I can't confirm that... yet.
I can't confirm that... yet.
Originally Posted by FSF 5, Chapter 14: Gold and Lions I
Though abandoned, forgotten, and scorned as out-of-date dolls, they continue to carry out their mission, unchanged from the time they were designed.
Machines do not lose their worth when a newer model appears.
Their worth (life) ends when humans can no longer bear that purity.
Interesting that she seemed to summon Nightingale though.
I'd expect there to be some references to the incongruity of their character, given the circumstances as compared to the FGO Protagonist.
I wasn't expecting so many familiar faces on the Servant side of the roster.
I'm also a big fan of how much characterization and world building you packed into a one-off character.
Spoiler:
Also, Archer is Heracles, right? As in non-Mudded, normal Herk?
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Wait, that Servant was Nightingale? Goes to show I know nothing about several GO Servants.
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Also, it does make sense that one of the Levitt sisters is Berserker's Master, since either one would have reason to hate the Scladio family.
4/ Seventeen’s Edge
I woke up this morning to my best friend giving my brother a handjob. The worst part was the look on their faces when I stumbled into the room while experiencing my first hangover. Before the terror and guilt of being found out, they had these ridiculous smiles on their faces. Not the polite smile you give to a convenience store cashier in an attempt to let them know you’re not that shitty customer who demands a refund for a blue Slurpee you already finished drinking because it wasn’t raspberry flavored and everyone knows that blue is universally raspberry, but actual smiles. The kind that dyes your face when you delusionally believe that somehow in this messed up, nauseating world you might actually be happy. Fuck those smiles.
And then you have the nerve to take me to The Habit after school to tell me that it was a mistake, a horrible drunk mistake that will never happen again. Hello, of course it was a mistake, but that doesn’t unscrew my brother. You’re my best friend for god’s sake. You of all people should know just how much I hate him.
Then you tell me that I’m the one being unreasonable. I’m your best friend, I should be happy for you? Don’t you get it, Krista? I’m upset because I’m your best friend. You’re better than that narcissistic momma’s boy. You just don’t see it right now because he’s the first high school boy who's ever been interested in you.
You storm off. I finish my fries and order another bougie McChicken. It tastes like fried cardboard. Stare at me all you want, even you, probably homeless man next to the drink dispenser. I’m the girl who made her best friend run out of a comically Californian college town McDonalds substitute in tears. That’s right, lap it all up; who needs fucking Netflix when you got a front row seat to my life? I don’t want to see Krista again. I especially don’t want to see my brother. My mom’s out of town with a dentist. What’s the point of going back home?
This downtown’s so small that wandering around is impossible. There’s always foot traffic no matter where you go and eventually, you’ll end up window shopping at the same store you were at two weeks ago. Which is why that night, I ended up at San Luis de Tolosa High School. Depressing, but it’s nowhere as depressing as this morning’s events.
There’s some noise and light coming from the football field. It isn’t too strange, though. Might be a Monday but kids like to get drunk in the parking lot and throw their bottles into the stadium so the groundskeeper has something to do in the morning. He collects any unique bottle caps, displaying them on a wooden bottle cap map of the state he proudly hangs in his office. He said he might upgrade to a map of the entire country in a year.
— Alcohol paraphernalia in our local high school? That man should be fired at once.
— Mom, come on, he’s chill. He stays late and helps us bring in the equipment after practice.
— When you put it that way, men do need hobbies to keep them busy.
Of course, anyone’s irreproachable if they have the approval of her dearest, perfect, eldest son.
Stop thinking about him. There should be some kids here to take your mind off him and Krista and this morning and those smiles. At least, I’ve heard this is a place where kids my age hang out. I’ve never actually been invited to anything like that, but whatever. It’s stupid, they’re stupid.
Whatcha’ doing here?
Nothing, just walking by.
Hey. I’ve seen you around school, you’re a junior aren’t you?
So what?
Senior, senior, sophomore. Want a beer?
Sure.
I’m XXXX. The one in the cap is XXXX and the one on top of the car is XXXX.
Hi, I’m Nadine.
Breathe in. Exhale. Run that scenario again through your mind. You can do this. They’re just high school kids, like you. Like you. They will like you.
— Nadine, I know it’s difficult for you, but isn’t it about time you got more friends?
Isn’t that what your mom tells you every time you start a new grade in this stupid town?
— Krista’s an angel, but look how popular your brother is.
Oh mom, if you just knew how popular my brother was with your angelic Krista.
There’s no one in the parking lot. In the three minutes it took for me to cross the road and enter the parking lot, all the lights have disappeared and there’s no longer any noise. The kids must have probably left the school. Yeah, I should leave school as well. I don’t even know why I was here in the first place. I’ve been wandering around town all afternoon and just ended up here. Didn’t the news say it was getting more dangerous in our county? Something about deaths at the men’s colony. There’s no reason to be at school this late, anyway. I mean, who goes to school in the middle of the night? I should go home, take a shower, and hit the hay. Mom’s probably back now. I’ll just turn around and start making my way home.
Ho. . . me.
Seriously though, how the fuck am I supposed to call that cold, excessive, hostile, empty house a home?
A perfect brother who stole the only good thing in my life.
A melodramatic mother whose idea of fun is a glass of wine and The Notebook.
And worst of all XXXXX. So, I enter the football field. The stadium lights are too bright. Strange, they weren’t on when I entered. The turf is ripped and half of the bleachers are destroyed. But those are just details compared to the two blurs smashing into one another in the middle of the field.
It doesn’t matter if it defies all logic.
It doesn’t matter if it’s magical.
It doesn’t matter if I’m going to die here.
Because, well, have you ever felt like you weren’t really you? Instead, you’re looking down at yourself saying terrible things, awkwardly trying not to fail but everything that you do is so unbelievably cringe that you can’t help but hate what you see? And the scary thing. . . the thing I used to be so scared of was that this would never change. This feeling would never go away. I’m slightly relieved because now I know that it won’t. A knife is going to pierce my throat in the next second. So why is my last thought is
‘That’ll show them.’
No flashbacks, no scrolling film of everything that’s happened to me up to this point, just ‘that’ll show them.’ That’ll show the despondent writer who plotted my life. This must have been the moment she realized thiswould never have an audience — would never go viral. I don’t blame you for giving up on a defective character.movielife
That knife abruptly stops as my legs give way and I fall to the ground. I barely noticed it, but it seems the fall badly bruised the back of my hand. As for the assailant, even if she was wearing a bone-white skull mask, I could tell she didn’t see me. She was just looking at me because she happened to be facing my direction. All the strength in her body was already gone.
A strong gust of wind sends my untied hair into a knotted frenzy. The skull masked woman falls, blood leaking into the grass from three fist-sized holes. The blood sears the grass, instantly turning it grey. I scream.
I woke up this morning to my best friend giving my brother a handjob. Before the day ended, she had chosen him over me, her best friend since first grade. Dad, why am I the one who is always forsaken? God, are You even up there?
“I wish….” Hot, like that time Krista and I took turns trying to catch the fire from one of my mother’s scented relaxation candles. But that wasn’t painful like this. An unnatural breeze starts to blow as the corpse fades into flecks of blue. “I just wish I was someone who didn’t have to make a stupid wish.”
Wishing is stupid. You wish for something because you’re either too dumb, ugly, or awkward to make it happen with your own two hands. That’s why, on this football field, in front of all these weirdos and my attempted murderer, I make a wish.
The breeze turns into a gale and traps those flecks of blue light in its eye. No one else in the field moves. The gale reaches fever-pitch and an incandescent light brighter than the ones installed in this football field blinds me for a moment.
The heart in my chest skips a beat and then clamps down on itself. All the blood that was circulating through my arteries and veins drives to a halt, sending my body into shock. It’s a memory I’ve tried my hardest to repress using every year I lived as an additional weight. But, it’s happening to me, so it can’t be that memory. Something tells me that I can’t forget this feeling. This feeling is where I began. So engrave it into your soul. Even though everything in this body may have stopped, there’s a molten flame that runs through my imaginary veins, flowing into that light which rapidly fades along with the burning sensation on the back of my hand.
The light fades as quickly as the wind, revealing a figure standing over my sprawled body. No one moves, nobody can breathe. In this moment, yesterday, this morning, this afternoon, no longer matters. There is nothing else in the world except for this figure and myself. With the moon overhead but the stars refusing to shine through the light pollution, some would call this scene sacred. Some would carve this very scene into their souls so they’ll never forget it even if they fall into hell. I reject that sentiment.
“You don’t look like much of a fighter, dearie.” The woman’s raspy voice is caked with scorn.
Polluted cerulean eyes, blond hair like straw that even the livestock won’t eat, and to top it all off is a ridiculous apron attempting to hide a slightly plump build that yearns for an athletic girlhood. That apron isn’t the type you see a fry cook wearing but the full ensemble of a cook from an absurdly genteel British period drama. This anachronism stands, bathed in both moon and stadium light. This moment is not special. Like any memory, it’s nothing more than a pebble that will erode in the river of time until even the dregs no longer appear in my dreams. My view of thehas not changed.worldmyself
“I’ve always wanted to see California. Had some relatives go west during the gold rush, but this ain’t the place for idle chatter with all these hostile gentlemen about.” She looks warily at the figure in full armor and then the half-naked bodybuilder.
“Come on, girl,” she snaps. “Seal the contract already. Yer the one who summoned me or not?”
My mind is in shambles, but it’s still screaming at me to get out of here. To make matters worse something falls from the sky. Its landing rips apart the already sparse turf. She looks like a celebrity from an overproduced Korean music video. A pure, serene face contrasting a blood-red uniform.
Without any emotion she raises a white gloved fist and charges. Her target, the woman in front of me seems to be nothing more than a sassy cook. The lady is goddamn military. The winner should have been obvious if not for the giant hammer which blocks the fist before it can connect with the cook’s face.
“Oh, so you were thinking the same thing as well.” The half-naked giant proclaims as he aims his bow at the military lady.
The knight was standing at the forty-yard line with the giant. The next moment, he was right in front of us. I vaguely remember the world record for sprinting is something like twenty miles per hour. That’s about thirty feet a second. If that’s the case, that man casually broke the world record strapped in a tin can.
“Lady, would you please consider backing down? This girl is obviously unaware of her station. My Master wishes for me to take her to the overseer of the War.”
“A plague should not be given the chance to spread.” The military lady puts more strength into her fist, blowing away the hammer.
“Cheh — And what might cause a genteel Lady such as yourself to fall to the level of a Berserker?”
The moment the knight is thrown off balance, the giant peppers the ‘Berserker’ with silver lights. Since they’re coming from a bow, they must be arrows with gunpowder or a grenade is attached to the head. I’ve pretended to do archery at every summer camp my mother forced me to attend. An arrow shot out of a bow does not explode on impact.
Dust fills the air. What’s even more incredible is that the lady brushes away the entire dust cloud in one motion. She’s only lightly wounded, the type of wounded you get when you fall off a bike for the first time.
The giant dares her to continue her attack with a single stare. Instead the lady mumbles something, “Diagnosis. You diagnose the patient.”
Incredibly specific words. Could it be that this ‘Berserker’ lady be a doctor?
“You ask the patient about her symptoms or you run tests.”
I look around, but there’s no one else talking back.
“There are times when the patient does not even know she is sick.” There’s no one around, but I can’t shake the feeling that she’s trying to appeal to someone. Could she be trying to convince herself out loud? No wonder they’re calling her ‘Berserker.’
The lady then focuses her attention onto the cook in front of me, attempting to look through and then into her. Everyone freezes, except for the knight who corrects his stance.
“She reeks of disease, but there are no observable abnormalities.”
With everyone so intently observing the army lady, I steal a peek. Just glancing at the giant makes me want to vomit everything that didn’t go to my back fat. He’s so overwhelming that it’s hard to breathe. But then again, no matter the social situation, it’s always hard to breathe.
“There is not enough information to make a diagnosis.”
As for the girl behind that giant. No one looks like that so she must be a professional cosplayer? Fake silver hair, red contact lenses, a dress that has too many parts to be functional or even possible beyond the catwalk. Most of all, her delicate face doesn’t even look human. My mom was going on about how these days South Korean was even better than Hollywood at plastic surgery.
“We observe the patient.”
Berserker tightens her fist and looks away from the cook.
“But, preemptive treatment may sometimes be beneficial depending on the family or health history of the patient.”
The cook in front of me hasn’t let her guard down. Honestly though, compared to everyone else on the field, it looks like she would be more useful chasing a talking rat from the kitchen than fighting.
“But most of the time, preemptive treatments can be extremely detrimental to the patient, insofar as even causing disease. Creating a problem for the patient even when there was no health concern to begin with.”
Everyone breathes a sigh of relief. I turn my head because I thought I might have heard something from underneath the bleachers, but it’s too dark, I don’t see a thing.
“My apologies, Doctor. My apologies for the trouble I’ve caused here.” She curtsies wholeheartedly. It’s the type of curtsey you’re taught to do when you’re a little girl and about to go to an important fundraiser. “You as well, m’am,” she glares at the cook.
“No harm, no foul. Mistakes are to be expected from one of your kind,” the cook spits out the last word like venom.
With that, the Berserker lady abruptly disappears into the night. No one tries to stop her. The giant is the first to break the silence. “Knight, you intended to take the girl and her Servant to the overseer’s, correct?”
The knight nods.
“A later date then,” the giant smiles at me. “Good luck, child, you’ll need it,” and also disappears. The woman that was by his side looks at me for a moment and promptly exits. That just leaves the cook, the knight, and myself.
“What just happened?”
The knight turns around to face me. Even with only a few of the stadium lights still intact, his profile is clear. There’s still boyish charisma in his eyes, even if he’s past his prime. It’s disgusting. I’m imagining what my brother would look like in thirty years or so years. A popular kid, a born leader, probably throws a tantrum because his mother won’t buy him creatine.
“Apologies for not being able to explain. That is the overseer’s job.” He nods at the cook and then looks at me. “Have you ever ridden a horse before?”
“The college gives rides during open house...?”
He makes a face and then puts his fingers to his lips. A pure note rings into the night as an armored horse canters onto the destroyed football field from empty space.
“Don’t worry madam, I’ll protect her as if she were my own.”
The cook folds her arms. “Sweet words won’t charm me, sir. You know quite well as I who would win if we came to blows,” and disappears. Even though I can’t see her, I can sort of feel that she is still beside me.
“Okay then girl, up you get.” He grabs me as delicately as he can, but it’s still rough enough that I wince. Before long, we’re both seated on the horse, trotting away from the school.
I woke up this morning to my best friend giving my brother a handjob. Before the day was over someone died in front of me. Once again, I wasn’t able to do anything about it.
Call it destiny, call it fate, whatever it may be, this world hates Nadine Craig’s guts.
Last edited by You; February 6th, 2021 at 04:24 AM.
Though abandoned, forgotten, and scorned as out-of-date dolls, they continue to carry out their mission, unchanged from the time they were designed.
Machines do not lose their worth when a newer model appears.
Their worth (life) ends when humans can no longer bear that purity.
I find it interesting how all the OCs you introduce, aside from Lenny, lack the traditional wonder most normies would have upon encountering a Grail War, and also, Nadine feels a lot like AYAKA/"Ayaka Sajyou" from FSF, just without the guilt complex and only extreme apathy. Also, the cook is an Avenger, right?
I was on board for everything until you insulted The Habit and that is just disgraceful.
See
In the draft I had that exchange set in McDonalds. Other than McDonalds not making sense distance-wise, The Habit makes more sense in terms of Nadine's tastes. Without trying to spoil anything, her reaction to that burger after their lunchtime encounter is hopefully a glimpse into her value system I wanted to offer the moment you meet the character.
Though abandoned, forgotten, and scorned as out-of-date dolls, they continue to carry out their mission, unchanged from the time they were designed.
Machines do not lose their worth when a newer model appears.
Their worth (life) ends when humans can no longer bear that purity.
Yeah I caught that, just a shoutout to California burgers. As a real review, I'm definitely looking forward to more. There's too much to say and too many questions to ask which can and will probably be answered by future installments, but it does scratch a lot of personal itches for me between California and the inclusion of the Scladios. Not sure if it'll hold up to CCC in the long-run, but I hope it can.
I thought your comment was a good way to answering gau's comment especially for people who don't know about The Habit.
It's still a california college town version of mcdonalds though.
Though abandoned, forgotten, and scorned as out-of-date dolls, they continue to carry out their mission, unchanged from the time they were designed.
Machines do not lose their worth when a newer model appears.
Their worth (life) ends when humans can no longer bear that purity.
Less to do with Nadine being an unflappable normie and more that it speaks to the depths and state of her mentality. Said depiction of said mentality also feels like its cut from the Type-Moon wheelhouse's cloth, so that aids well the fic's storyfeel as a Type-Moon fanfic.
And as usual, the narration and word-choice used here in the story are the unsung stars of the show.
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Meant to review/comment earlier, but it's been a rough couple of days.
My Fanfics. Read 'em. Or not.McJon01: We all know that the real reason Archer would lose to Rider is because the events of his own Holy Grail War left him with a particular weakness toward "older sister" types.
Will agree about the TM-ness of her apathy and how it was depicted.
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I'm also going to assume she's some sort of anti-Shirou, even if she does share some traits with him in an odd way.
Is the cook Servant Typhoid Mary?The lady then focuses her attention onto the cook in front of me, attempting to look through and then into her. Everyone freezes, except for the knight who corrects his stance.
“She reeks of disease, but there are no observable abnormalities.”
Last edited by warellis; June 30th, 2019 at 05:21 PM.
Can't believe I didn't even think of her. Nightingale's assessment finally makes sense.
If the shoe fits
Though abandoned, forgotten, and scorned as out-of-date dolls, they continue to carry out their mission, unchanged from the time they were designed.
Machines do not lose their worth when a newer model appears.
Their worth (life) ends when humans can no longer bear that purity.
I'll take that as a yes. Also says a lot about Nadine herself.
I wasn't feeling this narrator at all on the first read. But on the second I got it.
it's a reverse Tsukihime doomer nightwalkThere’s no one in the parking lot. In the three minutes it took for me to cross the road and enter the parking lot, all the lights have disappeared and there’s no longer any noise. The kids must have probably left the school. Yeah, I should leave school as well. I don’t even know why I was here in the first place. I’ve been wandering around town all afternoon and just ended up here. Didn’t the news say it was getting more dangerous in our county? Something about attacks at the men’s colony. There’s no reason to be at school this late, anyway. I mean, who goes to school in the middle of the night? I should go home, take a shower, and hit the hay. Mom’s probably back now. I’ll just turn around and start making my way home.
Ho...me.
Seriously though, how the fuck am I supposed to call that cold, excessive, hostile, empty house a home?
A perfect brother who stole the only good thing in my life.
A melodramatic mother whose idea of fun is a glass of wine and The Notebook.
And worst of all XXXXX.
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and so, what the narration, Servant identity and apparent non-inheriting spare child complex promise is the spice of unlikeability that every cup war needs
The type of unlikeable where you hope they get killed off soon or the one where you weirdly cheer them on?
The loser Ayaka-sadgirl kind of character has been around long enough I think to become a trope at this point, so I'm hoping Nadine has a few surprises in store.
Or at least goes out swinging
That in itself is kind of part of the trope or maybe a subtrope. In any case, I'm a terrible judge of the trope considering how much I hate people like that in fiction and IRL unless they have a damn good reason to be that way.
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