Well, here we go, I have my own thread now. This is where my incomplete ideas go todieget written. let's start with something kinda long.
Shirou at the Clock Tower:
Part 1(look down), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6.
Assassin's Creed Himuro:
Part 1, Part 2
YANDERE Saber Lily:
Part 1
Enkidu Raising Shirou, and Gilgamesh feeling bad about himself:
Part 1
Ayako having some weird stuff going on:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
Ayako in Taiga Dojo
Part 1
Rin meets someone in Russia, in the middle of winter (Ten years post MoS)
Part 1
Memories of a simpler time (Related to the directly above, ten year MoS thing)
Part 1
Zouken Being Zouken, Celes Being Summoned
Part 1
The Queen’s new toy
Written by: Nachos/NT/nightcow/NAHTCUW
X=X=X=X=X
It was raining in London.
It was raining, but Pascal Lebreaux had no time to care. He had finally found his ticket to reentry, his way of becoming one of the esteemed mages of the Clock Tower. And with that title, all of the funds and resources he needed to complete his research.
He kept walking through the rain, his bulky suitcase in hand, until he was finally in front of the bulky doors of the tower. He hesitated a moment, unsure if the bounded fields would recognize him or reject him.
He took a deep breath, and opened the large wooden doors. Inside, it was exactly as he remembered. People walked by, uncaring as to who he was, and they did not carry themselves in cliques, but rather seemed to all walk on their own untrustingly. It was a typical magus environment, where one would be a fool to trust others.
It was just like home.
He walked over to the information desk and looked at the young man sitting behind it, reading some thaumaturgical textbook. He stood there for a moment, waiting for the youngster to address him properly, until he got impatient and brought his hand down on the desk loudly to get his attention.
“How can I help you, sir?” The young man said phlegmatically, not even deigning Pascal important enough to look up from his book.
“I need to speak to the king of the association.” Pascal said, barely containing his anger. Whelps who didn’t know their places could wait.
“The queen, you mean?” The young man said, flipping a page of his book.
“What?”
“The queen, Lorelei Barthomeloi.” The young man finally closed his book and looked at the wet traveler, an inquisitive look on his face. “Where have you been these last five years?”
“Busy.” He hissed, the young man’s attitude and the cold irritating him beyond measure. “Just tell me where I need to go to meet her. It’s important.”
“Right now she’d be in the vice director’s office.” The young man said, then he shrugged and returned to his book.
“About time you told me.” Pascal said, before walking off with his large suitcase in hand.
He walked through the Clock Tower, the intricate design already familiar to him, for what felt like an hour. It was all so familiar, so normal, that he almost entered the library without thinking. But he had to restrain himself, because he was not reinstated yet. He was not forgiven yet.
Patience was a virtue here.
He finally reached the vice-director’s office, and knocked on the door uncertainly.
“Come inside.” A stern voice answered, and Pascal followed its order.
Inside the room was an office of a modest size. There were bookshelves on the right side of the room, and on the left was a collection of trophies obtained from what looked like mystical beasts or in some cases, vampires.
At the end of the room was a large work desk, with a woman in her twenties sitting behind it. She had brown hair in a ponytail, and sharp eyes of the same color. She was wearing a simple white blouse with a red bow. She looked young, almost too young for the room she was in.
Pascal was not fooled though. He knew the Barthomeloi did not allow their children to leave the manor without being perfectly trained. The mere fact she was already the queen was reason enough to not question her age.
“What brings you here?” She asked sternly, her eyes fixating on his. He averted his gaze slightly, and took a deep bow.
“My name is Pascal Lebreaux, lady Barthomeloi.” He said carefully, taking the most respectful tone he could conjure. “Many years ago, I was accused of crimes I may not have committed. However, I believe I have found something of worth to the Clock Tower which may excuse me of those charges.”
He kept looking at the floor, keeping his head down, but sighed inwardly. He wasn’t dead yet, and that was a start at the very least. He must have piqued her interest.
“Well? What is it you deem to be of worth?” She said irritably, and Pascal immediately took the hint.
“Perhaps some context is in order, Lady Barthomeloi. I went to japan to find the Magus Killer, Emiya Kiritsugu. However, he was already deceased when I arrived. Instead, I found his son.”
“His heir?” She asked, mild surprise apparent in her voice. “Did you retrieve his familial crest?”
“No, I apologize. It seems his son does not possess the family crest at all. However, he did possess an odd assortment of items.” Pascal said, slightly raising himself from his bow. “If I may show you?”
“Proceed.” She allowed, her face surprisingly unchanged from when he had glimpsed it when he entered the room. Her eyes stared into his once more, and he quickly rummaged through the side-pockets of his luggage and pulled out what looked like a simple pipe.
“This is a product of his projection, Lady Barthomeloi.” He said, advancing and placing it down on the desk, all while keeping his eyes down away from hers. She outstretched her arm and picked it up, and for the first time since Pascal had entered the room expressed recognizable emotion.
Surprise.
To be fair, his own reaction had been a lot less dignified when he entered the shed in the Emiya yard. All of the boy’s projections were barely one step away from the denial of nothingness. For the Barthomeloi, who respected the holder of the first more than anyone, he suspected this to be a huge prize.
“The Magus Killer’s son. Where is he?” She asked sternly, anger apparent in her voice.
“I took him with me.” Pascal said, suddenly nervous. He made his way to his luggage and set it down on the floor horizontally. He unzipped it, muttered a few words in French, and opened it. Inside was a boy of twelve years with fiery hair, who was sleeping under the effect of the magic Pascal had cast on him. “He was the thing of worth I spoke of.”
Lorelei ignored him, and got up from her seat to properly view inside the suitcase. She circled around her desk and stared at the boy intently, almost as if she expected him to spring to life. Pascal made sure to stay a few steps away and keep his head bowed, just to ensure that he didn’t accidentally incur her wrath.
But he was no longer the object of her attention. She probably did not even realize he was still in the room.
Because she actually lowered herself in front of him. Not at him, but to put her hand down on the boy’s head, she put herself below him.
He kept his calm. Whatever was going on, it must be aiding his odds. He wasn’t dead yet, after all. After a moment where it was clear she was scanning something in the boy, she got up again.
“What was the crime you were accused of?” Lorelei asked Pascal, and inwardly he rejoiced.
“I was accused of taking too many funds for my research, above the allowed limit.” He said calmly, keeping his head lowered and his tone polite.
“You were thrown out of the Clock Tower for something as minor as that?” She asked, and he realized he may have to tell her the full truth.
“I… may have done it many times, Lady Barthomeloi. I was young and considered myself above such rules and regulations. It will not happen again.”
“Indeed.” She simply said, and she moved back to her desk to obtain the necessary paperwork. “Had you come back with anything else, you would not receive this chance. However, keep in mind it is only one chance. One step out of line, and you shall not be simply thrown out again.”
“Thank you, Lady Barthomeloi. I shall not disappoint you.” He said, his voice incapable of hiding its joy.
X=X=X=X=X
He had left, leaving the boy behind at her order. He was now lying down on a bench, which was on the same side of the room as the door, opposite to where she was sitting.
He was only a step away from the first magic. One huge, impossible to cross step, but he was there, and at such a young age.
She was Barthomeloi. The Barthomeloi always respected the owner of the first before anyone else. While he did not possess the first, he was too close to ignore. He had to be properly raised, properly instructed to become a magus of acceptable caliber.
Just as she resolved to do it herself if necessary the boy stirred and his eyes half-opened. He gently pushed himself into a sitting position, and looked around. She would have normally taken offence to not being noticed, but she allowed this just this once.
Eventually, his eyes settled on her. He started talking, but she couldn’t understand his language. She quickly said a few words, and waved her hand, and he became understandable. Rather, he should have had he not stopped talking at the motion. It was her turn to start talking, it seemed.
“Boy, your father has died.” She stated, and the boy looked surprised. Taking that as an opening, she continued. “You have potential with your magic, however.”
“I... I do?” He asked, obviously surprised. It seemed he actually had no idea of how close he was to true magic.
“Yes, but you will need guidance. Guidance I can, and will, give you.” Lorelei stated, and the boy’s look of surprise turned into concern.
“That other person… did you make him get me?” he said with slight fear in his voice.
“No, I did not. If he mistreated you in any way, I will see that he is punished.” She stated, and the boy relaxed slightly. “But for now, that is unimportant. I will prepare sleeping arrangements for you, and tomorrow I will start properly teaching you thaumaturgy. It seems the way you have been doing it is… flawed.”
“Do… Do I have a choice?” The boy asked, more to ask the question itself than to refuse the training.
“If it is something you abhor, then you are not forced to do so. If you refuse, your memories will be tampered and we will return you to your home. You can live your life peacefully there, without knowledge of magic.” She stated, and the boy looked down pensively.
It felt like hours to her. A part of her was undeniably impatient, wanting him to agree at any cost. He was too great a prize to simply abandon, but she would uphold her words.
“Okay…” He answered, almost too quietly to hear. His almost-silence wasn’t from fear, but rather from thought overwhelming his ability to loudly speak. It was apparent to her he had a reason of his own to agree here, a reason to not want magic to become forgotten to him. Though she did not know exactly why, she did not care.
“Very well. Come with me.” She said, getting up from her chair and circling around her desk. She walked across the room and opened the door, and he followed her obediently with a fire in his eyes.
She led him to the Barthomeloi manor, attracting stares from magi throughout the Clock Tower along the way. She dismissed them completely, reasoning that they had better get used to it anyway.
The boy was hers now.
X=X=X=X=X
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Originally Posted by Seika
