment there was nothing but the moment itself. Making merry with those that tomorrow will be enemies, proffering friendship as readily as a blade. To live out life like that, to face a hostile, violent world with a smile...

It takes courage, and it takes strength.

The courage to strive for all the good in this life, and the strength to protect it. In the end, she really was trying to convince herself.

Even as Freogan's speech came to a fumbling end Berserker wished she could just dematerialise, hide her face and the tinge of embarrassment on it and never speak her mind again for the duration of the war; alas, the childishness of this impulse - risen as it was from the subconscious - was too much for her to overlook.

Relief that her concerns were misplaced would be a more fitting reaction. If she felt lightly scolded in turn, this too was a natural part of human interaction. And yet caught up as she was in her thoughts she could only manage a hesitant smile that balanced equally between meekness and appreciation.

"I...am glad to hear that. You have laid my fears to rest."

Gods, she must have looked quite the fool.

[Sunny]

Caster of Blue
16th of December, 2004
The House in Misty Village
Morning (Phase 2-1)

Figuring out a way around Erika's password protection hadn't been quite as difficult as Caster had anticipated. It took her a brief while to acquaint herself with the device, playing with the different keys. She'd been provided knowledge enough about the modern era upon being summoned, but actually putting physical context to the abstract knowledge and confirming what she knew in the back of her head was fun in its own way. The girl was briefly stymied by the touchpad 'mouse', swiping her gloved finger over the ugly flat rectangle several times to no avail. She tried drawing a circle, then running her finger up and down, and finally doodled a rather unbecoming expletive with her finger to no avail.

Puzzled, she folded her hands over the device and looked down, kicking her legs and peering at the crossed leather-clad fingers.

Ah, right. The gloves.
I suppose that's also a problem, too...

Caster sighed, staring at her hands, and finally whispered something under her breath, triggering her circuits with the faintest of pulses.

An open window.
An unnatural noise.

A crackle of electricity arced between her fingers and she touched the gloved finger to the touchpad again. This time it worked, moving the strangely angled arrow exactly the way she wished. Caster gave her reflection on the screen a satisfied, smug grin. Once she'd figured that out, getting around the password was easy, all things considered. Yes, the world of this fascinatingly wide web was hers for the taking!

...

Though it seemed, she conceded reluctantly, she would have to refine her search methodology a bit beyond typing in "Where is Arwyn Penrith?" These devices were leagues beyond the tentative steps she was familiar with in her own time, but apparently they weren't quite as far along as she hoped, either. She tried a few variations while still talking with Erika.

Creation and Modern Magecraft Theory are much more hospitable towards your kind of work these days. And if he’s a bootlicker, I’m not much better.

Really? That's a pleasant surprise, she responded in a tone that sounded neither pleased nor surprised. It wasn't that she doubted Erika, per se, but Caster had little faith that mages as a whole, much less the Association, had fundamentally changed since her time. Ah, adding a request for his address didn't work, either.

Yes, if it was simply that she incorporated disparate or unpopular elements into her own magecraft, that would have been fine and she would have little difficulty with the Association. If she had modified or departed from the tradition set by her family, that would have also been acceptable. But Caster hadn't reinvented her own family's craft and spells - that had never been an option in the first place.

Rather, the girl had selfishly chased every avenue she possibly could, pursuing magic in the only way she found herself suited for. Since she was old enough to sneak into that man’s study, the girl had dreamed of magecraft, of spells, of mystery and grand arcana and possibility. But she had never once dreamed of being a magus, nor did she consider herself one. If anything, to a proper magus, what she did in order to grab magecraft for herself was probably unforgivable.

A shame, adding "Erika Kanzaki's Boyfriend" to his name didn't actually refine the results, either. Do people really not gossip on the internet?

Really, she was surprised to hear Erika compare herself to a man like this in any way. It would be another few hours before the servant could even say she had known her master for an entire day, but the impression she had gotten from Erika Kanzaki was hard-working, resourceful, and building herself up on her own merits. She didn't appear to be a blue-blooded magus and Caster liked her all the better for that. She was earning her place there, even if it was difficult, even if there was no one to support her or to pave the way. The difference between her and someone like that handsome but arrogant (though handsome) cute young individual was day and night, as far as the girl was concerned.

Ooh, some interviews. Official ones, sadly, nothing risque that inquiring minds rather wish to know.
Well, no pictures either, sadly, but oh, he seems quite articulate! Good find, Erika!

She was about to offer a bright, cheerful defense of Erika's virtues--

Drop it, Caster, it’s none of your business.

Caster froze, her fingers stopping in the middle of typing another search, her thoughts - all of them - grinding to a halt with them. Her hand hovered there lamely as her blue eye and goggle lens peered at the door in her master's direction, widening against her control. That... wasn't the reaction the girl had expected. Not even close, based on previous data and the conclusions she had drawn from them. She had rather assumed the icy response before was a matter of circumstance and pressing concerns, mere annoyance at this interloper and intruder, and that they'd be back to business as usual once that had been taken care of.

This time she realized the cold tone was directed at Caster herself, while her Master reserved that gratingly saccharine tone for the magus whose supposed betters were calling on them. For a brief moment, Caster chewed her lips, pursing them to a fine line.

........ah. I did it again. Full marks, as always.

...As you wish. I did say I prefer direct communication, after all. Thank you, Miss Erika.

She closed the windows she had been searching on, delicately closing the laptop, and took a small, steadying breath. A moment. Another one. Exhale. Repeat.

---Very well. A miscalculation, then, ahaha.

She put on a smile, pushing the laptop aside, and rolled to the edge of the bed. Slowly, methodically, she dusted off her short black dress, gathering up the still-warm overcoat in the crook of one gloved arm, and walked outside to the living room to retrieve her coat and the devices she had laid out across some of the cushions of the sofa. Wrapping them in the black coat for safekeeping, she slipped on one of the coats she had picked out of Erika's closet, a dark-coloured button-up. She adjusted the buttons, removed her goggle, and rubbed at the uncovered eye with the back of her hand, rapidly blinking away nothing in particular before depositing the goggle in the coat pocket for safekeeping.

She glanced at the kitchen and the front, debated saying something more to her master, then shrugged and turned away with quick, hurried steps.

Later, perhaps. In the meantime, she had places to go. First business, then curiosity and personal affairs. Time to take a walk about.

She had been mistaken about the boyfriend hypothesis, clearly. An ex, more likely, after that. Well. If that’s how that would be, then the woman was curious to investigate that matter further as well.

If anything, she felt rather more motivated now.

[Spinach]

Alexandra Chimeragnos
16th of December, 2004
Clock Tower (Fifth Faculty) - Alexandra's Office
Morning (Phase 2-1)

It is the duty of one who commands others to ensure that there is peace within their shadow. To lead is not only to find common ground, a shared cause understanding that gives birth to loyalty, but to also ensure that there is no discord within that shadow. The stability of the Faculty of V can be attributed to this approach toward leadership.

The hanging doubts, the disconnect between her Servant and her aides, would only grow. Like a tumor it would begin to destroy them from the inside. Even if that tumor was born of good intentions, Berserker’s doubts that Deofolgeat had misunderstood the situation would only undermine their common cause. If it came to it, putting a list of potential enemies and obstacles to settling this “Holy Grail War” on paper would already produce a small stack. She didn’t need to include her own Faculty in that list.

“Berserker.” Her low voice once again brought her presence to the forefront of the moment. “Although you are a familiar, I am not a fool. Your existence surpasses that which we commonly call a familiar. For that reason alone, I allowed you to settle this personally with Deofolgeat. He is unorthodox in his ways, just as you are unorthodox among your kind, but at his core he is a Magus, just as you too are a Servant. I have placed my trust in him, as I have in you.”

The white neck of the statuesque Lord turned subtly, shifting her heavy gaze onto the Servant.

“Now that the placement of my trust has been made understood, let us proceed.”

Just as quickly, the sense of being pressed by her gaze dissipated. The woman’s eyes unfocused and her gaze, though still directed toward the Servant, felt to fall upon her no more than it did the wooden floor or the books lining the wall.

“We have gained a powerful foothold, and the enemy has shown a boldness verging on insulting.”

The events of the previous night were recounted in monotone. Displaying no emotion whatsoever, the facts as they were known were presented robotically, as though read off of a sheet of paper written by a detached outsider.

A pale finger pressed down on the paper with the golden ink.

“The influence my position affords comes with its cost. There are matters I cannot ignore, among which this Holy Grail War does not place at the top. Once more I must have you play the role of a ‘Master,’ Deofolgeat. But this time your orders are different.”

The giantess paused for a moment and the temperature in the room dropped a degree.

“Seek and destroy, Deofolgeat, Berserker. You are no longer merely tasked with gathering information. The situation has escalated and there is no reason to act the decoy. The presence of two Servants has been confirmed, and one foolish Servant has already played their hand. As of now, there is no reason to exercise excess caution. You are to terminate the enemy Masters by whatever means are most appropriate.”

At the same time, a stone familiar began to rummage through the bag of food brought by Freogan, a sign that this meeting would not drag on for much longer.

[Verg Avesta]

Freogan Deofolgeat
16th of December, 2004
Clock Tower (Fifth Faculty) - Alexandra's Office
Morning (Phase 2-1)

"Seek and destroy... Huh?"

Freogan scratched the back of his head, eyes glued to the window and the scenery past them, past Alexandra and Berserker, with some sort of thoughts running in his mind that nobody but him could tell. For a moment his face, his expression, displayed emotions that were usually not found within him. It was a certain sort of roughness and sharpness, with a tinge of emotionless determination mixed in, that rarely if ever graced his face. But with a single simple command form his Lord, the jovial man was gone, at least for a little while. Such was the pure devotion that the man held for the woman in front of her that he would follow such an order without a second thought, even if it was something he would normally avoid.

If for no other reason but that it was insulting to his opponents.

However, at the same time, there had been an important caveat: "Whatever means are most appropriate." In other words, Freogan would be allowed to gauge it himself what he deemed necessary to terminate enemy Masters... and, as his ways often were, most likely these means would be most unorthodox when compared to your typical magi. Perhaps for that reason, as quickly as the expression had appeared, Freogan banished it from his face. Instead he chuckled a bit, shrugged, and looked at Alexandra with clear clarity in his eyes.

"Understood. You say 'jump', I'll say 'is to the moon enough for your colossal ass?'. So... if you want us to hunt you some some bell-ends, that's what we'll do," Freogan answered, clenching his hand into a fist and striking it against his chest as if a sort of a salute. "I mean we'd need to finish this up eventually, so better just get it bloody over with. So, uh, unless you have a some specific twat you want us to off, I think it's time find some proper prey. Wouldn't be much of a 'Master' if I just chummed with all those knobs, right?"

Freogan winked to his Lord, even though he must have known that Alexandra would not respond to such gestures or attempts at humor. Thus, knowing to just move on like nothing had happened, Freogan's expression suddenly grew serious once more. He walked over to the table and pointed at the bag of garlic scent that he had left on the table, the one that the stone familiar was rummaging through. Then, keeping his eyes locked straight into Alexandra's red orbs and with intensity enough to match hers, to hold his ground, he switched his pointing finger towards her.

"But before that... Let's talk about more important stuff. Namely, the fact that judging by that assload of paperwork I saw, you haven't even thought about eating, have you?" Freogan demanded to know, eyebrows furrowing. "So... Eat. I'm not moving anywhere before you've had a bloody bite. Just think of what those bell-ends would say if you collapsed 'cause I didn't kept you fed. Would be a dishonor to the whole department, seriously!"

And there it was again.

That attitude of a fussy mother looking out for a prodigal child, topped off by bright pink blush on his cheeks.

The inability of Freogan Deofolgeat to not wear his emotions on his sleeve was as famous as his ability as a lecturer.

"... And that means, you too, Bridezilla."

Suddenly the blonde magus whirled around, and locked his intensive stare towards Berserker... though it only lasted for a little while. Maybe Freogan had decided that he didn't need to be as harsh or as demanding with her as he was with his Lord... which spoke volumes of how big of a positive impression the female Servant had left on him.

For those who were jovial towards everyone, implicit trust was a rare thing to see.

"We've got a long day ahead of us, right?" Freogan asked, cracking a grin towards the Servant. "So fuel up, Bridesmaid. Later we might not have time to grab nothing more than a bloody fastfood burger, and those things are just buns with imitation meat and a drop of ketchup. In other words, I'm gonna need you at your 100% if another supercharged hero drops by with their Master."

Out of nowhere, Freogan reached out towards Berserker with his hand, offering it for a rather formal shake. A gesture that was very much unlike him... but the gentle smile that had appeared on his face told his intentions clearly. After this awkward talk, he wanted to banish the atmosphere it had left, instead starting up on a clean slate so that they might work as a proper team today.

"... I mean, I know you don't gotta eat," Freogan admitted as he offered his hand. "But you looked pretty bloody happy last night with that burger, and that's the type of face that keeps us cooks living."