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Well, this is my first real attempt at fanfic. It's a Sixth War fic (that will probably eventually have a Sixth War) that takes place after an AU ending of Fate/Strange Fake and the Snowfield War. I've read just enough to be aware that I have no idea how to judge my own writing. Constructive criticism is welcome.
I'm writing this in a highly disorganized fashion. Different characters will have slightly different perspectives/views/writing styles. I will not be making use of unreliable narrators, because, as much as I like them, I don't think I can pull them off. Anyways, I'll get back on topic now. I have some parts of the story already laid out in my head, (Masters, Servants, setting) but most of it will be just made up on the spot sinceI'm lazyI want freedom to add ideas as they come.
Mari Itomura 1
London, England. Norwich Student Dormitory, Fourth Floor. 2023, nine years after Snowfield. Evening.
Even the Clock Tower's name was misleading. Of course, the official representative had assured her that the "famous title" was "full of history and prestige", and, while the repute of Clock Tower was recognized across the world, Mari Itomura privately suspected that they kept the outdated misnomer just to confuse new entrants. As if they needed any more confusion! Even in the Academy, just talking to the wrong student or mentioning a possible department change might trigger a wave of repercussion; anything from stolen pencils to sabotaged exams to suddenly finding out that your favorite bakery- the one that sold those delicious fruit tarts- had, with no warning whatsoever, gone out of business might result.
She turned her head. Lying face-down was nice, but so was breathing. She'd just have to turn her neck periodically.
The whole place was mad. The lessons started out at a fast pace and only grew faster. But that was alright. She could deal with that, if she could figure out where they were. The ridiculous three page schedule in tiny print, reissued every week, had no consistency; random guest lecturers showed up, other teachers were too busy with personal projects, had been off fighting Dead Apostles, or didn't feel like waking up. That was okay. She could work around it, if she had time and privacy. But the dormitory doors were never locked, although Prana exchange was frowned upon, since there were other Magi who could use the money from potion sales. Ostensibly, this was so that any student attempting their own experimentation could be caught. Realistically, any intelligent student could hide their work. Of course, the Mage's Association would have no reason to teach someone who was idiotic enough to try their ideas without secrecy, so they won either way. All of these things were tolerable, but the worst of it was that the scholars and teachers, the adults who were supposed to keep the mess that was Clock Tower Academy under control, thought it was a good idea. They knew everything that was going on, and they did nothing to curb the plotting.
It was the beginning of her second year and she still hadn't fully adjusted. If her younger sister was here, she'd have a horrible time. That girl was cute, though, in her own way, even if she couldn't take any pressure. She'd never attend Clock Tower. Mayumi simply wasn't interested in Magecraft. Mari had been the one to ask her parents about Shikigami; they were happy to teach her. It was easy to see, in retrospect, that she was only learning a sliver of a branch of a branch of backwater techniques, but it had been interesting at the time. She would have been better off not knowing what she had; the Japanese ideas of Magecraft didn't mesh well with Clock Tower theories. Aside from that, just being born asian had cost her multiple quizzes and lectures. People would "accidentally" knock her books away and then apologize profusely. Of course, they were "late for class" and had to "get going right now; you know Donlan doesn't tolerate late students", but the ruse was obvious. She'd never seen or even been the slightest bit interested in Japan, but her unwanted heritage had resulted in discrimination, bad habits, and the lack of a useful crest.
Her hair scraped the pillow as she turned her head the other way. Picking her head up would be more comfortable, but she was just too tired.
That summer had been exhausting. She was going to use the vacation for rest, but she wanted to do something with some of her time. Looking for extracurricular credit, she'd taken an empty spot in some Lord's expedition along the path of Alexander the Great. The expedition was only supposed to take two weeks. They had returned two months later. Despite the extra length, the trip had been worth going on; she'd met someone her age and ended up with a lyre from Troy. Once she reluctantly showed it to the Lord, he laughed and, oddly, said, "Alexander didn't want that one." He allowed her to keep it. As the expedition's patron, he was entitled to his pick of the spoils. An artifact from the Age of the Gods could fetch quite a tidy sum, sold through the right channels; more than enough for some new clothes. Had he just been showing off? He was a Lord, after all, and not exactly hard on the eyes at that...
Mari rolled over, dizzy with sleep. Most of the Academy girls had their eyes on Lord El-Melloi II, so why even think about him? Some other girl would snatch him up, although... What kind of person would reject all those suitors? She'd have to find some sort of curtain soon; Narcelle had mentioned that the draping blanket made her appear antisocial, which was (obviously) only alright if you were a brooding prodigy, which, the girl had made very clear, Mari was not. She tried to move herself, but her straight black hair had gotten caught under her shoulder. She winced, closed her eyes, and tried to sleep. The next lecture was at 21:42 and Madrigal had asked her to wake him up half an hour early...
----Glaucus Lidell 1
London's, England. Clock Tower, under the British Museum. Same time.
Glaucus Lidell hurried over to the desk, wiped some non-existant specks of dust off with his hand, sat down, and began to work. He knew, without checking any sort of timepiece, that he had lost ten irretrievable minutes and forty-seven indispensable seconds, but Clock Tower's current state dictated that a letter like the one just delivered had to be sent in person. As the Chief Itinerarian of Clock Tower, he had to have an intimate grasp of its workings, machinations and rituals to even attempt getting any organization done. He liked to think that his schedules, while their contents wildly varied, were one of the few constants in Clock Tower. They always came out on time.
Space was a hot commodity in Clock Tower, yet nobody tried to requisition Glaucus's enormous office. It wasn't out of fear or respect; no Magus of ability would become a glorified schedule-maker. The reason he was allowed a fifty-foot cube of prime real estate under Clock Tower was because that was the absolute minimum required to do his job. Paper was everywhere; actually everywhere, not just covering the floor, (although it certainly was), but attached to the ceiling and hanging motionless in the air. Half-clockwork hummingbirds, his Mystic Code familiars, flitted back and forth, moving documents in seemingly random patterns. Glowing feeder/lamp combinations provided some light, but he had to depend on the tiny lights implanted on their foreheads. The bird's natural eyes required light, but too much would impair his focus.
He reached out of his body. The hummingbirds were like limbs, near-perfect extensions of his mind. Latching on to one was second nature for him. Retrieve document <<4242-b>> sub 82 [priority 3]. The bird buzzed away, intent on its task.
He sighed inwardly. Clock Tower was a mess. A Magus is an arrogant and secretive creature; throw some together and tell them to educate children not their own and the most likely result will be death for all involved. However, the Clock Tower survived, due to an intricate system of checks, balances, and research grants. It was never exactly stable, but there were patterns. Glaucus could read those patterns; it was part of the job, and those patterns were shifting. Any sort of shift meant unbalance, the possibility of collapse, and an even higher workload for him.
Charity Burbage, the Lecturer in Recent Runes, had suddenly withdrawn her offer to teach elementary Bounded Field Theory after seeking the position for years.
Was whoever blackmailed her out of the position trying to be obvious? Would it be worse if an inexperienced plotter found her out, or if a Lord was successfully faking inadequacy?
His old classmate Sinistra had changed departments; moving from Spiritual Invocation, to Spiritual Evocation. It was a relatively slight change, from summoning and binding spirits to study of the soul, but the two departments had a long-standing vendetta.
Sleeper agents... The departments are growing tense. And planning that far back! Nobody expected it, save Eulyphis, and only a few of them were aware.
Lecturer Pince had left Clock Tower; the act was not unheard of, but rarely followed through with.
Was he forced to leave, did he just get tired, or did he see something coming?
Time to stop worrying and focus; he'd already done his piece. Lorelei should have recieved the letter by now, so it was safe for Lord Ascerbe to proceed. Lord Ascerbe was a known proponent of resurrecting the Grail Wars; that would be the safest way to release the pent-up tension in Clock Tower.
----Lord Ascerbe 1
London, England. Clock Tower hallways. Same time.
Lord Ulysses Teth-Wylvan Ascerbe strode down the halls of Clock Tower. His worn red cape, a memoranda of long-past days in Clock Tower Academy, fluttered behind him, its hood half-concealing his face, and his ruby-tipped staff tapped out a perfect rhythm on the polished wooden floor. A few straggling Magi hurried up and down, clutching research papers or complicated pieces of equipment. Most quickly bowed their heads as they passed; Lord Ascerbe was not susceptible to flattery, so it was better to just cover the formalities and hope that you didn't get stopped. One young magus dropped her books directly in front of him. A flick of his finger sent them sliding down a branch hallway, and another silenced the frightened girl. Normally, he would have taken some time to enhance his reputation, but the Vice Director would not be pleased if he was late, and not even he dared risk the wrath of the Queen of Clock Tower, especially considering that her latest attempt to pin down the elusive Thirteenth Apostle's location after it fled Australia had ended in complete failure.
Glaucus's model required him to arrive a few minutes after his missive was read. More than enough time had passed, but following the letter straight in would be far too obvious. In the best possible situation, Lorelei would agree to the Grail War and assign Glaucus as a mediator to limit his power. Due to his prior agreement with Glaucus, he would be able to carry out his research in peace.
The meeting place was far from his workshop, but that was only to be expected. Lady
Bartholemoi did not like to expend excess effort, and the discussion would be on her terms. After all, he had been the one to make the request. So he said nothing and continued to walk.